I hope this makes sense, though I know it doesn't nearly always. It still needs a lot more work if it is ever going to go anywhere. Also, it made more sense when I wrote it, but then again I was a little drunk. Unfortunately the format and spacing doesn't seem to translate from Word to the forum. Thanks for reading. Any criticism, even saying, "This is garbage!" is fine. I don't usually share anything anyway. The sepulcher of truth is sealed, a worn out embassy to brilliant visions of creation, a triumphant statue of declining immortality; the fountain of history is burbling beneath a half erected monument. Timelessness and divine failure—a subtle shift occurs, and off into eternity the light of being races through the darkness! Within this dark is where we are, and I am me for now. I work from the presence of the unknown. My steps are traced back to the nascent void of rupturing expansion. I wander stunned through forevers reaching beyond the moon and stars. I stare and succumb to the divine constellates of heavenly animations. We have always worked in due process together on the prophecy of self. The deepest truths reveal themselves in obvious miens. The favorite feelings expose themselves in wonderful experience. The worst moments become ourselves in awkward painful realization. The divine constantly discovers itself in all unveilings of spiritual creation. The embryonic wombs of the cosmos—clouds and fields of stars and galaxies—create the vast repose of an eternal and nebulous splendor. To a universe, tensions seem a disease capitulating disharmony, missteps, the out of synch; all orbits wander and list through arches like angels. Such beauty, frightening, such reality, emancipating – illuminating— we are free to roam in constant heavenly discovery. Maybe the never-ending is a strange craft we have forgotten. Maybe dynamic celestial cycles outweigh all of humanities concerns. Maybe we are being born and dying and reborn and dying. Maybe it is all a process and a presence—eternal as being as alive as living. All dreams come and go in their broadcast favorite styles. As we are, we condemn and recommend, necessitate and eliminate, act accordingly to the simplest and complex of appealing whims. Yet we wander blindly, deeply, in the myriad uncertain realms of even our most guarded, geometric souls. It is as if we await an epiphany, the truest moment we have been denied— we are no longer in an objective world, steeped in nighttime’s solitude. Rather, we progress upon an infinite line, through complex structures flowing deep, and parallel a unity that is no more than a grasp away: We reside in stride with God, within this grateful suffering epoch— We are fellow instruments in understanding this whole of what we deem believing.
