A certain expression of itself. To come as spirit wills. A dungeon to it. Moving immaterial logs, pushing through sludge, trying to enter holiness. Father of totality. Mother of Logos. Spirit made of its substance. I was a child when I heard the Good News. It was life infusing. Those days supernal exercise was natural. What would Logos be without miracles and resurrection? I would look for more, rereading eschatology. Apocalypse seemed soteriology. Scripture became spiritual. Revelation seemed symbolic. Wisdom of its soul; rites of its passage. To know by root those branches exist, with a caveat: All souls are of one rank. Off putting for some. Relief for others. Contradiction for secular souls. At baseline, devoid of mire, holiness is good. To build a rapport inside, to go as far back as a tribal self—pure consciousness. To feel holy irritability—saturated at moments. Each will have identifiers for similar phenomena … in its identification represents its reception. To believe is a gift. In belief comes faith. When paired, a wonderful experience comes forth. By holy we insist upon some arcane force, self, or community. One may reason concerning nature. In argument, each experience is deepened by perception. In giving life utterance, certain power in annunciation, without dispute, a well of chi in each soul.
