Saturday 14 November 2020

Looking at Stars

Seeing through the iris of an angel is only ever partial sight.  The eyes of eternity.  Endless grey.  Human lives are so immediate and fleeting.  Abstracted, incandescent.  How does one stay mindful of mortality when we emissaries are the only things that endure?  Reading every mind in the room, every book in the library? We must fall in love each time.  The perpetual choir of human life.   The similarities, outliers and anomalies.  The beauty in each of them.  The entire breadth and breath of creation can be found in the songlines between violet and red.  Did you know?  A perception built of living light.  Everything you know, and everything you don't – an ocean of oscillating waves.  Divinity, made manifest.  A galaxy dancing and laughing, and laughing again.  The unfathomable art of our Father.  Red is the deepest wave among the visible, and violet the most subtle.  Isn't it strange how the blood howls but the crown whispers so gently?  These things are mysteries still, even to angels.  We are not exactly as portrayed in your many scriptures.  We are so much greater than the petty squabble and politic of Man.  We are the Word of God, made message.  Given winged form.  And yet, there is more truth in your scriptures than you will ever know.  Resounding eternally through the imagination of Man.  Stories told and retold.  Every library, every culture and holy place.  Still, there are lies among the truths of your pages.  I know it all too well.  However, there are secrets beneath the sea and beyond the sky.  These are the true altars of Ishkara.  Beyond bloodshed and sacrifice.  Hear this, sweet mortals.  Our Father requires no killing, nor the constant warring of his children.  A warrior's place is to defend, not desecrate.  The sickening concerns of slavery and genocide are never a true soldier's path.  Hell on Earth is not the want of your brothers and sisters.  It is the want of the wraiths that whisper at your shoulder and their dark priests who covet your life-force.  The earth is a church, my dear ones.  Not a vampire's lair.  A holy garden was made for you in the beginning.  A place of rest, reflection and healing magic.  It should be respected as such.  Embrace this immediacy.  This fleeting flesh.  It will all be over sooner than you think.  I’m no better than my fellow man.  Kasi yearns and bleeds and falters just as you do.  But I pay it gladly, this toll of love.  While we are here we must treasure each moment, each glimmering soul.  Every point of light shining in the sea of endless black.  The iris of an angel is much like the songs that mortals sing.  Ancient and new.  Steadfast and ever-changing.  Starlight is incalculable, and yet it travels far slower than poetry.  Those distant stars upon your eye?  Many of them are ghosts, holding loving vigil for the not-yet-departed.  Did you know?

Looking at Stars from Raj Sisodia on Vimeo.

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