Diamonds from Dynamite

God doesn’t give us anything by mistake
not fear, not fury, not hate.

Those who say hatred is “evil”
are negating
with their own hatred
this holy truth:
That hatred is one of the shapes taken
in being human.

Hatred takes form when all else fails,
the frontier of last resort,
where anger and will are throttled,
where the force
of misunderstanding
between us
swallows all hope.

There,
in one cataclysmic blow
*the source of light compresses*
forging a black hole,
that hides, itself,
in a small black vault deep inside us.

We are universal in this.
In hatred.
As hatred, itself, is universal.
Masquerading as a sharp, cutting weapon,
it holds a hidden sea of black jewels.
Only if we open the door to the vault.

To find God,
in other words,
look in unlikely places.

Don’t claim your hatred un-spiritual, then,
don’t deposit it in others to deny it,
or hide it in shame,
disappearing yourself
into the size of an un-recognizable pin.

Turn back, towards yourself,
towards this ticket to ride.
Seek hatred out where it hides,
inside you.

There,
when you do,
you will likely find the face of the one who ruined you:
forget them.
– I will say this again –
Forget the person, place, or thing that ruined you.
Don’t waste this font of discovery there!

The story can only unfold in the experience of it.
Here. Ground zero.
The vault inside your broken heart.
So go find it.

*  *  *  *  *

And, if, in the search,
as it will,
self-judgment arises,
set it aside, too.
Set it aside,
again and again.

Because we do not hurt anyone by opening the vault,
rather, we relish our God-given right
to experience ALL that we are,
as entitled to this,
as we are to the air we breathe.

Take a breath.
Take many breaths.
And when, in yourself,
you’ve found enough of a guest house,
open your arms.

Hold hate.

Follow its shape,
allow it to permeate you,
follow whatever subtle movement it takes,
slick and syrupy black,
curling like smoke, perhaps, through
sinews and sensations,
through inner dark caves of your awareness.
When it reaches your eyes,
let them show you what they need you to see,
let them see it
with fire
if they need to.

Feel the hurt, the fury,
the cold and the hot of it.
Sense the path taken as the elixir
enters your feet
your fingertips
your mouth
your chest
your strong, full thighs
your genitals.
Taste this delicate, dark kiss with reverence.
Feast.

And, in this full sea of demon-y pleasure,
if you still seek to condemn,
then let massive, black cannonballs fly
warp speed
from your fingertips.
Hands throbbing with power,
alive with the essence of dynamite.

*  * * *

When you then cry
– because you will cry,
because in the space of this kind of love
this kind of power
the seams of you can not help but split open –
let the warm river of tears flow over you.
As it falls, dissolving all divisions within and around you.

In the heart of your hatred
here, now met with presence,
innocence has arrived.
You. Your enemy.
No less broken than you.
No less human.  And no more.

Welcome home.
Welcome home, sweet one.
Welcome home.

* * *

So, do it.
Without seeking and without surrender,
it’s hell on earth.
With it, we taste one of many flavors of heaven.
A diamond made from dynamite.
A sacred jewel.

Belonging itself.

Why leave that lying in a vault somewhere?

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