Reins on self; courage to breathe. Deeper inhalation, exhaling for eternity. It was meant to be different, dying wasn’t an original thought. Part penalty; part mercy. Such altered egos: brilliant lights, benighted asphalt. I was hungry for what Christ understood. I needed those secrets—bleeding seemed extreme, breathing requires sacrifice, courage. If Father be good, if Mother adores
us. It was never for aggravation, it was meant for holiness, such barefaced error. To undergo convergence, to have an altering experience, they ask us to walk away. I was overloaded, fraught by exhaustion, loving as it appeared to me, wrong in my endeavor. I insist on permission, what
permits travel? An outsider in tales, treasuring Wisdom, knowing Solomon passed with evidence. I never chanced faith—disputing naivety, adapting to ignorance; to lack understanding, to know for perfection, thrust through by a feeling. Too much is blasphemy; too little is ignored. It was a
together effort, souls passed. Remaining silent of God. God continues to listen. By conditions, predicaments, to ask: Will they let it go? Reins on self, trembling penmanship, petrified of Yahweh. The first rule, in a ruleless community, never applying ethics to Divinity. Such a losing cause. Such a thorough investigation. I sit to hear souls asserting what God can’t do. To some a hundredfold.
