The Poetry of Anastasis

Основа Храму Основа Храму – не скелі та каміння. Карти немає. Немає гіда. Є тільки сприйняття. Він має форму, і дуже чітко визначену, але її можна лише розкрити, а не вкрасти чи придбати.

There was a time of peace inner, outer, winner, loser, richer, poorer sighted, blind We can all go to bed to work to prayer to learn to play Only with our thoughts, speech, the words of others. One day that changed. At first as if over your shoulder someone was speaking—perhaps whispering. As if during your shower someone was speaking—perhaps whispering. As if during your drive someone was speaking—perhaps whispering. Ignorable at first. It must have been my imagination—you have thought. No one behind me… huh. No one in the house…huh. No one in the car, and the radio’s off… what? Slowly this became routine. Slowly this became mundane. You put it out of mind. Occasionally, it would bubble up again… There it is again… huh. Little by little it felt as if there was a group of people discussing things. Various things. Of various qualities. Then a crowd. Then many languages. Suddenly, it felt as if the world was having an invisible conversation. Now it’s deafeningly loud. Now it’s harder to ignore. Now it is no more.

One of the most controversial things in the bible is the phrase “Love Thy Enemy” and I’ve always struggled with this one. Then one day I came across an answer: You absorb it. You absorb their anger. You absorb their violence. You absorb their malice. You absorb it.

It’s one of the first tests. Either you turn from corruption, or it turns you.

You thought you set the book down The word ruminates The scenes linger The taste still there Morning. Sun light. Peace. The road. The sun blinding. Have I died? A fat man yelling. Demanding. Screaming. No I’m still here. Pressure. You open the book again. It’s the same book you knew. The words the same. But you’re different. You’re not the same. But the words sound different.

The easiest thing Who are you trying to reach You were reaching Finding nothing at all You dug in deep Your heart and soul in your hands Bloody and ephemeral Your heart falls from your left hand and on the ground it falls Your soul in your right hand You squeeze it tight, The words can’t come. The shadow falls and you fall with it.

Your doors are your keepers. Your dread and salvation. They keep out the bad. They bottle in the good. But your life is not within them Your life is out there beyond them Where there is suffering and uncertainty. You certainly track it in. You’re sitting inside Suddenly bottled up Pressure Why is it all so hard? Why is it all so suddenly unbearable? Why does it suddenly hurt so much? There’s out there and you’re in here. What’s out there that’s not in here? What did I track in? and is it not out there? no, it is not out there. It is in here.

Redwood sequoias in your front yard Palm trees in your back yard Beating sea and bay beyond. You go through motions you do not see. The winding Hill through mountains still. Still. Still your mind, the world is racing through. Still. Still your body, the pain is here. Still. Still—your soul is still. Pressure. You gaze at your closed door. You step out and run, run past the gardens, and through the redwoods to the cliff, down the cliff to the raging sea. Metanoia waited for you here God. Mind. Purpose. Embraced. You were out there, yet you waited. And, now you’re back. How does it feel? Different still. You ran the wind. You ran the sea. You spoke the wind. You spoke the sea. Now you see.

Ok, now I see. A shape on the horizon of the aetherial plane. Shimmering. Glimmering. A foundation laid. The foundation not of rocks and stones. There were no maps. There were no guides. There was only perception. An architectural blueprint that could not be stolen nor acquired. Now masons are required. He Himself must choose them for His service, as they may not elect themselves. Who are my mother and brothers? Who are my blood relations? The laborers will know when they are called to service. The laborers will know his gold dimensions, they never dimmed. Each masonry piece perfectly and exactly placed as planned. Shimmering brighter, clearer, louder in their mind and eyes. They may finally indeed look. They may finally indeed listen. They will perceive. They will comprehend. The wind. The sea. The sky. The temple promised. Your Will is master of this Wall, Your Pick-Axe needed.

Come small world and open up your beautiful visage The rivers curve and curl in sea of time The oceans build and move the earth The continents rise up into mountains and subside Come small world and become the big world you can become Is it true that you do not exist unless someone observes you? That you are in an unimaginable amount of configurations until eyes fall upon you? Until you are heard? That day you are felt? Looking at you through the portal of my gaze you are so much more than they describe. Have they truly not taken your full measure? You are everywhere and then I look and there you are. The consensus of the observers is sought to create material reality. The immaterial noncontingent reality embraces my mind and soul and… and… I hold His hand, knowing His measure, in a place where there is neither here nor there. We’re here.

Our will. Wanting something to love. Moved our understanding to see. With the most minute seed He began. A whisper beckoning you to open your soul and see. There is an eternal forest growing in the aether. He plants the seeds and welcomes you to cultivate. You wander though lush foliage. His rays caressing your visage. The world binds. Here you are free. Filled with Grace. The Fall erased. The mirage lingers on your tongue like a sweet nectar never before. What is this you are feeling? This strength. This… heft. This… seriousness. Pressure. Creation is imperiled, the fires of The Leviathan burn bright on the horizon. The creatures… flee. The smoke obscures. Leviathan’s breath washes over you tonight. How much longer? Not much longer.

Sometimes you don’t know what to read. Sometimes you don’t know what to do. Sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know. That’s why I have a cat. My cat likes to bite. My cat likes to sleep on my neck, between my feet, and under my armpit. He wakes me up every morning with a nuzzle in my face. Her knows it’s breakfast time! Anubis is the best. The most softest velvety black cat. He thinks he’s a big bad cat, he takes me head on during horse play and never backs down. But here’s a secret… he’s a CHICKEN! He’s still the little kitten that found me in a parking lot before a big snow storm. He picked me, and wouldn’t leave me alone. Couldn’t get him to leave. Didn’t have the heart to send him to a shelter. Now, every day I come home from work he greets me with a big loud happy “Mrrrr—Meeeow!” as he sits smiling on the granite kitchen island counter top, by my front door. “Hiii! Buuudy! How are you? Give me a hug!” He stands up on his hind legs and gives me a big ‘ole hug and a cat smooch. I love my cat.

Sometimes you don’t know what to eat. Sometimes you don’t know what you’re craving for. Sometimes you don’t know how to prepare it. That’s why I cook. It’s always an adventure. I always make something new. And, I always learn something new. Every recipe I learn a new technique, or a flavor, or a new ingredient.

You long for the suns rays to dance across your face in the morning. This place is so cold, damp, and lonely. You hear other fallen muttering outside your locked metal door. “How long have I been in here? It feels like an eternity.” Small comfort in here you only get when you get into bed at night. The walls are claustrophobic, always oppressively there, reminding you of your limitations. No where to hide nowhere to escape to. Screams. Those screams. Always those screams. The wailing of the damned. Condemned to the same fate as yourself. They’re always fighting, either themselves, or the walls. There is light in here, but it is synthetic. Not real light. It’s irritating, and if you focus on it for too long you begin to feel your sanity begin to Slip. Bit—by—bit. That ever present buzz of A reality that is and isn’t real. Well, it’s all you ever knew. How could you complain. You could not, however, shake the feeling that there is something more, something other than this god forsaken place, out there. Lights out. You close your eyes, and as you begin to drift off into the void, you reach out in desperation. “This can’t be it. This can’t Be all that there is for me, All there ever was, all There ever will be. No! Please. Please. Please…. Please.” You feel a warmth on your cheek as your sob produces a tear that your eye involuntarily produces and The void takes you. You rouse to an overwhelming feeling of security that penetrates you to your core. What is this? I’ve never this feeling before. A God ray pierces the gloom of your cell the tiny opening window a window you have in your cell and caresses your face. “There is more more. Follow along.” “More? Of this?” “None of that which surrounds you, more of that which does not.” Huh. Okay.