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.