I stand at the center of a vast circular hall. yet, it is intimate. 72 counselors and one more and yet one more stand with me.

i, in the center, stand, unwilling to sit, with the moon and the sun, one in each hand. the sky watching close by, the earth above and below. and i stand, on that inlaid wooden floor of exuisite beauty, signs and sigils and runes of which i know not.

i am in the richest of robes, as are all. the room inviting, fit for an emporer. but it is my will to wait. i must wait before i move. a good king knows when to move, when to wait, when to prepar. for now, i prepare and wait. and every moment is as an age. finally, i relax, i sit. everything that comes out of my body is gold, purest, brightest gold, each drop of sweat of purest gold. and so, without letting go of my tight, sweaty hold on the sun and moon, i conceded to sit, cross-legged, and wait.

my eyes i close, and i ponder. i ponder the impending battle.

the plans are all drawn, all is in place, but we must wait for battle-season.

until then, we toil, we till, we grow, we gather, we destroy enemy outposts in our way, we control the skies, we control the earth. yet, we, everywhere on the field, cannot be seen. and our enemies already begin to fall into our arms. already my agents invade and implode or explode pockets of resistence. but still, this is all just the preparation for the greatness. our rising shall be a rising, such a rising as perhaps never seen. not here.

perhaps i can sleep. but only with the sun and moon on either side. i cannot let their touch cease.

so we lay, on a low pedestal, resting, while my generals make all ready. and my war-robes are made ready. my arrows with spells surrounded. my sword, polished with the dust of stars, my spear, its point one atom in diameter. its shaft, light, strong, pulsing.

my body feels already the power of battle, the joy of it suffuses me.

St. Dymphna

I read this after a heavy burden was dumped on my heart by the Holy Spirit. And they say that G-d is a 'nice guy'. Anything but. He treats his friends quite roughly. But the weak he treats with compassion. Read this. May this day in my own heart be dedicated to the sacred heart of St. Dymphna, patroness of the mentally ill, the victims of incest, of family harmony and of physicians to the mentally ill. Click here. ---note: just found out she has a feast, but not until May 15.

I wanted something to say. But did not feel permitted to say anything of my own. But I found this

Enjoy.

St. Therese of Liseux, Patroness of my formation, came to me yesterday and blessed me and alleviated my sufferings. For today. "Just for today!"

Thank you, Sister. Carry me into the blessed arms of the Virgin as i fall, fall, fall, into the heart of the Jesu. Soon, there will be no difference. No division.

I thank you now for this pain you have given me.

I thank you now for this groaning without ceasing.

For this heaviness in my limbs

For this terror in my face

For my bones melting

For my flesh turned to shards of obsidian and flying off into the stars

For my very being every day more nothing, more nothing.

For now i see, now i understand.

My body flies to you.

My body, the thinnest garment, a gauze, a fine gauze, strong but filmy, frothy.

I become you. And YOU are so many, so many more than I had thought.

My body flies to you O Avenger! O Adamant! O Fehu! O Brother! O Sister!

I made love to a saint today, shyly and blushing, and she only laughed at my childishness.

And the joy on her face uplifted to a world I know now slew me once, thrice and I lay, I stand, dead.

Not dead, but not.

Holes from bullets tortuous shredded my flesh, my nakedness uncovered.

I have bled out.

My face a ghost.

And I have sunk down into the earth, lamented but shortly.

And, and,

And I am created anew. I do not know these arms, these legs. This is not my torso.

This is not my face.

O God! Only the tiniest filament of my former self yet lives. A filament that stretches back into the past to what once was a body. And now.

And now I am this other, this other with whom I am not yet acquainted. And he terrifies me.

His eyes flash like eagles

His arms as steel.

His legs as the pillars of the earth.

His hands hold powers untold

His mind works in mighty ways---I shudder to think his thoughts!

And his raiment. Of Gold and Purple and Red. His staff is mighty. It is death to all others. And it's weight impossible to any but him.

But his lips bless. His countenance a blessing and food to the weary.

His body death to the evil, and life to the weak.

I have passed into a new country. A new world.

A world so much larger, so much grander, so much more real than this paltry shadow.

I cannot tell of its magnificence as I am forced to speak this tongue of dung.

But it I could speak the words of silver and gold, you might not survive it.

Come up. Come in. Yet fear.

I have begun my experiment in praying the Psalms in the Septuagint Greek translation. My tentative goal is to memorize the 150 psalms in that language. It is a very ancient and noble tradition. God help me in this will of OURS.

Otherwise, I am suffering a small amount from the impending ordination to the traditional Deaconate--even though I have been "Rev. Smith" for months now, and experienced a powerful movement of the Spirit during the ordination, the closer the priesthood comes, the more my psyche suffers from the transformation.

Thank goodness I have strong and varied support system.

I prayed. And instantly I was transported to a world to the right of our own. And on my head was a crown.

But the crown cast an immense shadow. And I felt then that it was stone.

And I saw then that it was the underside of a huge stone cathedral.

And I saw then that it was a mightly stone citadel.

And I saw then that it was a very great walled city.

And I was crushed in spirit.

And ELOHIM came to me and said, "Lo! I am holding up this crown of yours and you need not fear and see! you are still standing! Take heart! And fear not and walk as you have been instructed."

And I awoke from my prayer. And I was weak unto death.

George Washington Carver

Hero of the faith. It's early, I know--his official day isn't until January 5--but I wanted to honor George Washington Carver today (came up at breakfast with my kids---"who invented peanut butter?"). A hero of the faith. You should remember him from grammar school--but read the wiki on him. Also a man of faith. Called the "Leonardo" of his time. Helped to destroy the evil thought egregore that one race could be intellectually superior to another. Also helped to restore the depleted land of the South by introducing new crops---and also to better the nutrition of millions. I can't believe that that new artist--what's his name?---hasn't 'written' an icon of him yet. He should. Anyone have his contact info?

If the mystic does not use many words, he does not keep silent completely. Moreover the acknowledgment of the lack of the ability to describe Reality triggers the unrestricted flow of new words and new rhythms; a new language. The mystical “no” is not a denial, but rather a destruction of particularities, made to reveal what is universal. The mystical “yes” is not an affirmation of the status quo, but an affirmation of the truth of a particular part of the common understanding; in short, his “yes” is a “yes and” or “yes but”.

From the mystic’s perspective, the language that he applies, although idiosyncratic and a language of metaphors and symbols, is not irrational. He uses symbol, because symbol is the only possible expression of Mystery.

For the Mystic, language is creation, destruction and creation yet again. He creates a new vocabulary, and hence, a new world, a new philosophy, a new worldview; new paradigms. In this way, the mystic stands at and IS the central core of the human experience in its totality. The mystic is the great black hole around which other men rotate; some knowingly, but mostly, unknowing. The mystic in this very real way, becomes God, is God, reflects God to a world of refraction. He is unable to be seen in his entirety because the natural, fleshly world can see only through prisms. Hence, his words are taken badly, if at all. Often, then, he is pariah, sacrifice, scapegoat. He IS Truth. And the human psyche rebels against Truth in such unadulterated doses. Hence, the mystic is wise to be silent, or embrace martyrdom.

My head is spinning from study today. There is no sense in doing any sales work during this Thanksgiving week, so I'm giving myself permission to do other things.

Two things:

First, I did hear a call from Our Lady during prayer, which was an intense, but very calm and very real calling. I have a vision now for uniting all of my various and disparate skills and aptitudes. I have discovered that The Will is for me to return to practicing law, in defense of children. Likely in the class action arena. Further, I'll be involved in direct ministry to children in prisons, beginning locally (we have a juvenile detention center and 'camp' within a few miles of my home). Eventually, I mean to be able to support myself, my family and my ministry with this work, to include adding other brothers and eventually sisters to this work to advance the state and care of children throughout our society.

I look forward to beginning this sacred task. The devil is in the details of course, but I have no fear. I may have to stay in my current work position for many years before I can become fully self-supporting, but I don't care. I have a plan that is finally big enough for me, and a worthy challenge. So I feel very peaceful and at rest even as I face what will be a very challenging career. It feels as though the last four decades have been rescued from obscurity and meaninglessness by this single moment in time, or out of time as the case may be.

So, I look forward to seeing how The Will plans to make all of this work out. In the meantime, I have several "immediate" items on my 'to-do' list to start things rolling.

A very blessed turn of events.

Oh, the second thing wasn't nearly as earth-shattering. More mind-wobbling. I was doing some study on apostolic succession---oi vey! What a mess! Well. All in all I'm pretty convinced that our priests, bishops and patriarchs are pretty much all related one way or another. But further cross-pollination is pretty necessary---90+% of the current 5000 RCC bishops, and most of our recent popes are descended or can be documented back to the ordination of a single, 16th century Bishop--and we can't get any further back from that (yes, we have all the records of the popes back to the 2d century--pretty much---but the actual laying on of hands from bishop to bishop is what I'm talking about). So, hopefully we'll find some more records in the next hundred years or so before all is lost to fill in some gaps. In the meantime, it is good and holy work that the Gnostic and Independent bishops are doing. We are sewing back together our fairly ragged cloak of succession---all to the good.

Signing off . . . . visit my new altar(s); the one dedicated to the Holy Innocents of our day is here.

Since I found my 'magic' rosary (easier to call it that than describe the whole story every time!), I've been reminded of my devotion to the Virgin of Virgins, Queen of the Apostles. Enjoy this performance by my favorite musical group, Libera. If only I could be pure of heart as a child! If only the divine rays of god would shine through me without this holy pain of ecstasy and death. If only . . . . If only this prison of flesh bounded me not . . . if only, if only the hearts of Mary and Jesus would explode into my body, leaving nothing but the appearance of me.

"Blessed quietness".

There is an old hymn called "blessed quietness". I don't remember any of the words (and don't feel like 'googling' it) but I remember the feel. And that's where I've been. Well, my own version of it. My day is interspersed with terrible joys and pains from my worship and praxis, but I am workign on 'surrender', which is more complicated and wonderful than I would ever have thought--especially given my personality.

But I am so blessed to have three wonderful people that help me on a regular basis as confessors and spiritual directors. So my vocations as monastic and as cleric are 'on path.'



And, for me, this is a wonderful time of peacefulness and rest. Well, you know, a restful place. I still work nearly constantly, and usually six days a week--soon to increase to seven, I fear.



And I've taken on the "Little Flower" as my guardian for the rest of my formation process. She is the perfect advocate and guide. I've honored her on my 'temple of the jesu' site.



All is well.

haven't posted in ages. my life has been pretty dry. but the divine office has helped to keep me, keep me, well, i don't know what to call it. alive? not sure. In a 21st century way, i feel my enemies (money, circumstances, health) closing in around me. O Lord, save me QUICKLY!

In the meantime, I am very pleased that my little Priory has officially begun and we now have a small website to celebrate it. Of course, so much more to do with it. But i am allowed precious little time to devote to such projects, fun as they are.

Pray for me as I will for thee.

today during prima, i was overcome by the death of the innocents. for some time, I have had in my mind the fact of the suffering of innocents in every moment in every day and night in all times from all eternity to all eternity. Surely this suffering is a burden of burdens to the Jesu. Yet, he does his work and listens to our petty problems and our petty burdens and foibles. All the time, does he not speak into the ears of the children? Does he not whisper sweet nothings into the ears of the dying innocents, as they lie dying on battlefields in Africa, as they lie in tears being molested, beaten, shamed, battered, abused? How can I escape this reality in every moment of my day? Only by the grace of God can I do all I can with these two simple and very limited hands to attempt to love those near me. To be the words of the Jesu to the three children entrusted to me. O God! spare at least the children. And let my prayers be sweetness in their tender hearts. Let my prayers by a strength to all those I cannot reach or imagine. Let blessings pour out of me to them; somehow.

And please, holy martyrs to evil, you who live in the innermost heart of Jesus, pray for me, a fool. Pray for me, a fool. Yet pray to God that my foolishness may prevent yet one precious child from experiencing the suffering you suffered. O Gracious Martyrs, pray for me---let me be the hands of Jesus. Yes! The hands and feet as well. Let me not shrink from rooting out evil---let me not shrink from the suffering of your holy brothers and sisters in this plane of evil and death and decay. For your youth should have been full of wonder and joy. And yet you suffered as no man or woman can comprehend, at least, that is our prayer. Holy Innocents---take our hearts up to the holy altar of the Jesu and sanctify us. Let our hands, our feet, our tongues, our minds, be turned into that ineffable gold, that purest platinum, that most glorious silver of the Eternal flame. O Innocents, we pray to you, we look to you, we cry out to you. Have mercy on our stupidity, ignorance and arrogance. Please pray to the Ineffable that we have one more day in which to insert a modicum of justice into this world of illusion--of illusion full of barbs, daggers and demons.

We proclaim your death Lord Jesus, until you come again . . . . . .

i had one of those experiences that you can look at several ways.



the most fantastical way of looking at it is that I saw a fully corporeal angel, in the form of a grumpy middle-aged woman--who brought me a beautiful, never-touched (so it seemed) glass-beaded and metal filigree rosary. when i asked her what this was all about she said "you figure it out." Of course, my angelic encounters have to be with grumpy people---no music, no wings, no halos, just down-to-earth stuff. figures.



there are more mundane ways of interpreting all this, I know. But I don't believe them.



but i'm not quite sure what this all means. it remains to be seen perhaps.

still sick. making it hard to give a darn about work, prayer, anything. yikes!

Mixed bag. This weekend was obsessed with creating ANOTHER cyber-temple, this time to the Jesu. I think it is cool. But then, I would, wouldn't I? Of course all invited to site and worship there.

On the negative end, I just figured out how much in the hole we are at this rate per year---it is steep and has too many digits. way. So, trying to figure that one out. So, in all, today counts in the 'if i was going to have an emotional reaction to the physical world this is it' sort of day.

Five years running of really, really horrible financial problems is beginning to wear a little thin.

The new temple is on the left side panel if you want to click on it and check it out.

a day of crises. a day of misunderstandings. a day of sensitive feelings. a day of decisions. all for the best.

now if i can just get back to my 'real work'. but perhaps, all these interruptions ARE my 'real work'.

as the astrologers say: 'the moon is in caca'.

alas and alack.

it seems whenever i join a new group, start a new blog, etc., i get interest and comments. then, people realize just how off the deep end i am and they clam up. i'm hoping that my new community stays with me. it feels so lonely on the fringe of the world. i feel exhilerated standing here on the end of all things---looking out onto a waterfall of one trillion miles--looking out onto this starry carpet of eternity, my toes hanging over the edge of space and time. my mind connected by ten trillion filia of enormous length reaching out into the sum total of all things and to the ineffable, unreachable, source, the source that is not conscious of itself, but requires the intervention of its unconscious urges to create a reflection, feeling the primordial earth under my toes---black, rich, like the darkest blackest chocolate cake of earth and loam. the first worms of creation touching my heels in sympathy.

but there is no one to hold my hand. yes, other than for you my lover, sweet. but shall it be we two for all ages? i had thought that a great host would accompany me, could see with my eyes, feel with my toes. but it is not to be.

all my joys and raptures and sorrows and ecstasies only we to shall share, my love. and then, when i leave this vegetable casing, this seed crust, this flesh of corruption and decay, all that i was shall be forgotten, by all, by me. and yes, i shall have you and you shall have me. but the old me shall have fallen away into nothingness. may i shed one tear for that which was once me? that which was once knowable and known? for why, oh why did you place me here? the pain! the glory! the pleasures! and, yes, o gods! o gods! o gods! the terrible lonliness. i am an alien on earth, and i am an alien in this divine garden of sweetness. i am a man of no land. of no place. i have no passport other than your sweeteset hand in mine, o my lover. hold me and make me forget this world of matter. let me see only thou. for only in thou shall i forget my agony for a moment.

wretch that i am!!!!! perhaps it would have been better to be asleep eternally as my brethern are. perhaps better to live in unwakened pains rather than this wakeful terror. o god! i prayed for this and you gave it me. you are too cruel! yet, i count it all worth it just to touch your sacred fingers. i would live this life 100 times more just for the briefest touch of thy holy flesh--my finger to your finger. for one flash of your eyes--bright, dark, fierce, kindly, in love.

o catch me as i fall, dear lover. as i fall down to this loamy soil. the grass, new, untread, with dew, unspoilt, catch me, and hold me in your puisssant arms. for i die again this morning.

for once i died when i slept. now i die when i awake again into this world of shadow-beauty, of reflected-glory, of false-somethingness. o god. can i really face 100 more years of this ecstatic union/separation? shield my mind. let me rest. let me sink into the earth for a while. and renew my limbs.

Roman God Antinous

I stumbled across an extremely interesting Pagan Church, focused solely on the Roman Cult of Antinous. The history is extremely fascinating and worthy of study. It also fits in to the early Christian Gnostic and non-Christian Gnostic traditions of the early common era. I think this cult is worthy of attention for all, especially Gnostics, and most especially Gnostics with an interest in the Greco-Roman religious traditions. Check is out here:

Prayer to St. Valentius (my version)

Most Holy Brother Valentinus,

Who walked among us in the flesh and the FULLNESS,

Who lives now in the Spirit and the FULLNESS,

I pray to you who brought the light of God to us:

who opened our eyes to the light of the Jesu,

who opened our eyes to the light of all the HEAVENLY HOST--the known and the arreton

who opened our eyes to the light of the REFLECTION of your love,

who opened our eyes to the light of the MIRROR of your love,

who opened our eyes to the ineffable SOURCE of all love,

Grant me the wisdom to know truth from falsehood,

Grant me the widsom to find the hidden light of true KNOWLEDGE,

that it may descend to me and open my hart and mind,

that it may permeat me and flow through my veins,

that it may surround me and bless all that come near me,

that it may pour out from me and bless all whom I bless.

I pray most holy Brother Valentinus,

that you who found true KNOWLEDGE,

whose work and influence earned you the seat of Peter, but when denied to you narrowly by narrow margin did not dissuade you from your holy work, which work was and is worthy and tested and vibrant even unto this day,

would help me in that path,

would be my example of right mind and right thought,

would glorify my mind and body unto the FULLNESS and perfection,

would be a conduit of grace and create in me a yet greater conduit of further grace,

and would be a hero to my mind and heart of the faith.

O you who gave up all for the KNOWLEDGE and the FULLNESS and for liberty.

We ask all these things with confidence in your attentive ear,

And because of our brotherhood and sisterhood in THE NAME,
in comunion with all the heavenly hosts, from eternity to all eternities.

Amen. Amen. Amen.

O Golden fire that cools.

Ye cumulous of brimstone.

Hail all you stones, crushing, cinders piercing, the death of all.

Life to ash.

Grass to black.

Blue to murk.

Sweet to salt. . .

I thunder in the sky.

Celebrating St. Brigit in the Divine Office Today

Let us pray, O Lord our God, Who, through thine Only-begotten Son, didst cause thy blessed hand-maid Bridget to see certain things . . . .

which are naturally known not on earth but in heaven . . . .

grant unto us thy servants at her motherly prayers, to be one day blessed for ever in the vision of thine eternal glory.

In my mind at this point, my entry into the 'wandering' monastic life (and no less 'real', 'true' or 'monastic' than the cloistered life I discovery) and my path toward priesthood, the two entertwined, feels to me a powerful combination--much like a wizard, druid and healer all in one. But the magic is much more subtle than i though. As I descend into the blessed fullness, may my physical circumstances not be forgotten. Let me resolve to fulfill my commitments to this physical life be borne joyfully, although at times they are heavy, and at other times merely wearying. Even when light, they are like a pressure that keeps sub-zero water from freezing, that keeps super-heated water from boiling. Necessary, but uncomfortable.

O god. Yes. This mortal frame is your temple. I will tend it and care for it as long as i can. and when the time to shed it for that celestial temple, i will leave it regretfully, wistfully, but joyfully. And yet, perhaps there shall be no shedding at all . . . . .

My tradition is "Sethian". Frankly, I never could get what it was all about--I mean, I had read some of the literature and my Bishop explained it to me, but it sounded just like one more complicated myth, and I felt myself to be rather through with complicated myths---i already have one as a Catholic.

But, after my experiences of the past two weeks, I am beginning to understand that the Sethian myth is a reality. A power reality on a particular level. I have seen things that before would have overwhelmed me. And now, now I have been embraced . . . . Well, read up and do your own prayer and you'll see. This is "arreton", as the Greeks say.

Patroness of Sex Abuse Victims

Sister Mary MacKillop will be canonized (by the Roman Church) this month for her extraordinary efforts helping the poor and founding a religious order under tough circumstances, but her experience dealing with sexual abuse is propelling followers to anoint her as the patron saint of sexual abuse victims. Since the abuse happened in the church it makes her life story connect with victims and helps represent the modern day struggle that leaders are engaged in overcoming and extricating abuse out of the church.

Sister Mary MacKillop exposed a Catholic priest of sex abuse in a parish in Australia in 1870. After she revealed that children were being abused by Father Patrick Keating in a nearby parish, she was excommunicated from the church.

Humiliated by the accusation, Father Keating took revenge on Sister MacKillop as she was officially excommunicated, banished from the church and denied sacrament, by Bishop Sheil, a friend of Father Keating. Sister MacKillop’s revelation came at a time in the church’s history when church leaders did not want to hear the truth and face the problem of abuse in the church. As a result, it was easier to punish Sister MacKillop, with contempt and strong opposition that eventually resulted in her excommunication.

With Sister MacKillop’s recent canonization, victims of sex abuse, their friends and families now can pray to her for reconciliation and healing. Sister MacKillop has clearly shown an understanding of the pain and suffering they endured. The church’s decision to canonize Sister MacKillop shows a great deal of hope and healing for the church and victims of sexual abuse. The decision also shows the necessity of addressing and preventing the crimes of abuse head on, and the wisdom showed by the church in it’s ability to recognize and atone for its mistakes.

Sister MacKillop inspires us with a life that was heroic, full and holy. Her story illustrates a remarkable life: she established an Australian religious order, taught children, worked with the poor and lived a holy life. She stood up for victims of abuse, when the price to pay was so dear, membership to the church that she loved.

I spent a wonderful time with my family celebrating my mom's big birthday ending in a "zero." It was great seeing folks, many of whom I had not seen in 20-plus years.

The only thing about the whole trip that was slightly difficult was that when it was just the family together in a small, private extra party, no one mentioned my ordination or Valentinian path, my seminary experience, nada (and I did bring it up just a tad to test the waters). It was a non-topic; completely ignored. (Of course, I didn't think it was necessary or appropriate to fling this on friends of the family that we have minimal contact with---this was about mom's 70th after all, not about me).

Well, I'm grateful that my sister and parents support me. But the rest of the family thinks i am going straight to hell--the "do-not-pass-go-do-not-collect-$200" variety. It's as though my gnostic status is even more 'odious' than my cousin's open homosexuality, which for some of my family is at least a talking point.

Well. All the better. Now perhaps I can identify with the Jesu just a tad more. Well, I shouldn't even say that--at least all my family still talks to me--some of my family won't even TALK to my cousin. I hadn't thought about that possibility, which I presume some of our brethern do and have experienced.

Well. Something to think about.

Why hast thou, Lord, come to me?

Why hast thou chosen me to sit in thy courts?

Others more noble and deserving wait outside, petition in hand.

But I sit on a cushion at thy right hand, favored.

I shall remain silent in thy presence.

for even as in every moment that the psalms of the great king are in my mouth,

so is the jesu evoked, his presence invited---

unlike before, he rushes to me.

like a storm and a terror he is with me; closer than my skin to my flesh.

he is here, in his wonerful, terrible being.

how can his body be described?

how can this world, this universe of being all held into one body human be put into words?

he is awful in his beauty, eyes like flashing swords, arms like mountains high.

chest as the bones of the earth.

i rush to stay with him, but fear and worship his touch.

how can the g-d be this way?

and there is no escape.

'fear not, my love, for there is no other way . . . . "

Clare of Assisi Parish

I'm so pleased to introduce the newest Gnostic Christian community in the Bay Area (one of only a handful). Clare of Assisi Parish is right now a web-site and the promise of many, many of my friends to get involved in a thriving Gnostic Christian parish. We'll see where we take it!!

http://clareofassisi.webs.com/

Lately, my visions have been coming back to me. So in addition to the wondrous, fullness of ecstatic darkness, visions like those of two years are coming back, but shorter, more focused, more intense, more fleeting. I chose this picture really just because i like it. But, in a way, it captures the divine 'flirtation' with us. S/he hides behind many masks. It is up to us to ask for the dance, and perhaps, be bold, and gently pull the mask aside.

So much enjoying the Divine Office now that I am using the pre-Tritentine midieval version without the 'revisions' (cutting) that took place over time. I can see now why the cuts were made. Reading the Psalms in an adventure, and doesn't present a unified front, so to speak, on who/what God is all about. And that would be a good thing. Reading the Plasms is highly conducive to a Gnostic perspective on Christian or even Jewish spirituality, I think. We are forced to rethink in nearly every verse just what God is to us now--what was "He" then--what is this all about? We can take none of it literally--it is all on the emotive level. The experiential level. There is no doctrine here. It is almost anti-doctrinal in my view. If you wan to read it, you must be open to every emotion--and every emotion all at once. Sometimes I wonder just why they are written they way they are. Almost like an exercise for bringing certain students to a certain place. And, of course, that is the way they have been used these last millenia. But it is a challenge to get in 7 prayer times a day. I haven't managed it yet.

The Canticle of Habakkuk

This was in the the readings for Laudes this a.m. (I use the pre-Tridentine midieval version).

LOVE IT!

Habakkuk, 3:2-19

Lord, I have heard your fame! Lord, I have seen you work! In our times, let it live again! In our times, make it known! But in your anger, be sure you remember how to be merciful!
God comes forth from Theman, the Holy One, from Mount Pharan. His majesty drapes all the heavens; the earth overflows with his glory! His splendor bursts forth like daylight: rays shoot forth from his hands where he conceals his power!
Before him goes the plague; fever travels in his wake. Suddenly he stops short: he makes the earth tremble; he looks about: he makes the nations shudder! Then, the eternal mountains collapse; the age-old hills dissolve along his ancient path.
I've seen the tents of Chusan leveled by terror, the pavilions of Madian paralyzed by fear.
Is it against the rivers, Lord, that your anger blazes forth, or is your fury aimed at the sea, that you ride astride your steeds, that you drive your victory chariots?
You draw your bow; with arrows you fill your quiver!
Into streaming torrents you split the earth; the mountains catch sight of you, and it puts them in a trance; torrential rains break forth, and the deep lets its roar be heard, stretches forth its hands.
The sun and the moon dare not come out; they flee before the brilliance of your arrows, at the flash of your gleaming lance! In a rage you survey the earth, with wrath you overwhelm the nations.
You came forth to save your people, to save your anointed; you have destroyed the house of the wicked, stripping its foundations right down to bare rock.
With your swords you have run through the leaders of the warriors who stormed at us, driving us off with their shouts of glee, as if, in their dens, they were going to devour some poor wretch.
You marched through the sea on your steeds, mid the churning of the deep. I have heard it, and my heart pounds; at the sound of it, my lips quiver. Decay gnaws at my bones, and my legs give way beneath me.
Quietly, I wait for the day of trouble that will come upon the people who assail us.
For the fig tree will never again blossom, nor will there be any fruit to glean from the vines; the olive crop will fail, and the fields will stop giving food; the sheep will disappear from the fold, and the herd will not be found in the stables.
As for me, I will boast about the Lord, I will delight in God my saviour!
The Lord, my Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the doe's, able to rise far above the heights.Glory: Both now: -->
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: Both now and forever, and unto ages of ages, amen.

I called my Bishop today, ahead of schedule for our weekly meeting. How can it be true that the weight of my ordination as Minister can be such a weight upon me--I haven't even DONE anything yet. I was treated to his friendly laugh. He had been wondering when I would call.

"As all brother who have come this way before . . . ."

Thanks be to G-d that all I need to is let the pain work its way through. There is nothing I need do but suffer. Suffering is easy.

a pedestal of ebony seven inches high.

i sit on a cushion of ermine black.

my shift, cassock and surplice like midnight.

my chador, my turban caps, my veil, darker than night.

i am secure on my throne; a celestial body immovable.

to my left and to my right, silent, transparent orbs immense, enclosing super-worlds obscured.

i mediate. my body the conduit. 50 to the 100 to the 100 gigawatts flow through me

like unruffled air.

when i awake from my trance, i spin, i vomit, i wish to die.

only Myself to comfort me.

Today is the day. I'll be ordained as a Minister in the UCA. "Minister" for us is slightly more than Deacon, slightly less than priest (meaning I have all powers other than absolution and eucharist). I am so excited. It is a solemn day, a joyous day, a day that will be celebrated by myself and my Bishop alone. My friends do know, but this will very much be a private event. I feel in some ways sad because of this, in some ways relieved, in some ways pleased. It is a holy thing and almost I feel it SHOULDN'T be seen by anyone.

Well. Now a new life opens up for me. Of course, the LIFE is one that is lived regardless of vocation, etc.; I know that. But still, for me, it is a fulfillment of my personal identity, an event of such great existential import. I don't mean to be 'collecting' titles or 'states' or 'statuses', but still it is a vocation that is important for me and life-long. I have been soldier, lawyer, now Minister, and eventually priest. I feel very complete, but of course, not 'safe'.

As I shared with my Bishop, who agreed with me, the life of Holy Orders does not bring 'greater salvation', a 'better shot at eternity' or some sort of 'spiritual safety zone'. Quite the reverse, rather. I am far more vulnerable now than ever in my life--both from the vocation itself, from my own internal struggles, and from without. Thanks be to G-d that I have two spiritual directors, and perhaps a third, that are helping to keep me on track.

My only wish is that my family truly understood what this means to me, or could feel joy for me. I feel a little cheated: were I taking orders in a church with a greater official member roster, perhaps i would get more encouragement; at least people would be able to understand what the heck i am doing. As it is, few truly approve and fewer understand what I am doing. The scripture comes to mind: "The Sone of Man has nowhere to lay his head." Ain't it the truth. At least I can give thanks that I live in a land and a time where I am free from overt persecution. And I do know that I am, in reality, joining the ranks of all the priests of all time and of all over the world. So I am in good company, and a host of forefathers and foremothers stand with me.

My blessings to all on this day, and all your prayers are humbly solicited.

p

El Shaddai, the Almighty: (Shad) nourisher/many-breasted one, and destroyer (Shadad).

May blessing fall from me like the very holy breasts of G-d, full of the milk of love, blessing, power and fecundity. And, like the mighty Athena, her breasts bared, may I also be the destroyer of evil, of ignorance, of the enemies of light.

May the holy light that suffuses me shine forth like a mighty beacon: yea! those who will be saved shall be saved and made whole. yea! those who are destined for destruction, may it be swift like the blessing of a quick and clean death by the golden sword of the Holy One of the two mountains.

For my fingers are the very rays of the Sun. My arms raised are the pillars of the earth. My mind the sum of all galaxies. There are giants in the land. Lo! Giants! And I am the giant-slayer. I am the mother/nourisher/vessel. I am the fecundating power of G-d. There are no barriers before me. Gorges I cross not--no! I command them to meet and I walk across in a single step! Mountains crumble into the sea. Valleys are raised up. Oceans cover the damned. Springs, sweet, everlasting, nourish the fields of the righteous.

I am Leviathan. I am the Light-Bearer, I am the beast of the Holy Woods. Come! Seek knowledge and life, and ye shall die, but Lo! Live! But anew, the old life like after-birth--eat and be nourished. And let blessings rains down from you. It is so easy! Like releasing the loins after a sleep of 7 days. Like a cloud to bursting pricked by the holy finger of G-d.

May torrents fall, may waters rise! Rise! I dare not look upon my self. Nay! I neither touch my face or any part of myself for my holiness is for all, but not for myself.

I have become a gravity well; a depression in space-time. Those who are destined to shall fall into my orbit and be made whole. Once they realize their own g-dhead, they shall spin gently out, to become galaxies of their own. May the blessing of all good creatures, of heaven, sky, water, earth and fire, descend and remain on all of us for all time; the one time; now; the eternal YES; the eteral NOW; the eternal CRY.

For I cannot die. I cannot die for I have already died so many times I have lost count. There is only the thinnest of tissue paper wrapping the G-d/life/power/blessing. And even it has tears through which you can see the Shekina.

Fear not! Put your finger in my side, my hands, my feet. You shall be destroyed/healed. You shall be slain/suckled. Do you still not see! Are your eyes so loathe to open? Behold! I stand at the door and knock!

Behold! Do you not see that this door exists only in your imagination!? Do you not see that already I have burned away your house and all possessions?! You stand naked before me! The waters are rising, will you take my hand?! The earth is falling into the pit--will you not sit on my shoulders?!

All the heavens await your return---will you tarry in your own filth!? Be clean I say! I shall wipe you clean as an infant. Your skin, scarred, mutilated, dry as ash, wrinkled and thick and callused as an elephant's ass--you shall be made into the fragrant, chubby, irresistible flesh of a babe. Cleaned. Fed. Giggling. See you now?! All life is laughter! All pain is illusion!?

Be ye born! Be ye raised up! Shine as the stars! As the sun! May your own breasts bloom. And may you feed a mighty nation!

And let your sword, forever sharp, forever clean, forever perfect, forever bared, slay one thousand at your left and ten thousand at your right.

For we are all warrior men/women. We suckle a babe in one arm, and hold a sword aloft in another, and the reins of the chariot we need not for the horses obey our very thoughts. Our chariots, golden, fire, alabaster, holy fire, shall ride over the bones of our enemies. The righteous, the righteous, once in rags, once bone-thin, shall be stuffed, shall rest on pillows of down, shall live in palaces of light and marble.

O G-d!!!!!!!!!! All things are! All things are not! May even the bottom of my toes be holy. May my body be converted into your eternal light--each inch! perfection! Melt away the fat--the fat of my gluttony, of body and mind and spirit. Let there remain a perfect warrior.

Aleph. Lam. Mim. Sod.

For the first time I am allowing my impatience about holy orders to come to the surface. I'm just about at the point of being ordained 'minister' in my church (less than priest, more than deacon). And right I don't have any silly self-doubt about either ordination or my powerful yearning for the ordination. Every day without it feels like non-virtue; although it is out of my power.

I know, I know, I have the rest of my life to live in that state. And I know, I know, it won't 'change' anything; but of course, it changes everything.

Prayers appreciated during this last 5% of the waiting journey. Making my cranky if nothing else.

may the waters rise, rise, lap at the edges of the earth. when swell, swell, and begin to wander down the streets of the capitals of the world. water, healing water, sweet water. water of strength. and then, as the masses become unglued, become angels in disguise, the waters rise, rise, until all the earth, the fields and mountains and the highest peaks of earth and men are covered. all sin and sadness and unwholeness cured, washed away by the loving tides of the immortal god. and we shall live, we shall live in this wondrous, clear water, sharper than air, a blanket made by the mother for her child on a cold winter's night. and none shall sense it, but perhaps the worthy shall know that all has changed, irrevocably, forever. a world now breathing the waters of heaven.

read only if you are ready, please.

i sat at my computer. 5:00 a.m., time for work. And I knew that after one hour, after one hour of work, I am permitted to pray. But not on my knees. That is not permitted right now. But I am permitted to speak. To write. And so I commanded myself to be open to the highest will. And this is the word I received:

i am the mind.

the world spinning on its axis, counter clockwise from my perspective.

i am a pillar of gold, of fire, of steel, of titanium, i am the eternal phallus. i am THE MAN atop the ice atop the creature. i am that which you saw, ezekiel. that is the secret. hear me!

i am terrible fire. i place cinders on the mouths of the seekers. if they die, they were not worthy. if they die, they understood.

if they rise again to me, they are worthy and i shall teach them. i am high priest. i am he. fall down like dead men all ye who enter my gates!

and then i shall come to you, give you tea. we shall sit under the shade of the tree together. slaughter your fattened calf and i will eat your food, your food, though choice, is as ash to me, as I eat only the fire of my own breathe. but i shall love you.

and if you are open, we shall lie together under the olive tree and you shall come alive. and you shall be as a maid, blushing, as a boy, throbbing with life, as a babe, satisfied. you shall be as an old man, after the tears are gone, strong as iron.

i am the fire that consumes not, but creates conflagration. i am the fire that heals. i am the fire that turns snow into butterflies. i am the fire that turns stone into lush fruit. i am the fire that consumes the earth and circles the mind.

i am the fire of ages. the light before light was created. # # # # # # # # # # # #
see. i stamp myself on your forehead. i scar my image onto your back. i am the lover on your arm.

shall we not counsel together? shall we not live together? shall we not become lovers? shall we not sigh at the slightest touch of fingers? Live! i say! Live! And raise out of your dung heap.

I shall cleanse you with my cleansing fire. I shall make you clean. Cleaner than from the womb. I shall enter your body, and do as I will. you shall not be a new creation---newer. you shall be a unique creation. for it is the destiny of man to become man, and then, and then! to become MAN! and then! to become ONE. UNIQUE. A new species, yea! a new genus a new kingdom of creature! You shall be immortal like unto the holy ones! you shall be thy own fire and water and blood. Take and eat from me! Take my body! Take my blood! Be Saved!

Even now the waters are flowing, the waters rising under your feet--come into me; i shall be the ark. i shall be the ship that keeps you above the rising tide of fools and evil-doers. there. i have taken you.

and behond that. i shall make you a tower, a tower alongside the temple of myself and that way you are the entrance and you are the mason that enters.

Shall you then see! Shall you then taste! You must become a temple. You must become he-who-rides-on-chariot. Arise! Dammit! Arise! The four horsemen come! You soul hangs in the balance!

See! I scream! I sigh! I blow as a gentle breeze! I am calling you. Come out! Come out! Flee your cave and cower. Yes. that is the first step. And then you shall begin to shed your stupidity, your shallowness, your child-like body. You shall begin to grow the pubic hair of holiness. your testicles shall begin to grow and descend. You shall become a MAN. You shall grow a bear of hoary wildness and power.

See thee not behind my curtain?! Look! Put your hands into my side! Ah!

today is saturday. to tear myself away from the blessed confusion, frustration and pointlessness of my meditations and my spiritual work was doubly difficult today.

the unification of all the disparate selves of my soul, even of the smallest demonesque children of my basest consciousness, has turned sitting still into just 'sitting still.'

i can inhabit the eyes of my servants if i wish, but i am one, and even 'communion with myself' is no longer true. just being. just being. just being is a terrible burden. yet not a burden, a place. a place that is comforting, a place that is barren a place of pain and of milk and honey. but mostly barrenness and pain. now i see, perhaps, why creation is necessary-----creation is the therapy of the soul. but at the pinnacle of ourselves, we are unnoved and unmoving. it is only through the medium of our lesser states of being that we can become agents of creation, change, growth. having reached the room of rooms, keys of keys, casket of caskets pearl and gold, i lose myself in that place. that place of nothing/everything. and then to open my eyes is like pulling off my flesh. o god. how terrible and daunting it is to live in the flesh! yet i submit to my will and i live. not my will, but mine . . . .

prayer now is more like rest. a rest from the constant rushing to keep up with the spinning planet. now that i am free of the matrix, to interact inside it, i must fly at thousands of miles per hour to stay in sync with it, and this is so tiring. so tiring. so tiring. yet the terrible eternal all-powerful sun of suns inside my body makes me grow stronger yet each moment--the pain and pointlessness of my growing power is also yet pain and despair. in pain did the god become man and in pain did he live and in pain did he leave to reunite.

all is pain. beginning to end. in between. it is all suffering. it is all longing for death, longing for life. longing for solitude, longing for comany. it is longing for intimacy, longing for freedom. even longing not to long is suffering. there is no escape. and so, there is no choice but to fight. thus i have brought my swords, my steeds, my armies.

and now to fight again, and better. and blood shall slick and stain the streets. and the powers shall fall. what else could he mean: the valleys be exalted and the mountains laid low? we are in a cataclysm of instantaneous and frightening speed. but being smaller than parasites on fleas, we see it all in 1/10,000th time. we are all fools. all fools. for it is all already over. we are a resonance, a faint after image of all that was. and is no longer. do as you will. all is vanity.

8.19.10

when i am only in my mind, at work mostly, then i feel weightless, air, a subtle power too demur to be called power.

when i am in my spirit, or when i at least no longer am exercising my mind, i feel heavy, enormous, my legs like trunks of stone, my body cumbersome and too tall. my hands small, but of steel and copper. My balance unsteady. I am living in another world. Well, that's not accurate. I sense I am living in two other worlds, maybe three, but the third other world is barely conscious. and all creation spins, but i remain still. if i am called from my reverie by myself or the needs of my blessed wards, then i quickly leap forward into myself, into this terran place of illusion, but beautiful, and the pain and longing for those other places i can become adjusted to and hardly need shed a tear. but the joy at returning, returning, is the more sweet, the more enticing, the more soft and downy. but now i am allowed so precious few minutes to live there. i need this blessing less.

i was trained to live on sweeter meats, choicer wines, and now i must become lean and taut and sinewy in the spiritual life. for the initiations are over. the long road, the long, long road of an unending life of perils petty and great, lays before me. indeed, i have already taken the first tentative steps. i shall be the rod of power, the boulder of shelter, he who is trust, over-relied upon. i shall be taken for granted and reviled, and yet loved by the simple. the crafty shall despise me.

i'm not sure if i even have a spiritual life anymore. when i sit down, usually i feel elevated, lifted up, serene, powerful. and i am communing with myself. there is little reason to stay there long, as i am want to do as i long to do. but my will keeps kicking me up and out of my holy place. it kicks me out of that part of my mind. if i resist, it just puts me into sleep or half-waking.

this is a time for action. i would enjoy reading prayers, but then, again, why? my every touch and every act is an act of communion with myself and blessing to others. do more. do more is my mantra right now. i want to stay mary at the feet of the LORD, but i have been sent back to the kitchen.

to that end . . . . .

Hurray!

Long time. No post. I've been preoccupied by the mystery of my new, wonderful, wonderful job. LOVE IT. And love my boss--of course, not everyone would think so. But for someone warped in the particularly wonderful, strange and inscrutable manner that I am, it is perfect.

Also, on the spiritual level (can't we think of a BETTER word than that? sheesh!--SOOOO overused and almost meaningless to me now). Anyway, on the OTHER level, I have been focusing on just BEING BLESSING. It is pretty amazing and wonderful. I feel like a global thermo-nuclear war of blessing all over the planet. Every once in a while, I feel resistance; but then I love the resistence, get under its skirts, and dissolve it from within. It is wild.

To all those to read this blog: blessings! May your troubles atrophy, may your strength grow, may your mind become all in all.

Back to work . . . . . . . . . .

As a weird side note: as I was searching for an image to accompany this post, I found the above amazing one: which, by the way is exactly, exactly the way i imagine my blessings going out: a huge white cloud in all directions, and the power of my will/love going down into, coming out from, the earth and the everlasting fires within. I wish I had another hour to meditate right now, but must go worship G-d in mundane ways for the next 14 hours.

8.3.10

and i said to myself 'i am one, i am no longer many.'
and at once i was taken down into the crypt of ages, that crypt which is so beloved to me--so many journeys have begun there.

and out i came, and lo! my wings spread wide and glorious and my beak opened in a call of deathly screeching and power. the sun reflected harsh and bright from my scales of purple royal. my two legs flexed in joy in their thinnest golden ringlets and talons; they grip as vices, pierce like razors, shred as sabers bright.

and then i was one. yet again 'myself'.

7.29.10

Feeling alone today. Surrounded by the great pearl of god's power and grace, and all the saints, but still alone. Reminds me what Merton said about the new monks: once the thrill of wearing the habit wears off--there is a great period of pain before the novice gets used to the REALITY of the monastic life. Perhaps that's where i am. I do feel like a religious. Well, I have never been one so I don't know: but still, it's different. I feel as though I took my initial vows about 2 years ago, and now am facing my 'intermediate' vows. or have just taken them. my final vows are still in the distance.

o god. i have become a thing not human. my body no longer encases me. my spirit moves in and out of my body with no concern for spatial reality. sometimes it seems i am missing, and my body begins to shut down on its own.

even if he slay me, yet will I trust HIM.

7.28.10

I recommend reading the right-hand column of Sr. Laurel's blog: it has some great quotes about the eremitic life. Funny: they sound just like what the mystic, the Gnostic and any contemplative is striving for. This seems to me to lead even more credence to the statement by Rahner that soon, there will be no Christians unless they are mystics.

7.28.10

Sr. Laurel is always good for great insights into the spiritual life. I liked her post here on 'desiring mystical experiences.'

I believe that mystical experiences are indeed seductive. And to the mystic who desires the milk and honey of these experiences, do not cease in your seeking but in every moment allow the spirit to overwhelm you with grace. Some experience daily, moment-by-moment 'mystical' experiences every day of their lives. Some, only for a time; others, rarely. But to seek continually is good and holy.

There are only two cautions: a) sometimes mystical experiences take you where you fear to go. If you do not 'go' to the frightening places, then you are allowing your own will to override the higher will of the God-in-you. Never place any bounds on what you 'see' 'hear' 'touch' or 'feel' in those experiences. And always write them down. The longer you are able to withstand riding on the tiger's back, the longer you can stand or sit under the fire hose power of god's cleansing waters, the more you will rejoice, AND BE AFRAID and yet find greater peace. "Mystical" experiences are NOT spiritual candy to be doled out. That is WRONG. Mystical experiences are a way of life and for most individuals, they CAN be a daily experience life-long. There is never TOO MUCH of the visions, NEVER 'too much' of the divine joy and grace of the mystical life. I say 'bah' to those that would seek to bind you with guilt that you are a 'spiritual glutton' 'spiritually immature', etc., etc., (even subtly). Be bold! AND YET . . .

b) Sometimes when you open yourself to prayer, there will be 'nothing.' YET, this too IS mystical. Allow darkness, nothingness, silence, pain, anguish, all of these, to be just as holy as the amazing visions of 4-headed angels (or whatever). Fear not: there are layers and layers and layers to work through until you reach full unity with the Divine. And even then, there are layers still. The work never ends. The point is to be fully open to God. I believe that the failure of many in our traditions is that we do not push far enough into that other realm. If we truly seek it, we will always, ALWAYS be led to good works (not by design, but naturally) and also to full honesty with ourselves. And to wholeness.

So, in reality, there are NO warnings and NO concerns. Throw yourself from the precipice of your rational understanding and fear not to hit the ground. Whatever you experience, treasure in your heart. And do NOT let the skepticism of anyone daunt you. However, it IS best to keep your experiences to yourself, perhaps only relating them to ONE individual that you know is a fearless contemplative. If you receive words of caution and reservation from them, however, cease talking to them. You must pursue your 'folly' to find wisdom. Follow the injunction of St. Clare!!!!!!! (quoted at the top of this blog).

That doesn't mean that the mystical life isn't 'dangerous'. Far from it. But if you persist in what you know to be true on the inside, you will be fine. The point is to trust, trust, and trust again.

To anyone who tells you differently say (inside) "get behind me!".

7.28.10

cover thy face.
cover thy body.
let no one see your eyes.
let no spirit see thy hands.

for thou are holy.
to look upon you, unprepared, is death.

even as moses came down from on high
and a covering was made for his face
for the light that came from it was pain and death to those who saw it.

even so, your entire body shall be made like unto the powerful rays of the sun at midday.
to look upon you will be suffering to the impure.

but to the few, blessing and healing.

7.27.10

prayer is like working magic tricks--a child could do it---with 20 years experience.

my experience today felt like that. it was simple---but it's taken me 29 years of prayer and lots of trial and error to get there.

7.26.10

in my lonliness, i sometimes wonder if it would be safe to ask to be freed from it.
perhaps i am safer in my world of beauty, of exquisite pains, of sweet nothings.
the occasional passerby seems to intersect a part of my world from time to time, but like a traveler from another place altogether other, their eyes can see only what they expect, and so, see little. i try to show them my prized roses, but they can see only ashes.

but perhaps, my garden grows best in solitude. and even, on occasion, my blessed trees, my beloved vines, and my precious flowers ask me to leave them in further solitude for a spell. they have their own secret rites as well. when they invite me back in, all is more wondrous than before.

so, i garden and bask and love and cry and fear nearly alone. and perhaps the once-in-a-while visitor makes it all the more sweet.

7.25.10

what is god, religion, faith, prayer. and why.
if theosis is a reality, and achieved, then what?

and so, if we are become the heart of god, what shall we do?
as i do not know, i can only imitate based on wild guesses.

i'll presume creation, love of beauty, sensuality, sporadic spurts of destruction, but never total.

so off i go.

7.23.10

Love Mgsr. Jordan's newest post. "Fern-ness". Priceless. Very zen.

He made a comment about how hard the AJC seminary process is and that most seminarians give up. I'm sure it's true, although it's true of the big churches, too. It's funny, and although I'm not an AJC seminarian, my own seminary experience is similar. My Bishop just this week told me what I need to 'become' (I already know what I need to 'do') in order to just enter the deaconate (as to the former up to now it's always been, 'we'll see'). You wouldn't believe the answer even if i told you. But I'm not in the least perturbed, ruffled or even surprised. I'm too busy being a 'fern.' Although I'm a pretty sexy fern, so that's something . . . . I can feel my fronds, my stem, and roots going down into the holy soil. And the fine mist. It is enough.

Thanks Jordan. You've nailed it again!

7.22.10

auger red.
pot of black.
woad in abundance.
stain me now. cover me. let my body be the book of the law.
may my flesh be a holy icon.

my lidded eyes have secrets. my arms show the might of god.
my back his symbols esoteric and terrible.
runes of glory, runes of power, runes of death on my chest, my ribs, my loins.
on my legs, the hope of glory.
i have become the ****. the **** cannot be named.

if you are ready to die, to lay your flesh on the ground, to let your mind be consumed, you may read my body with your fingers. and the burning shall not stop until your madness is consumed.

i shall do with you things more terrible than you can imagine, my eyes alone pierce and cut to your heart. i pierce bone and sinew. the merest touch of my finger would slay the greatest demon inside you.

that is enough.

only those who need me not may lie with me. and then why? for my union is the union with all things.

beware, as your eyes will spin, the world a void, the stars brighter than suns, the darkness welcome.

do you not yet see? I am the hunter of men. you shall die, your blood nurturing the virgin grass. and from your corpse, from your corpse, from your corpse i say, shall come a new heaven and a new earth.

7.21.10

"Condemned to Freedom." Read Hoeller's quite excellent essay (not without its flaws, I'll put in) on sexuality. I particularly love his reference to the British quip: “Do what you wish, but don’t do it in the road and frighten the horses.”

7.20.10

And there shall be no other.

And you shall see well with only darkness to light your path.

The light of others shall blind you. And so you don the holy vestments that I provide, vestments that cover your head, and eyes, and body pure.

And you shall walk, walk with faith beyond faith. For you know nothing of any world other than the ground beneath your feet; yet, you walk confidently, like a field-marshall across his battlefield, like a wizard to meet the opposing army, like a priest of the holy fire confronting evil.

There shall be no foe that shall daunt you.

For you are bereft of fear, abandoned by pain, ignored by death. You know only your purpose, sealed and tattooed and branded and scarred into your flesh. Your flesh so holy and white, so pure and fragrant--it is as iron upon iron, steel over steel, ivory new over fire.

Walk uprightly! Your every stride is a conquering. Your every heart-beat is of a victorious tyrant over lands long lusted-for.

Arise! Be taken up into the highest heaven! For you are a prophet who in every moment has fulfilled his calling. Each prickle of a hair against your skin is greater than the collision of worlds.

Praise! Glory! Exaltation! This life, this life is only for those who can accept much pleasure, laugh at tears and smile at pains, wounds to the bone are as flies at soup.

Your will is unbearable, unbreakable. For if it were to break, the world would collapse in ash and putrefaction. The sun would sink into nothingness and the cosmos dissolve. You are the backbone of the ages. The superstructure of all things. Fear! Loathing! Unbearable Light!

And they wonder why we cover ourselves in prayer.

Oh God! O Will! O Love! O my soul! Care for the souls near us. Let them not die in ashes, but let our grace protect them from us. So that we may love also and destroy only that which is not Us, not You, not Holy.

And the burdens, crushing, of immortal power and flame and smoke crush us down to death, yet we find the smallest of crevices in which to yet breathe, command, act. We live to live; breathe to breathe, we eat to eat. And in our hands, powers unnameable.

7.20.10

I've had fun with my other (professional) blog today. take a visit----it's all about "ruthlessness". I think we as mystics/gnostics/nonconforming participants in this great process of universal theosis, will find the below song and video extremely satisfying, ironic, and thought-provoking. Take a look. Afterwards, if you are interested, you can visit my other site (it's all about professional development, etc.) here.

The Calling - Wherever You Will Go (Official Music Video). Watch more top selected videos about: The Calling

7.17.10

i have one physical challenge that occasionally is not ameliorated by medication. today is one of those days. makes every movement, every breath, every thought and action close to unbearable. the only relief is my holy work. so i'm looking forward to my afternoon quiet time. alot.

peace to all those who deal with pain of whatever sort every day---i am so thankful that i experience my disability only once a month or less. (well, that's with the perspective, somewhat suspect, that my 'normal' functioning is, well, 'normal'). ;-)

blessings,
p

A Diversion---The (Inverted) Theology of the LOTR

OK. Am I the ONLY one to notice that maybe, JUST MAYBE, JRR Tolkien was either anti-gnostic (unconsciously) or PURPOSELY made the conflict in the LOTR ambiguous--so ambiguous that perhaps we are intended to think about the story THE OTHER WAY AROUND???!!!

I mean, the symbol of the oneness of a ring seems holy enough; and it certainly seems that dwarves and elves have been in rebellion against their ring-giver (liege) (Sauron). And it also seems clear that the great kings who were given their nine rings have immortal life. Why is this picture starting to look all 'slanty'? Have we noticed that the world of men has DIMINISHED since Sauron was rejected and allegedly defeated? Why have they not REPOPULATED in 3 thousand years? Come on. It doesn't take that long. Orcs are derisively called hideous and weak and wrecked elves: but what else WOULD you call elves who made the OTHER decision; the decision to stay loyal to the POWER in Middle-Earth? And besides, there is no question that the elves are navel-gazing quitters. They care little (if anything) for any other life form and at any rate are taking their leave of the Earth for no apparent reason other than their own whim. If Sauron is SO EVIL, why not stay and fight? Also, any possible CONNECTION with Sauron (the palantiri) is considered to drive men mad or evil. Hmm. It all very much smacks of 'he who wins the battle writes the history'. And the story, if one is a little creative, could be written entirely from another perspective (a la "Wicked" vs. "The Wizard of Oz."

For example, is it not true that Sauron's kingdom, while employing physical creatures, is one "not of this earth"? Is it not true that wearing the ONE RING gives the wearer the ability to see another realm--a spiritual realm that becomes more and more real while the physical reality becomes more and more dim and shadowy? Doesn't this sound just like what the mystical / gnostic life is like?

I won't belabor it, but I get the feeling that this book is all wrong, and perhaps intentionally so: just like the Rabbis of old telling the people NOT to read or think about certain passages--only for their own good (that is, for the stupid and lazy) and only to challenge the worthy (to break their injunction and find the sweet, hidden truths within Torah).

Just a thought.

That, and I think Balrogs are really, really cool. How could something so cool be evil? After all, who disturbed WHOSE dwelling? Who trespassed against WHOSE dominion?

And I can't help but put in the parting shot about the Rohirrim---whose land was STOLEN from the native inhabitants and given to them by a more powerful king (Gondor), and nurtured a 1000 year enmity. What does THAT sound like, eh?

Just riffing . . . . .

7.16.10

my heart fills my entire chest. my throat always constricted.
my eyes always closed, even if open.
there are no words for *it*. all things and all knowledge melt away.
i sit for hours, just being ONE.

but when i act, it is the right action.
if i move my finger, it is to curse or bless.
if i move my eye, it is to SEE.
if i walk . . . if i walk . . . i cannot say it.

as i sit, i am all in all.

i am a nothing, of course. i am the almighty--
how is it that others can look upon me an live?
i can barely look upon myself without shuddering and trembling in holy fear.

for my skin like molten alabaster
my hair, deadly darts.
my eyes, piercing like daggers
my hands, always holding power.

do you see now?

i long to share this existence, but even the words of others in agreement fade, they are faint, i can hardly hear. so faint and dim is all the bright, springlike world.

how alive to me is the pungent, smokey, deathly fire and dark kingdom of my twin.
how piercing and clear the air like shards of glass and unassailable pillars of crystal is the skyward realm of my triplet.

and how base, quaint, faded and tattered is the world of my flesh--except for my own flesh, which shines, glorious.

do you see now?

7.13.10

why, o lord, are you so tender, so gentle?
why is your love, though i wish it to be like a father of old,
why is it softer than a mother's breast,
lighter than sweetest air,
more caring and more wise than the best of benevolent cunning men?
why o lord do you not chastise me? for this i could understand.

but thy mercies, thy mercies are water on parched lips.
thy locks like silk and honey.
thy body safe, strong, a mountain.

such a companion one could never in a 1000 years have found.
yet you have found me. i worship your footprints.
and yet you pick me up, wipe my face and say only, 'follow, sweet one!'

7.12.10

this darkness that is light
it makes all 'knowledge' and 'reason' worse than rags,
more filthy than excrement,
more deadly than poison.

it is only the sweetness of the sublime union
that will satisfy the truly decadent . . . . .

it is pleasure untold,
pain exquisite,
immolation pure,
fullness like fire inside of fire--
a conflagration insatiable and inextinguishable.

o holy divine! you give and give and give again.
and i, now nearly nothing, no longer receive
but am given.

let me be the bread crushed! CRUSHED!
the wine drunk! CONSUMED!

o god. we span the stars and ant hills together.
we shoot holy beams of death and life, our fingers one.
my body your helpless avatar.
my mind your boisterous laugh.
my pains your idle moments.
my joys your wounds.
my death your food.

o god. life is too sweet for me. like cakes and wines ambrosial.
o god. living is too much pain, like heaviness that pulls apart the limbs.
o god. breathing is like Sisyphus and rock. to leave this glorious temple of flesh,
i would gladly bare all and flee into the desert in glorious nakedness.

but as yet, your kindliness has one bound: i must live out my long days double-sighted.
no freedom from your tiny creation do i have as yet.
but i am content.

for i am thou. and you hold my hand, sweetly. and i rest my head against thy breast so sure, trusting in your gaze upon eternity. and i sleep, yes I sleep. and on some nights, so banish the demons from my mind, and i rest in thy lap.