apotheosis

Instinct

It’s funny how no matter how deeply we understand a word, phrase, person, or innately stored concept, our attempts to convey said understanding always falls short.  The way we define things is only ever an approximation. The way we use the words we do and why we choose them are mere facsimile when juxtaposed to our innate understanding of concepts.  Even the most eloquent members of our species are doomed ever to build the shoddiest bridges of communion from one seat of consciousness to another.  Despite this apparent gross mishandling of language, we are always compelled to pin our “best attempt” at communication to the surface of another’s perception.  We are like islands of being.  “Good writing gets down to the essence of things,” a good mentor once told me. There is a divinity ceded within brevity.

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A Reflection on The Transient & The Ephemeral

What lies at the core of worship?

Even the most devout atheist, in some form of another worships.

There exists, a compulsion in humanity, to latch oneself, an agent of transience, to The Fantastic, The Ephemeral, The Numinous.  Whether it is to a God, or perhaps zealous adherence to secular scientific doctrine, maybe even The Artist who seeks to affix herself to eternity vis a vis her magnum opus, effectively becoming a saint of her craft.

In the simple work that we do…

In regards to the pursuits we engage in with ease, that feel as a natural extension of self expression; what springboards the individual towards mastery?  For the hobbies we love, we enjoy them not simply for the sake of the act, but rather mastery of the act itself.  I do not believe this is simply an outpouring of Western tradition, it seems worldwide people are not content to write a story, but rather write the best story they have the capacity to write.  It seems a very human thing to triumph over and above oneself.

At times I have felt when I am writing my poetry that it is not so much me that is writing but rather I am having a higher metaphysical communion with a force or agent of which I am only capturing the bare minimum due to the poor capacity of my feeble mind.  Forever relegated to snatch crumbs but never perceive the big picture.

But this isn’t true at all is it.  The human brain is as of the moment of my writing the most complicated and sophisticated structure in the known universe.  What am I really yearning for in my pursuits? As I live and draw breath and wake up with vague purpose, living through the banality of my day hazily and lazily until The Spark ignites in me during truly singular moments.   Like when looking at a beautiful woman and being moved to a state of selfless expression.  Or waiting vacantly for the maelstrom of ideation to take hold of my wanting consciousness. What moves me to strive? Above and beyond. It validates my existence in a way that is so existential I feel I could handle any great expanse of time or myriad obstacles The World would throw my way so long as I retain mere embers of The Spark.

For without my art I am lost…

A flame absent a wick on which to burn…

Even as I’m writing this something stirs within me…maybe a psychologist would have some designation for what it is I’m feeling, maybe what I’m saying is wholly insignificant, experienced by innumerable human souls before me since antiquity.  But this feeling of being tethered to something greater as I pursue the highest capacity of this instance of my work, I believe lies at the heart of worship.

It is in these singular moments of silent, nigh psychic communion, perhaps with my subconscious or the metaphysical world beyond, that I feel lies the crux of worship.  It is in these moments that I feel Death holds no sway over me and that although my flesh is bound to erode I am fundamentally impervious to destruction.

I am comforted.

I personally am not necessarily all that religious, I am also a staunch proponent for much secular science, but in moments like this I believe…In the ever twisting and stretching limbs of Space and Time, I am significant not because my work will be honored, but because I have honored my work.

We are all vehicles to the destination of immortality.

Worship faithfully.

I Remember You

[If I had two hands with the depths of God’s…I would pull out everything I feel for you and hang it in the night sky.

I would fashion everlasting, a unity between the two of us persisting like a couplet, sung until it burned through the foundation of matter smelting space and time into a universe.

I would tie myself to you and ask for nothing more…

If I had two hands with the depths of God’s I would scarcely scratch the surface for all that I feel for you…]

(I ruminate on proximity…The closest I could ever be is a mile away. Holding to you is like holding Life itself, in all of it’s splendid and myriad virtues, as well as the tenebrous tangling profane.

You are my movement, my joy, my ease, my light, all things cosmic and gentle…fiery and intimate. I smile with half the effort without you.

Like hands in warm sand and draped in ocean mist I want to breathe you in like a kept promise, like a sudden remembrance, like a return home.

I don’t know but I feel you are my origin…)

{I would lay everything at your feet.

I would meet you at the intersection of art and romance, where power gives way to mercy, and where melanin trades with each other.

Every ounce of your skin I would adorn, no subtlety, I would greet you with thunder.

My hands, my mouth, my eyes, would be made for you…

My skin, my strength, my appetite, would devour you…

No matter how close you were, I would reach for you some more,

Thighs, chest, lips, searching for your roots.

Parting you from senseless senses, heaving you to the coterminous.

I would carry you to the far side of rhapsody…}

Because I remember you…

The Numinous Waters of Aquarius

Within still waters.
Let my skin breathe.
Against vaulted walls painted like skies.
Stretch my mind to tether infinite.
Bellow old ruined thrones and scattered crevices.
Tread my veins.
Pour overflowing.
Word over word.
Ringing, extolling, parables.
Etch yourself within, beyond.
I as anchor, you as beacon.
Call forth tides.
Heave in silence.
Whisper from the deepest cracks.

Fire & Water in The Mouth of Ophiuchus

Beauty resplendent in glory like sunlight,
Won’t you hold me close to your burning skin?
Won’t you draw me in with those eyes like flames?
Boil away the shallow doubts interceding in my veins like frigid rivers of rumination reminiscent of indecision hesitant longings and parting ways.
Won’t you ignite my Summer days?
Ring around my skin like thick coils,
Tongue fluttering like fantasy, black sand restless tides finding comfort in my shadow. The place you reside when you illuminate my desire.
A tight clutch while you drink me in, Sun soaked, star drenched, delight drugged, desperately drunk, existential expression.
Expectantly awaiting touch…
Hot and Wet makes steam.
Fire and Water makes dreams.

Black Goddess

Black goddess
You come bearing gifts with names like peace and poetry.
May I remind you of your smile?
Your beauty contours within the mind with potency.
You beckon with divinity that doth preach to me humility.
May I remind you that your smile occupies infinity?
With that deep seated skin of envy, loose curls, black beach, rolling waves, of aromatic ecstasy.
May I remind you of your smile infinitely?
You come bearing exotic gifts like emotions and longing for memories.
I’ll put a place for you on my ambition’s throne, for women like you belong in the heart of song and deserve to make dreams their home…
May I remind you to whom your smile belongs?
I just want to lease it, with an extended lifetime warranty in case I misplace it.
May I remind you of your complexity?
Omniscient, because all I know is all the things that I would do for you.
Omnipotent, because you empower, design, desire and creativity.
Omnipresent because no matter where I go I can’t stop thinking about you, filling my vision with your dominion.
That is your work Goddess…that is your worth to me.