For the longest time,
I survived,
by tethering my desire to live,
to one fantasy of love fulfilled,
that was the ever-frozen dawn
on the dark horizon of my life.
It gave me strength but kept me weak.
To love an image in time more,
than you love yourself now,
is a dangerous predicament.
That tether that was my life-line,
was an anchor into disassociation:
a chain pulling me into the river of time,
away from the unloved pain here and now.
As a person, I loved my own annihilation.
Above all else to be empty undefined identityless.
The existential relief of being freed from destiny.
The truth was I shunned life, because it was too much
for my brittle little heart to bear.
Eliminating all personal preference,
rejecting all desires, all conditions,
rejecting every trace of identity,
I savagely cut at the image of the person I am,
prayed for death, and cursed this gentle body,
in a frantic hatred of this flesh-prison of form,
from which, I thought, my formless spirit must escape.
Poor tortured fool I was then.
Like a zealot believing in better things, that
the person – the consciousness-self-sentience
coalescing out of the body’s quantum possibilities,
was itself the sin-entanglement that kept my soul uncertain.
Thank God for this change. That my heart could finally love-eat its pain.
“Better” is a war. Peace has space for what is.
The person, its desires, life itself, are the canvas, tools, and colours for the art of love.
Love like the sun’s light from the formless
nourishes without notion of better: without conditions.
The final hypocrisy of identity is this,
favouring one possibility and excluding all others,
while from the Oneness of pure potential arises one and all.
So let me gently be,
and allow life to live itself,
as frantic choice gives way to peaceful habit,
There is no one to need a dream to live for.
All I am is All I am,
What is here and now,
is the coal that burns bright in my heart, as love transmutes and forgives the limited into the infintie.