I am crying a bit in a way that makes the soul sing.
I understand I am light. I understand I am worthy. I know I am beauty.
But still this ache sits at my soul: a bird on a ledge who is lost and forsaken; her beak open; her mouth full. And still she bleeds out starvation.
“Why world do you persecute me?” she cries.
“Why do you torment me?”
“Why do you harbor such ill will?”
“Why am I trapped in such a terrible, wicked place?”
Indeed, the universe answers back:
Is it not you we have made in the richest colors, the hues of honesty, righteousness, caressing kisses, and adoration, akin to the angels? Have we not given you visions, and possibilities, endless possibilities? Have we not answered each and every prayer, as you wished?
When is it enough, my dear? We cannot make heaven into earth. We cannot bring you what you long for without taking your first from where you are. Come hither and see, peek into our world and we shall hold you still; but we cannot take that which is naught and spin it into the golden staircase of liberation.
Break open this spell you cast upon your own weary eyes; the ways of withering have ended. Expand your soul to the endless sunlight, and dance in the reign of our glory. For you are not alone, were never alone, and shall never be. Each and everyone of our children is free. Each and everyone unified, whole, and enriched with the flavor of Christ.
You aren’t but this toy found in the gutter: broken, useless, played out. You are the maker, the breaker, the very essence of the joy unleashed in the play yard. Can you not see, you are the child running through the meadow’s grass, burdens lifted, aches released as the funnel that steers the water blue from the sap of morrows.
Look and you will see that the coming has neither ceased nor begun, but always has been. Look and you will see that there is not this wallowing in pain, as no pain can transpire whilst dancing in the light of grace.
Why do you fear us in the way you fear the rest, when all about we call out to you in unison. “Come my lady of the valley spring, where the flowers cast out the weeds’ fears. Come my lady of the river’s ocean, leading us as one into the blending of life blood.”
All is as all is, and yet you wander about, some lost child of the universe, weeping for the way home. You are home. Can you not see this? All about you is home. The beauty awaits you in the sunlit hours of your dreams. Hither forward no more, and cease the pattering of the cause. We are the cause. We are the way. And all about you we pour out the splendid repercussion of our union.
Can you not see we dance in you; our wings lifted in tailor-made splendor, waving across the chalice of your soul. We are never more gone than the wind, never more missing than the sliver of hope that sleeps in the depths of your beauty.
Oh, our beautiful, beautiful one, do not lose hope. Do not think you are this or that. You are what we are, untied from the burdens of castration and set down upon our threshold as the sacrificial lamb of love. As we are, you are. And together we aspire to greatness. Not because we are great. Not because we be great. Not because we claim a stake where others sleep in splendid slumber deep. But because they all are this. They all are the coming together of unity. And each thread, though frayed and sprawled out in infinite rainbows, is this beauty.
Breathe. Breathe in and feel the glory of us, and no longer fluster yourself in the reasons behind no reason. All is, and in this way, we are.