God doesn’t give us ANYTHING by mistake
not fear, not fury, not hate.
Those who say hatred is “evil”
with their own hatred
this holy truth:
That it is one of the shapes taken
in being human.
A sea of black jewels masquerading as sharp, cutting weapons,
we are universal in hatred, as hatred, itself, is universal,
…but only if we open the door to the vault.
Hatred takes form when all else fails,
the frontier of last resort,
where anger and will are throttled,
when we are crushed by
the forces of misunderstanding
In one cataclysmic blow
*the source of light compresses*
a black hole is forged hiding in a small, black vault inside us.
To find God,
In other words,
look in unlikely places.
Don’t deposit your hatred in others to deny it,
or claim it unspiritual,
or hide it in shame, disappearing
yourself into the size of an un-recognizable pin.
Turn back, into yourself,
towards your ticket to ride.
Seek hatred out where it hides,
There, when you do, you will likely find the face of the one who ruined you.
— forget them —
I will say it 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.
So find it.
And, if, in the search
(and they surely will)
set them aside too.
We are not hurting anyone by opening the vault.
We are relishing our God given right to
experience ALL that we are
…entitled to this as we are
to the air we breathe.
Take a breath, take many breaths.
And when you’ve found in yourself enough of a guest house,
open your arms.
Follow its shape,
allow it to permeate you
in whatever subtle movement it takes.
Slick and syrupy black,
perhaps curling like smoke through
sinews and sensations,
through inner dark caves of awareness.
And when it reaches your eyes,
let them tell you what they need you to see,
let them see with fire if the need to.
Sense the path taken
as the current enters your feet
your strong, full thighs
Feel the hurt, the fury,
the cold and the hot of it.
Taste the delicate, distinctive, dark kiss with reverence.
And if, in this full sea of demon-y pleasure,
you still seek to condemn,
then let there now be massive, black cannon balls that fire from your fingertips.
the essence of dynamite
the sheer Power of it.
And when you cry, because you will cry,
because the seams of you can not help but split in the space of
this kind of love
this kind of power
then let the warm river of tears fall over you.
All over you,
your innocence has arrived,
welcome home sweet one.
* * *
So, do it.
Without our surrender, it’s a hell on earth.
With it, a certain taste heaven.
A diamond made from dynamite.
A sacred jewel.
Why leave that lying in a vault somewhere?