Thoughts in the Dark
Aurobindo calls to me. To unleash myeslf. To surrender all these kinks to the Divine Yoga, to outshine all. To call forth the very oragnic and electron world and obliterate them into lotus petals of saintly bliss or to just as easily laugh with no such effort. Or laugh as the effort, during the travail.
This heart hurts.
I feel a part that would just let go. Live a wild one, in the woods, the suburbs, the cemeteries. But no such place. I then troll the cemeteries of our collective minds and actions. Sitting atop the gravestones of thought and unconsciousness, like a stone gargoyle, soul painted black in love and contemplation. A 21st century archon given charge of the rites of sorrow and mourning. Loneliness its essence and sin. A wayward and dutiful son of the Father.
In the darkness of the night I rest in this truer self. When all the profusion and faces of the day dissolve into being alone.
As the Kabbalah masters have said, God is the exile. God himself is in exile.
We could sit in this Empty Tomb, after our Falls, and share chastened looks of calmness. Humbled by the space of nothing to say. Only hearts bringing all beings everywhere and everytime into embrace.
This tending of the sacred fire, the sacred memory of all our ancestors.
Let all else, for this night, pass---and rest in this dark illumination alone.