THE CLOSET MYSTIC

Is gentleness

The alchemical panacea

I have long sought?

Like the ouroboros

The beginning is the end

And my womb was the ocean

To the ocean I shall return

In the beginning,

I crawled from the sea

My old stomping grounds

Are the Pacific’s shores

I slept on pillows of sand

I wore tunics of seaweed

Adornments of shells 

And of pearls

Each gifted by the goddess

To remind me of my origins

I learned to swim

Before I learned to crawl

I understood intuitively

The hand of the Moon

Cradled me and my kin

We payed her homage

Through dance

Around blazing bonfire

Full Moons invigorating the senses

Reminding us that each life has its peak

And when it comes,

To dance through the night

She taught me about family

That we are all related by blood

That the border between the animate

And inanimate

Is completely and utterly

Imaginary

She taught me that diet

Is more than what’s in your stomach

But what you allow into your heart

And that there cannot be input

Without output

That it is a gift to love others

That you gain

When you give

She taught me that Moonlight

Can be gathered into your hands

She taught me that Moonlight

Exists in our dreams

She taught me that Moonlight is love

And can be absorbed with every sense

It can be tasted, smelt, 

You can take in its texture 

Rolling it between your fingers

You can listen to it sing 

and speak

She taught me that you are Moonlight

And that I am too

She taught me that love is pain

For no one will ever love you greater

Than your mother

And that she will labor

In agony to bring you to this world

But she’d do it gladly over and over again

Enduring torture if need be

Simply to see you smile

The mother holds me in her hands

Gazing and cooing

And I watch as she changes shape

I watch as the months go by

I learn from her when she is

A gibbous

A crescent
New

Full

That even if she can’t be seen

She still carries me

That her power is subtle

Omnipresent

Permeating all

Animating all

And that her love is rage

And that her rage is born of love

And I am water

Delicate
Fragile.

I’m a boy like a pond

My eyes always armed

With an army of tears

And I can’t turn it off

I can’t turn the feelings off

And I love myself for it

I want to swaddle the world in my arms

And weep for every being’s suffering

I could cry out oceans 

I could cry out rivers

You’ve no idea my arsenal of water

You’ve no idea the hidden water table of my being

Every being has an aquifer they don’t show the world

Underneath the surface

But it’s all I can see

I can only see their water

And is that so wrong? 

We are all 70% water

So even if I forget the other 30%

I’m still 70% right

I will always be the child within

But like recognizes like — 

So I will always see

No matter the age of who is before me

That soft child,

That delicate being 

Who needs gentle words of reassurance

Let me hold the world

Show me all who haven’t been adored the way they deserve

Let me mother every being

Every hardened man,

Brows permanently furrowed,

Let me kiss his forehead,

and watch scar tissue dissolve.

Let me be the pacifying warmth that every terrified man, woman, and child needs

Give this world the hug of the Mother

Oh, heavens,

Do we all need it

So often we treat self worth as a function of supply and demand.

We so often think we have little value, just as any commodity might, if we don’t feel highly desired, or in high demand.

The less who desire something, the lower its price might be. But do not forget the supply side of the equation. The lower something’s supply is, too, the higher does its value become.

There is only one of you.

Therefore, your value will always, ALWAYS be through the roof, the stratosphere, and into the stars.

Mother’s awfully protective of her young

Her tempestuous love

Will turn the winds into legions of banshees

The seas shall hunt continents for trophy

Her lifeblood spills forth as magma

The land splits into gashes

With sweltering volcanic winters

The rage of the goddess

Is a million

black widows’ stings

Tempt her not,

for one tear of her grief

Is yet another Black Death

Untouchable by witch doctors

Her wail would send mankind

Into the Dark Ages once again

Honor your mother

For every heartbeat of yours

is at her hand

An act of mercy

for all of man

love this.

the realm of the subjective is where all meaning is derived. nothing can mean anything without feeling. this is why I think using the objective faculties of rationale, words, and logic to discuss the meaning of life will inevitably fall short.

a healthy dose of embracing the “irrational” realm of feeling is key, I think, to a meaningful life. logic can act as a prison if we use it in excess

edit: I just realized you were taking your post in a slightly different direction. Yes, I agree that a lack of spiritual nourishment can lead us, in our confusion, to seek cheap sensory substitutes.

I think there is a reason why many old spiritual paths advised some degree of asceticism in the pursuit of the divine. In allowing oneself to be deprived of sensory pleasures, we may end up finding everlasting nourishment far greater than any material pleasure could ever incur. (I once wrote a piece — hyperbolizing to make a point — that ascetics are the greatest hedonists of us all, for the pleasure and bliss that they find is everlasting and infinitely greater than any carnal pleasure one could ever indulge in.)

For example, one may give up meaningless sex — which may have mistakenly been used to cope with a lack of intimacy and connection, only leaving one emptier than before — and end up finding deep love, for themself and/or from another, far more beautiful than any hook up could ever give.

I think if we take an honest look at our vices, we can find what it is our souls are truly asking for. Then, with a bit of a push, we can upgrade whatever cheap substitute we’ve been using for a higher, more pure, and subtle version of it!

I’ve lost myself,

I’ve found myself,

In an alchemical wonderland —

Every atom, 

Molecule,

And DNA strand,

Is a knuckle,

Or finger,

On the Hidden Hand —

On my own two feet, 

I need not stand — 

For he lifts me up,

He lifts me up.

On gusts of wind,

Do I surf,

Sky blue eyes,

They glitter,

veiling a smirk.

For they hold hidden truths,

Seeing your true nature,

The divine within,

at work.

…

Who would need

To transcend the mundane?

Art is relative —

Simply observe 

what is before you.

The dull and drab,

Will begin to glitter.

All,

Including that which doesn’t glitter

Is gold.

Pore over the Kybalion.

If below is like Above,

Do you not realize

That you are 
Constantly stargazing?

Come, my darling,

Come drink from this cup — 

I’ve prepared for you

Moonwater, from our lady above

Sip from the silver ambrosia

Take in her distilled essence 

Breathe in new life

And renewed luminescence

she’s missed your gaze

Tracking her transforming

from gibbous to crescent

Open your hands,

Make below like above,

Fill your heart with the heavens

…

Pitifully, 

condescendingly,

did he ask me:

“How does it feel,
Knowing you’ll be lost at sea

Your entire life?”

Chin up,

I looked him in the eye.

I chuckled. 

“How could anyone

possibly

be lost at home?”

…

Here is the Mother’s hand strongest.

Here does my patroness 

make her voice 

the loudest.

You’ve deluded yourself

With fantasies of solidity.

It is the nature of nature

That the only constant

Is inconstancy 

I make my home,

In the protean epitome.

I’ve already dissolved,

Such that 

little will change

When I expire. 

I know those,

So intent on separation,

In this vast and chaotic sea,

That they will willingly 

Keep themselves from the Sun

To make themselves so cold

That they become 

ice.

No, 

I embrace those rays.

I melt,
I melt,

I melt.

I am not afraid. 

To the future love of my life,

I need you to know so many things.

One day, however far in the future from now, you will be reading this, a letter from 23-year-old me, filled with longing, confusion, yearning, and deep emotional sensitivity – but, ultimately, predominantly hope.

I need you to know that maybe I haven’t met you, but I love you already. I need you to know that you make me full. You make me feel whole and complete, you make me feel like all of this waiting was completely and utterly worth it. You make me happy. You give me hope in humanity. You give me strength. 

I need you to know that I will protect our future children with all of my might and strength. I need you to know that I haven’t been perfect, but I always strive for betterment. I will always listen to constructive criticism, and put my very best foot forward in improving. I need you to know that I want our love to be characterized by growth, and both of us looking forward, propelling us in our respective very best directions. 

I need you to know that if and when I inevitably mess up, it’s never on purpose. I need you to know that I can get a little confused, but I’m trying my best to figure things, and myself, out. I need you to know that I’ll never intentionally hurt you, and if I do, I hope that you can confide in me and let me know that I have. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me, and I hope you know that I’ll always forgive you for the same. I know you won’t be perfect either, and that we’ll both have our own baggage that we enter the relationship with. I hope you know that I’m here to help you carry yours, and I know you’re here to help me carry mine.

I hope you know I love you in your imperfections, and I see perfection in your heart. Both of us will work on bringing the best out in each other, lifting the other up when we stumble. I hope you can love me in my imperfection, and know that I always mean well, even if it’s inevitably misguided.

I need you to know that I lay in bed at night longing for you. I need you to know how excited I am to fall asleep next to you, to lay in bed next to you. I can’t wait to see the sunlight pour on your face in the mornings, I can’t wait to make you breakfast in bed. I can’t wait to stroke your hair as we watch movies, I cannot wait to kiss you. I cannot wait to hug you, I cannot wait to hold your hand. I cannot wait for us to one day create a happy home, and hopefully a family, together. I cannot wait to be the best father that I can be. I hope you know that you and our future family give me strength, I hope you know that I am putting in the work now to become the very best man that I can be for us. 

I hope you know that sometimes I’ll worry, but when I do, it’s out of care. I will care, and I’ll care a lot. All I need is the slightest bit of reassurance – a little goes a long way. Maybe sometimes I’ll need a firm hand to smack me back into reality and get my head screwed on straight. I hope you know if you do it lovingly, and even with a good sense of humor, I’ll appreciate it, laugh it off, and carry on. 

I hope you know I love you. I hope you know that sometimes I can lose myself in love. The boundaries of my heart readily dissolve – I’m working on it. I hope you know that you will be my very source of inspiration, my greatest strength, my ultimate weakness, and you will set my heart aflame. I hope you know it already burns for you, and I rise each day determined to conquer, for I want to be strong for those I love.

I hope you are ready for me too. I hope you’re longing for me too. I hope you know that I am going to give you everything I possibly can, and I cannot wait to create a beautiful life together.

I love you.

I can’t wait to laugh with you. I can’t wait to laugh with you, to be silly with you, to ugly cry with you, to make you dinner, to make you breakfast, to pack you food to work with cute little notes, to do anything and everything I possibly can to remind you how much I love you. I hope you know I will be very protective, and if anyone slights you, I may need to restrain myself. I hope you know that you are my passion, you are my fuel, you are my sunshine, and that we were made for each other.

I cannot wait to dance under the moonlight with you, to be swept away by the impossible magic of the moment. I cannot wait to embrace serendipity with you, to embrace spontaneity, to embrace the mystery latent within each moment just as we embrace the immense mystery of our love, that mystifying and impossible force that confuses all of our senses, and yet provides the greatest clarity conceivable.

I love you, I love you, I love you, and I’m marching towards you now.

Until we meet,

Omar

let me be a reminder

of a world forgotten

of a time before the Fall

still fused with the Garden

~

A world of perfect harmony,

and never-ending Bliss,

all beings as one heart,

all holding true love’s kiss —

in this world without wrongs,

we need no forgiveness —

to the unending miracle

all creatures bear witness —

~

so let us elope

for all of our days

come to the meadow

be fearless and play

~

know this is the world

from which I do hail

and this one right here

when compared does pale

but its memory

simply will not fade

and for all the world

I’d never ever trade

born in Eden’s garden

Made to pick the cherries

To weave crowns of flowers

And petition all the fairies

To sing to me their songs

recounting tales of the ages

of rights and of wrongs,

And wisdom of the sages

and e’ry time

That the Night may fall

I’ll count the stars

Let me count them all

gathering their dust

Just to use as makeup

letting the Milky Way

be eyeshadow

let me don Venus

a pearly necklace

can I wear Jupiter on a ring?

Can you cloak me in lunar silver?

will you lay beside me

and interlace your fingers into mine?

Will you let me be your Aphrodite?

Share with me the forbidden fruit

let us both fall

farther and farther into each other