By the love of my foe.
By the recognition of what he has lost, in himself,
and what, as a result
– in the grand sweep of History –
was taken from me.
Beneath that history,
a hidden under-world,
a secret passage.
I take it.
I almost die.
Again and again.
I marvel at the resurrections,
in the end,
I am so terribly much more than I think.
The biggest mess I make of life,
is in the daily resistance to be who I already am.
The demons lose their power in a blink with this.
Hovering like characters in a scary movie that
I am old enough, now, to know is not real.
Inherent to my human condition: Limits.
Of course I am limited, aren’t you?
My foe — my fellow traveler?
It does not trouble me now.
Knowing that I am also infinite.
In-destructably made from the fabric of life and death and life and death.
Why resist all this limited, imperfect splendor?
And what use is there, here,
“I” am the only body and soul I have in this precious lifetime.
My principal spouse.
Love me or leave me.
I surrender to consequence.
At times torturous, at times blissful consequence.
The roadmap to homecoming.
Inside and out.
Beyond inside and out.
How can I possibly imagine
I do not