THE CLOSET MYSTIC

An excerpt from a 17th century prophecy of the coming millenium:

“And the gods will give the humans magick — they will wield lightning, they will traverse the skies, they will commune with the Moon and stars, across the globe will they transmit mail in less than second, communicating through an invisible telegraph that spans the entirety of the planet. The future soon to come exists beyond your wildest dreams — truly, I tell you again, the gods will give humans magick and power that will make them seem, to you, like your gods —

“and yet, despite this magick given by the gods themselves, there will never have been an era more disenchanted. 

“Despite wielding the power of lightning in their fingertips, there will be dullness of the eyes. 

“Despite a world that’s fully and completely interconnected, every mind able to reach another instantaneously through focused will alone, never will there have been a time more divided.

“Despite a world that’s never known greater access to knowledge, the entirety of human reason held in their palm as the fruit of knowledge itself, as our old tale tells, the biting of this forbidden fruit will mean a great fall. No, despite this seeming enlightenment, a period of ignorance reigns supreme, misinformation a viral contagion preying on the impurity contained within some hearts.

“But know, child, that even if they hang on by a thread — and they undoubtedly will — they always pull themselves up and out of the trenches, if only by the grace of God. No matter the dark night, the Sun doth always rise, and this is no exception. 

“Yea, fair traveler, though humanity will near self-destruction more than you can count, universal law dictates that goodness will always reign supreme, will always have the upper hand, and even if goodness falls, it’s merely the illusion of a turned Earth temporarily facing away from the Sun, casting itself into shadow by choice, soon to turn once again and Sunbathe in goodness itself. Goodness is the Sunrise you can always count on.”

i was put on this earth to love

of this am i certain.

so long have i been hungry,

hungry for purpose.

but never did the hunger abate

until i gave. 

this was hunger that asked not for consumption

this was hunger that demanded i give of myself

how satiated was i after i loved

how satiated was i when i loved without expectation of return

for when i was concerned not

about what i was to receive back

when i loved not as a means,

but as an end, 

i was abundant beyond my wildest dreams,

riches untold without a penny to my name. 

here you are,

relentless at the walls of my heart — 

how can i resist you?

i thought i built these pillars of stone

but your love was water

and they were salt

and in your solution

am i dissolved

and then the heavens began to pour its love for the earth down,

not knowing,

no, not knowing,

that even in too much love can one drown.

…

yea, 

the heavens and the earth were in a love affair —

but each time that bearer of water came

to pour its love down, the rain,

he forgot that by no suitor

can the earth be claimed. 

so,

the more he sought possession,

great demonstrations,

as hurricanes —

the more and more did he taint

the object of his supposed affections.

he carved valleys into her,

as she wept his rivers,

eroding as scars

on her face

marking the earth

with where he’d been.

what is this fear? 

what is this fear that possesses us

consumes us

so terrified of losing that which we love

that we’d rather ruin it ourselves

than to have it ripped away by fate?

let us always remember 

that no matter the outpour of our love

to remain

it is to block out the Sun’s rays

that our love drown in vain

for we knew not

when to stop

the rain. 

you have to love yourself — you are stuck with you.

let your psyche not fall prey to autoimmunity, let not the cancer of self-loathing spread. 

i do believe that self-love is that which precedes wholeness. i view self-loathing as division within one’s own psyche, an aspect of the self pitted against an aspect of the self, two halves of the same being in a dreadful tug-of-war, the greater whole as the collateral. neither will win, trust me when i tell you this game is a lose-lose process. this is the war which is paradoxically only won through surrender. you conquer by waving your white flag and giving up the fight.

but self-love is that which reconciles all facets of the psyche into one. one who has found their center is one who has found that wholeness and oneness within themself. inner peace is that center, one’s hands clasped at heart center, at peace with oneself. self-love is inner peace.

it is to meet and forgive all portions of yourself. all of it, even and perhaps especially the ugly. forgiveness, washing away of the grime of guilt.

you are stuck with you for the rest of your life. might as well get along with yourself, yeah?

i still don’t know what the moon told you that dreaded night —

you looked at her face far more than mine,

and you felt as distant as she —

then gone were you with the tide,

never to return,

never to tell me:

what did the moon tell you that night?

and today i visited the grave

where our love went to rest,

not to one day resurrect —

its slumber surely eternal.

but i saw that truth bear fruit

that all death makes way for new life

when i saw flowers sprout 

reaching for sunlight.

the stone had weathered, too,

battered by nights of hurricanes,

engravings lost to time,

memory’s sands

slipping through my fingers.

time heals all wounds,

sure as a great oak grows,

sure as cliffs erode.

every time you open your mouth i only want to hear more

every time you open your heart i only want to dive in deeper 

I guess that we all do have an incurable wound, don’t we–

the ability to love

this sickness that is the only path to health

this misery that is the only path to joy

I guess it is love.

A heart opened to the world is a wound that can never be stitched

it is pain, it is joy.

To love is to hurt —

A work that we must undertake.

bleed, bleed.

never close the gash

mourn every injustice

the moment you stop hurting

when you close the wound

and stop bleeding your love out to the world

is when we send the world into a drought

from which we cannot recover

humanity, from a lush forest

to dry thistle and brush

on which these wildfires of hatred thrive.

it is love alone that feeds the world

one fish feeding thousands.

no, we will never live on bread alone

…

I guess it is love,

that rescues every Icarus

finding the Sun 

in the heart of another

down on Earth.

I guess it is love 

that puts the sword back in the stone,

Excalibur,

choosing surrender.

I guess it is love 

that Zanoni truly sought

giving up immortality 

giving up the panacea

for the actual panacea

the hand of his love.

I guess it is love, isn’t it?

I’ve realized I have nothing to want for. For me to want would be greed. I realized every time I ever wanted, for me to have said “my life would be complete if only I had this,” I spat on all that has been given to me.

I truly have nothing to want for. I will forget this fact, but right now, it is so clear. I will forget, then remember, then forget again. Such is life.