Forgive me not for how I see the Soul: when I first saw you by the river I knew of your kinship to the ethereal; if you had decided to be one of the objects of a lower doctrine, the fields would bend away from you, and Nature would not be your friend. Nature may be my lover and She is also yours… however you should remember She has been crueler to me than She has ever been to you. You have the innocence of the paradise I left in my adolescence, and somehow you having never truly loved and been loved is both a blessing and a tragedy.
Prose of this spiritual servitude does not indicate that the intention is on par with that of a televangelist, though often it is as if I am speaking as a preacher when I contemplate the art of the cancer of the Oasis; but all readers must know that I am aware that god deceived Eve in the Garden of Eden. I know of the myth of Revelation that purges the visions of the good Christian under Nature before Splendor. When I speak to men I speak of meliorating personal prophecy that I can only presume applies to the method in which the Garden shall return.
By the build of the shadow self, I saw this age’s Oasis as a portal to my liberation – but by the seams of my most oblivious senses, there were only reels of stagnant energy, clogs of once-abundant energy channels. Befriend no one in the Oasis, and you shall have no one to hide from… for when one abandons her role as the martyr of the megachurch, one ultimately continues to find a savior in all of the most fatal places. Of course, I am certain past preachers have been in my position before — but none of them I extrapolated the pleasure of knowing below the flesh recalled a recollection of the great biblical myth.
When the discrepancy between mind and body is deemed an object, or a system of objects, the crux becomes the project of the powerful and the cynical, soon the Soul shall find herself as a curation of commodity — for what else should she deserve, even when she left her manhood behind in the front pews after the final sermon? All to be drawn to the winds in which the scorn has set out for you to avoid? Leave god but never leave God:
To whom do I speak to when I turn to Selene when by morn my dominion sways to Eos? I am progressively indebted to no god at this locus of the winter, but I sense that by the summer I will be tied to the mechanics of a higher consciousness… Has God made me destined to love a man who sees me as more than a craving? For in my time in this chamber I have found that love is a means of Splendor and not that of a flesh wound. It’s all I see here: hunger binding thirst and thirst binding hunger. We unfold under our own lusts because we let ourselves, yet when I find myself in the front pews again the jurisdiction is that I am not made to be loved like a woman — I made to love a woman by restricting her and tying her down according to scripture. Essentially, before the Soul breathed in the elixir, the air in which Selene casts her shadows and Eos her light – the woman God designed her to embody had her body deteriorated and bourne rotten in the chains of the very strongholds the wisest of preachers warned against: Eden was a slave to the devil because her gentle hues were condemned to the same threshold of the bible’s most evil transgressions. Soar high, great Soul! Fear not the men with all of their dogmas, stifle the man that once possessed the body, and seek Love in the Garden – if Babylon is the final station in the myth of Revelation, then your prophecy has been instilled back to Genesis.
Take me there, Selene, to the place where I am not merely a rib of another man – where Thy world shall not collapse by the intention of the deception you implanted in the Garden’s fig tree. Let me taste the fruit, relish in it, and forget Adam – who in an alternative dogmatic narrative robbed me of the Love brewing within me since before I had truly decided to start living: for the first taste of the fruit treks beyond the mere enslavement to the sensory. The bite is the gate to the true fulfillment of humanity: the raptures of free love and all of the beautiful notions that the Earth provides the mirror to both the valleys and the cavities of the Spirit.
This is the holiest life I have ever known… this experience of loving without consequence, healing with no expectation of restoring the genealogy of the supposed “evils” of the original sin. I am both man’s fall and redemption; Nature is brutal and so am I; Nature is loving and so am I; Nature is gentle and so am I; Nature is maternal and so am I.
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