Epiphanic Diaries2025-07-06
A Compass in the Dark
In response to
Faith, or Doubt, confronts The ever-looming Tyranny of thought storms.
Intent, in attendance, Sorts the confusion By thought, or receive.
Receive is an open hug; Thought Is a choke-point, Trying to parse throngs!
Intuition garners intent Of the enduring hopeful, Like the nectar of Orchids.
Choosing that amid myriads: Diamond gems sparkling Darkness, while slipstreaming The rest!
Fireflies winking in Dark's Deep reveal tyranny's hollow, Redeeming Hope's Endure;
Lifting above the temporal, Liberating Potential, in an Incandescent display of the Real!
Holy Intent, pooled! Essence, tinctured! Love, Alchemized! Ubiquity, gleaned! Wild Soup, served! Laughter splashed, Mid boisterous bibs!
A compass in the dark, Shoring up my faith in intent, As guide and call to prayer, A call to stop thought, And begin resonating, And remember again, And again, Six times per day, What understanding feels like.
Mind as hundred-mile rings of Jupiter, In eagle-eyed stillness, Awoken to being, Which manifests as eclipse Of all motion, Wildfire-scorched soil of Grace, Thunder-clapped silence, Prepared instrument of receive, Slow-motion erupt Of sonic-boom declaration, Of the end of nonsense.
Flash purge of biographic insistence, Blinding old eyes, Inoculating new beginnings, Scabbed insistence sloughing away, Wet soft birth of steadfast joy, Intent to share Wild Soup.