THE CLOSET MYSTIC

This is no longer art,

I need help.

This is no longer art,

I am hurting.

This is no longer art, I am bleeding.

I need the love I never got,

I need the hand I never held.

I need help.

I need a lot of things,

But most importantly,

I may need to die.

I may need to die because I never lived.

This isn’t art, this isn’t a poem. I am going to die. 

If you see this, reach out, I need it — 

My heart needs two to continue beating.

I fear the time I have is limited,

Dust in the wind,

Sparse, and fleeting.

I’m ready to give myself away

To present my neck

To let the vampires begin their feeding

To sustain themselves on my mortal bleeding

Anyone but me should have this lifeblood

Maybe they can put it to good use —

But I cannot.

I was born to die young

For the weight 

of my mental state

Cannot be sustained 

Now I am youthful, vital

The Herculean task can be managed

But as my posture wilts

I fear so too will my will

I lived a life of pretending

No, I never lived. 

All I know is blackness

Black in my veins

Tar in my heart

Every smile feigned

All laughter pained

And you

You

What are you?

I only know you by feeling

For I am blind

I am deaf

I cannot register you 

with any other sense

Than that of my heart

And there I know you.

Nothing else matters

Other than that one sense

And I am sorry

That I sought to know you

In any other way.

Because in doing so

I forgot you

I forgot me

I forgot goodness

I forgot daytime

I forgot fresh air

I forgot the hummingbirds

I forgot butterflies dancing on the wind

I forgot

But now I remember

Now I remember.

This is no longer art

It’s time to enact

Remedial measures

Of my proclivities

For meaningless pleasures

Rooted in emptiness

Vacuous spaces

Unclothed bodies

Without any faces

Blinded by instinct

Carnal and tasteless

Ruled by desire

Most plain and basic

Sexual vice

a bottomless pit

To be satisfied

First look within

Warmth that lasts

comes from the heart

If you see that

Then healing will start

Sex and love

Are not synonymous

Even bare bodies

Can still be anonymous

Real intimacy

Has no substitution

I’ll leave you with that,

My poem’s conclusion.

From reality,

I took a sabbatical,

Mind ventured to planes

so distant, unfathomable —

In my hand 

Fell the forbidden apple —

Revealing to me secrets,

with which I couldn’t grapple —

Relishing truth’s sweetness,

I ignore the seeds in the middle —

Invigorated and sleepless,

on a turning wheel of riddles — 

And only one being,

Did give me my wake up call — 

To pull me off the ride,

And at last stand firm and tall — 

You’ve shown me the work

From which I did run — 

Now I’ve no choice,

Thanks to you — yes, you are the one —

For I am unsatisfied

With the way in which I live

I want to do nothing more

That you must again and again forgive

The light of your heart

Has revealed to me a hidden path

On it I willingly embark 

Hoping to be your right hand

I hope I have shown you

My willingness to action

And you are my fuel

Yes, my heart, and my passion.

From reality,

I took a sabbatical,

Mind ventured to planes

so distant, unfathomable —

In my hand 

Fell the forbidden apple —

Revealing to me secrets,

with which I couldn’t grapple —

Relishing truth’s sweetness,

I ignore the seeds in the middle —

Invigorated and sleepless,

on a turning wheel of riddles — 

And only one being,

Did give me my wake up call — 

To pull me off the ride,

And at last stand firm and tall — 

You’ve shown me the work

From which I did run — 

Now I’ve no choice,

Thanks to you — yes, you, perhaps the One —

For I am unsatisfied

With the way in which I live

I want to do nothing more

That you must again and again forgive

The light of your heart

Has revealed to me a hidden path

On it I willingly embark 

Hoping to be your right hand

I hope I have shown you

My willingness to action

And you are my fuel

Yes, my heart, and my passion.

how pompous it is of us to wear shoes

What better symbol is there for human arrogance?

Make yourself like the ground. Let there be no dividing barrier between you and the dirt, for we are the dirt, that which is our beginning, our middle, and our end.

the soil of the Mother is our birth, our sustenance, and our final resting place. Refuse this connection as long as you would like.

Never trust a mystic who wears shoes.

The umbilical cord is located in the feet. Sustain your connection with the Mother. Birth is an illusion, as we will always be entirely dependent on the great woman who holds us all in a mutual womb. Separation is an illusion; putting our feet in the dirt shatters the illusion and only reveals truth.

Know that there is a reason why Venus is synonymous with Lucifer, why they are both known as the Morningstar —

Know that as Venus makes us fall (in love), so too did Lucifer fall from the heavens after his rebellion against Father,

Know that love can inspire us to rebel against the ways of old,

Love, as the bringer of light and enlightenment, can set us free from the wrongdoings of our ancestors, of those who came before us, and it can give us the courage to become better than them, even if it means being outcast from their embrace —

Know that you did this for me, know that your love is what inspired me to live in truth — truth that would mean exile.

But I’d have it no other way.

And the only being for me to conquer is myself;

And I learned that through surrender, I’d do just that.

So I yield; I yield; I yield, I wave my white flag in submission, holy surrender.

And then victory becomes mine.

Just so you know, I never intended for any of this to happen.

I just need to get that way out of the way before I tell you what I am about to tell you.

I. Never. Wanted. It. To. Happen.

that being said…

I had been diving inward in a newfound meditation practice for weeks on end. 

I sought to identify with the eye of the storm, instead of the perpetual hurricane that was my mind. I had fought the chaos for so long, wrestling the crocodile of my own psyche down, down, down, down, drawing on years and years and years of athletic background to do so — no, not in terms of physical prowess, but in the mental conditioning that suffering and pain were to be pushed through with gritted teeth and clenched fists, fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms and drew blood, yielding ever more pain to be fought through…

So when I had discovered that meditation could grant peace, that by surrendering and submitting to the chaos, I’d actually win the fight, somehow — that by giving up, waving my white flag, so too would the enemy, that the enemy was me, the enemy was me, and I was looking into a mirror, such is the nature of the Moon, the reflector, ruler of our inward domain,

I was that crocodile, I was that enemy, and when I sat, so too did my nemesis. Me, me, me, it was me all along, every time I pointed the finger, I was pointing it at myself, the more I pointed, the farther I got from the point — 

So, yeah. I had just started meditating. Daily. And things started to happen. Things that had already been happening, but were now taking on a newfound intensity, letting the “clair” in clairvoyance multiply by infinity and a half, whereas before I had my ear pressed against the door, and it was all muffled unless the conversations taking place behind it were particularly loud,

Now that door was blown off of its hinges, because I was meditating, and I had learned something critical about that door and the conversations I had eavesdropped  on:

That door was time, a dividing barrier between now and then, the present and the future, and the person speaking on the other side of the door was me, I thought that there were several, but such is the nature of the multiverse, the many “me’s” that were in conversation with each other, all shouting a critical message,

So it was that Tuesday morning. I had my coffee. I sat down to meditate. I contemplated meditating in the Sun or not, and I chose against it. I sat in a nondescript corner of my room, insignificant, nothing special, but the event that would take place in that very corner made me remember why rags would inevitably turn into riches, why lead would inevitably be made into gold, why diamonds were found only in roughs…

So there I sat, there I sat. I focused on my breath, my attention scattered in a million directions, the state of matter of my mind being gaseous, gaseous, gaseous, now liquid, liquid, liquid, coming in, condensing, condensing, condensing, into a very solid,

Until that solid began to condense. It began to condense into itself, and I fell into it. It condensed so greatly that I think it became a singularity, a single point in time and space with such a great gravitational force that not only could light not escape from it, time couldn’t either…

Then I heard. 

I opened my eyes, and before me was a being of light. “Bioluminescent” was how my human mind interpreted it, but there was another mind on top of that mind that gave it a word I could not comprehend, but all the same knew beyond a shadow of doubt, a level of familiarity I had never before known, a level of familiarity greater than my family, my mother, my favorite blanket, my own body and hand, a level of familiarity that was more familiar than familiar:

Arcturus. Arcturus. I was looking upon a man… no, it was definitely a woman. No, no, no… it was definitely a man. Was it.. both? It was somehow both, entirely both, and yet it was not either, and yet it was only man and only woman and both at the same time and then not again — 

He slowed me down. I felt her spirit reach out to me. He stopped me, she shut up this rambling until his mind was my mind, and she lovingly domineered my internal monologue until it was only his:

I attempt to translate this into human English, but it was not that, and more meaning than I am comfortable with is bound to be lost in that process — energy is inevitably lost every time it changes form — 

The most self-serving and selfish of people must inevitably realize that the single greatest thing they can do for themselves is humbly give to and love on others. No greater gains exist in any other act.

Additionally, the most selfless and meek of all people must realize, too, that they do others a great service by engaging in self-advocacy, for enabling another’s selfishness and laziness is to stunt their growth and do them a major disservice.

I was born

To be rejected

Objectified,

Dehumanized,

A frog born to be dissected

Organs given

In the name of science

I’d kill myself

Out of curiosity.

This week, my plans

Are as follows:

Monday, mow the lawn.

Tuesday, go to bingo night.

Wednesday, go to the beach.

Thursday, paint with my friends.

Friday, kill myself.

I’m not convinced of the decision

Having any sort of permanence

I’d like to try my limits.

I’d skip into the store

Hair in pigtails. A lollipop being suckled upon.

I’m dressed in pink! Thigh-high, rainbow socks. Glitter on my eyelids, because it’s cute.

I’d grab the rope with a lighthearted smile. I’d ask the employee their opinion on what the best rope for self-annihilation is with a giggle. I’d caress his arm, and compliment his eyes.

I’d make flirtatious small talk with the cashier. He’d ask my plans with the rope, perhaps — from my demeanor that oscillates between sultry and innocent — expecting me to hint that my well-endowed partner would be tying me up that night.

I’d tell him the truth with a grin. I’d giggle like a schoolgirl. He’d be taken aback, not know how to respond, all of the blood still in his nether regions.

I’d skip on out the door, telling him I’d see him later — I wouldn’t — innocently wagging my hips as I exit, leaving him a mixture of aroused and terrified.

That’s how I like my men.