MERCIFUL WITNESS! Cloned and memory-wiped into tight-fisted thugs with street-smart histories, bless you for whisking us through this riot of Self-forgetting.
Walk with us now, briskly, through this spiritual winter, as we dart through the window-smashing mob of moods, the me-story graffiti that junkyards the tongue, ending before there’s a chance of beginning, the language of inter-being, until suddenly, on a wall full of tattered flyers, (proof of past lives that once deeply mattered) the faint outline of a door swings open, a flurry of hands motioning us in to the headquarters of an underground army (Soul Lives Matter) where the patriots of tomorrow warm their hands round the wood stove of Presence as the subversive tea of self-inquiry is served, cup after contemplative cup, until that shivering waif in rags (who we think we are) finally crumbles into a lump of grateful weeping on the sheepskin of god, dreaming.
Then later, in the evening, after meditation and singing, walk us out under the vault of heaven, womb of mythology, twelve cycles of seven, each birth chart a wound-gift only Saturn could leaven. Bless you for dipping us in this archetypal slurry, minds hissing and bubbling in a planet-sized kiln, slow fired, no hurry, the heat of each moment, fine tuned to harden Your wabi-sabi cookware, imperfections give character to each cracked vessel of prayer cooling quietly on the shelf of every elder.
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