Now I know. Now I think I know. Now I know I think I know who I am. I belatedly realize myself within my very own insightful depths. Nothing much. Really. A perspective. Just expression. Expression. Expression. And truth. Omnipotent truth. All-encompassing truth. Unmediated truth. Meekly radiating small portions of divine thrust. I am the source, supreme. I influence and am influenced, unbeknown. Sensory inferences gravitate towards a vivid fountain, an obvious source. Absolute. Sovereignly incomparable. But it’s only a speck!

That’s okay. I know. 

I sing the body, magnetic. I sing the glory, unhindered. I sing luminosity in countless ways. I sing the corner light. I sing in a penumbra of secrecy. I sing in dazzling yellow. Vivid red. Blue, blue and much more blue. I sing and I am the source, supreme. 

Heat. Energy. Intensity. Efficiency. I am pure, relative coolness. I hear merry tintinnabulation. I delight in historical acumen. I imbibe in uncommon common sense. I play a leading role. I am a producer of sorts. I write long scripts. I direct from afar. 

Far from finished. No room for a stage. Not my purpose. Not really. I am thatI am. I am an ad-lib hierophant. I am the connection. My connection. Your connection. Their connection. Filled with clean, good pride, I find myself alone, cheerfully meandering about my personal, picture-perfect plateau.  

I am deep sadness. I am joy. I am as humble as can be. I am the god of thunder. And rock and roll. Still, I create. I create and create and create and create. I am the source, supreme. I am filled with sweet life. I am lord of death. I regulate. I plunder. I oppose lives. I am obedient. I have no choice. Humankind takes precarious shelter in my weary, roomy heart. Well, almost everyone.

I pinch myself and wake up in the midst of a miraculous storm. Typical summer day everywhere. Warm wind gusts. Industrious distortions rising up from the ground. Heavenly bodies so close…so close! 

Fire, fire, fire. One, two, three, and achievement. Burning mane. Fully sprung. Mature. Always ablaze. Still, deceptively reigning. Wow.

Hold on. I have just bluntly realized my intimate axiom, a long-lost friend. As of today, I no longer own the rights to my true self. I am overjoyed. Now I am doubtlessly and decisively alone.  

Hence, as I gracefully descend from my fiery pedestal I become one of you. I disappear. I disappear and grow. I become utter day-force. I become the wisdom contained within the comforting earth. Once again I create illusion. Illusion begetting illusion. Yeah, sure. Whatever. 

Here I go again. Great actor. Ah! The stage. In endless drama, in vivid, endless drama, I somehow make do. At least until I run out of encouragement. Then everyone will know. Ceilings and walls will be torn down in honor of my ascent. Scrupulously ambitious. I am the source, supreme.

Catastrophes. Cataclysms. Calamities. And annihilation. Dust settles. It always does. Humors are pacified. They always are. I look around. All I see is the writer. Down on the ground. Devastated. Destroyed. Demolished. Glistening in the morning sun. 

There are others. Children. Pleasures. Every single one. Identical in splendor. Covered in mud. Just like me. Once again, I feel bossy. I lost some, but I gained a great deal more. I won the unimaginable prize. I resisted, resisted, fought, and won. I won on sincere behalf of all. 

Then, a few more words were jotted down. It could have been residual disquietude. It could have been leftover martyrdom. No. Not me. I am incapable of such atrociousness. No. Not about me. I rest in peace in this very moment. I know. I am the source, supreme!

(Have I finally seen the light?)

Copyright © 2019 Intimate Mantra, LLC. All rights reserved