Cultural guidance. Cultural practices. Cultural secrets.
In the decoding, we lose mystery, rather, the mystery becomes human.
I was a listless, (at points), child.
To admire what’s not guiding spirit—with spirit fed, unlocked, city deserts.
Trying to paint pneuma, unknowingly.
Cleansed at seconds, deeper awareness, preparing for the training grounds.
Something chemic chasing;
like eons chasing, interior/exterior privacies.
And to notice something: souls are weary of guidance.
On a sunless day, wrestling inside, hope becomes amore.
To fight against inertia: Cultural practices.
Orientated by Scripture: debating covenants—measured by reality, sudden into a greeting.
It seems heavy: to an increase in knowledge—is an increase in pains.
Or lit by fervor, bathing in sunshine, a mixture of both.
(The voyage mentors gave us.)
From crumbs to half a loaf: to subsist through silence, in living through thoughts.
By an Anchor, inclusive of Laws, unceasing orison.
At edges, cloven in twain, so much to glean, so unsteady a glint of light—
rain pouring in, impoverished they assert, or rich in spirit—
others are sensing humility, as its power,
something is taking place, on a good day.
