I am the wolf that hungers for the Moon, and the other me has devoured the Sun. Like Full Moons, Solstices likewise take three days, and as I’m writing this, the peak has been achieved, the self annihilated, and the afterglow still holds us up for a minute before everything plunges into the dark half of the year. It’s all good as long as we don’t look down. But even once we do, it’s still all good. We’re floating in the saving blood of the Lamb after all. I did a thing today. I set down all thoughts, including self-doubt, and took a step, and it matters. I tapped into the self that flew over the carnage of my youth and kept going, not powered by dreams, but powered by the flow that needs not ask questions about the self.
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. -Matthew 11:29-30, NIV
No one is without sin. No one lives without past hurt. I may let the wolfsong ring out louder than most, but it does not make me worse than most, simply more honest. The Eucharist is a dangerous precedent unless properly understood. In it, a man humbles himself to be consumed, provides a never-ending feast to those who love him. His gifts never run out. To the doubtful one he offers his wound to be tried and penetrated with shaking fingers. In the process of dying, his divinity did not shield him from mortal doubt, so he can emphatize with it all too well. That fear was part of the hard bargain. It perfected everything.
You live in the gaps between my thoughts. You fill the tide-turn between inhale and exhale. You are the mystery refusing to open itself to me, the deer I chase, the blood I lick off of the forest floor while shaking from hunger and unmet desires. God approves all of this. God understands humanity’s need to dress what is holy in the shape of humanity. I want to understand you. I want to consume you in a fairy banquet from which you’ll wake up both exhausted and exalted, made a mess of and purified, as a carcass whose hollow ribcage is being picked apart by the birds, and as a stag in his prime flying across the fields as if unencumbered by gravity.
The tempest is over. Every leaf glistens in newly found freshness. I can still taste your salt on my tongue. Sleep well; for neither of us knows what the future will bring, and we must be rested and happy to receive it.
Lähiönoita 