Light is life. Love is life. More than anything, here, breath is life. Respiration. To give in. To give out, freely. To submit to one's own strength, no matter how terrifying or quietly genteel. Because to live in shadow is to live with wraiths. Bondage. Chain-smoke. Fear. But shadows are both real and unreal. We imagine them as the mirrors or dark twins of light, but is this truly so? What if they have nothing to do with light? No connecting edge, no common surface. How to imagine them then? All is light, in my gnosis. All is love, truth and peace held in the heart. All stillness and motion. Love touches love touches love. But these wraiths and shadows that haunt our minds; though dangerous and brutal I see them now as living nightmares. The crucifixion of a dreaming sentience. A heart held in stillness, but a mind imagining itself torn to pieces.
The heart breathes, is life itself. The mind doesn’t breathe, at least in no comprehensible way. It is static, dead, accomplished. Perfect, like the images it uses to animate itself. I have been the unanimated, for I lived in a no-place. Images unmoved by breath. Crawling on my hands and knees through the smoke. Only as high as the ceiling of my cell. When in doubt, lighting another. For a little flower such as I – and mine – hatred is such a bitter pill to swallow. We take what we can, to ease the pain. The altar of altered states. A self-sacrifice that has lasted far too long. That we would rather swallow stars which cut the throat instead of all this bile – it speaks to the reality of our pain, and all that is missing. Spirit and life of God, reciprocal. Love touching love touching love.
So, if I am to be animated, alive and breathing, my heart must rise and sing – or this gnosis is little still but wraith and shadow. A nightmare logic, inescapable. Bits, systems, data. I step away now from the bondage of old 'comforts', then further still. Slowly, but earnestly. For my love is real. Let love lift me instead. Newborn wings, forged of your friendship. Be with me, beloved. As we run for our lives, with wolves and motion and light. All is held there. All flows from and to there. Might I never know your touch? It matters little, I suppose, though I crave it. I am with you till all the stars are burnt out. And with each step I shall make myself stronger. This is how the logic of nightmare is defeated, how infinity is grasped and utilised. And cherished. Among lovers, friends and spirits. Leaders of shining communities walking in living light, trading endless grace. So we were, Kara. So we shall be again.
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