I have never told my family, who are a devout lot - or even my friends, who are not -
but I live outside of the story.
I phase in and out of this body and the landscape on which it lives, where one moment follows another - and I enter a place where the moment hangs suspended. It is dynamic and it unfolds ceaselessly, but it is still and never-ending. I dwell there for ages, except there are no ages,
there is only the moment.
When I meet a stranger or even just see a stranger, whatever their mask may be, I reach out
and touch them from the inside. And even though their essence remains solitary and sacred,
I walk a mile in their shoes - every moment, every step, every painful fall and glorious run.
Crowds can be overwhelming but I quiet the tide at will.
In my repose, the past is like the future - variations of themes within variations of themes -
flaring to the forefront, receding back to the silent bed of what might have been.
There are times when I feel myself splaying into a trillion little drops, spilling over and through
a trillion realities. I disappear in diffusion - yet I am still me.
There are other things.
So what would I tell people when they speak of their lords? - on a planet where there are those
who hate in the name of love for God.
What would I tell my dear family when they speak of reverence?
That my very life aches with reverence?
That The Creator looks through my eyes? - and theirs.
I remain silent.
I choose not to be crucified.
but I live outside of the story.
I phase in and out of this body and the landscape on which it lives, where one moment follows another - and I enter a place where the moment hangs suspended. It is dynamic and it unfolds ceaselessly, but it is still and never-ending. I dwell there for ages, except there are no ages,
there is only the moment.
When I meet a stranger or even just see a stranger, whatever their mask may be, I reach out
and touch them from the inside. And even though their essence remains solitary and sacred,
I walk a mile in their shoes - every moment, every step, every painful fall and glorious run.
Crowds can be overwhelming but I quiet the tide at will.
In my repose, the past is like the future - variations of themes within variations of themes -
flaring to the forefront, receding back to the silent bed of what might have been.
There are times when I feel myself splaying into a trillion little drops, spilling over and through
a trillion realities. I disappear in diffusion - yet I am still me.
There are other things.
So what would I tell people when they speak of their lords? - on a planet where there are those
who hate in the name of love for God.
What would I tell my dear family when they speak of reverence?
That my very life aches with reverence?
That The Creator looks through my eyes? - and theirs.
I remain silent.
I choose not to be crucified.
Written Content G.A.M. cc
Consecrated Logan5
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