THE CLOSET MYSTIC

where is here?

when is now?

more and more questions,

less and less solid ground.

…

oh, it’s all so normal!

gigantic ball of plasma light,

the hand of God,

like a kid being spun by their dad

hands connected, feet lifted,

dizzying and exhilarating.

oh, it’s all so normal.

vast universe! infinite! unending! 

art– everywhere! 

art is everything!

(how comforting 

the infinite of this universe is,

so much still uncorrupted 

by man’s hand.)

oh, it’s all so normal.

the night sky’s tapestry

diamond-studded cave

watery marble suspended

in the vacuum of space.

oh, it’s all so normal.

can you imagine yourself:

just for a second:

sitting on the moon:

on the seashore of the cosmic ocean–

the unnerving superiority 

of the true Black Sea–

then thinking 

of 

tariffs

…?

oh, the HUBRIS!

let me take every political leader

launch them into orbit 

peel open their eyelids 

and confront them with the void 

tell me. can they still be reached?

Neptune-ruled,

starry-eyed,

glimmer glamour.

Everyone sees 

what they want to see–

everyone’s mirror.

None to see 

what’s beneath the sheen–

just checking their complexion.

They lean to see 

what’s between their teeth

testing that budding blemish.

My eyes:

a one-way window.

I look and see them,

they see themselves.

But I’m in here.

You told me you’d die for me… as if you didn’t already have a death wish.

I never wanted you to die for me. All I ever wanted was to see you truly live. 

Sometimes I feel like it’s much harder to live for someone than it is to die for someone.

Live. Live to the full. That would be the greatest gift you could give me.

between the inner and outer

is the greatest of schisms

oh, the lost riches,

oh, the forgotten wisdom.

oh, the scholarly folly,

oh, the illumined illiteracy. 

go burn your textbooks–

study the moon’s craters.

your body will wither,

your mind will flourish.

the meek inherit,

the rich perish.

these impure virgins,

these holy harlots,

condemned papacies,

salvation by heresy.

the last shall be first,

the first shall be last,

i went and found god

amongst the outcasts.

it is that place of absolute trust and surrender,

it is flow. it is flow with the current of absolute knowing, its waters seamlessly integrated into action, the dams and obstacles of doubt cleared from the river.

it is flow, it is where the place of absolute knowing is seamlessly integrated into action. doubt and fear are contagions that infect our minds, their sick, black vines that spread and take hold, tightening round each of our limbs, confining, restraining, limiting; then, we cannot swim in that river, no, we sink, we sink.

the mystical is about learning to trust again. the mystical is about taking the anchor off of our ankles; the more we fear, the more we forget how to swim in those mystical waters.

but when you trust, when you trust, you lose yourself and you find yourself. there is a place of perfect knowing, where you slip from your consciousness, it is like you black out and lose all control, and yet what possesses you is truth, like that place of pure potential that you always knew existed in your heart if you could just–get–it–right spills forth. flow. it is flow. 

in these visions, i always see myself as a child. it is the mind of a child that often has not learned to fear. it is the mind of a child that trusts more readily, more easily. the mind of a child that will not question itself; the mind of a child that has not yet built the dam of adulthood to restrict that river of flow.

it is fearless. it is fearless. it is beyond all worldly fear. it is the part of myself that never learned how to fear. it is the part of myself that knows the spirit has nothing to fear; the body’s natural instincts of self-preservation have no say there. there is no self to preserve, there is no mortal flesh capable of decaying. there is a vehicle — the body — inhabited by the mustard seed. the indestructible mustard seed.