My Writings

Blowing of the Horn

I plunge into darkness. As I fall, my feathers rot away, and my golden armor melts. I draw the blade. He said: “When, on the edge of the world the shadow comes to meet you, let my sword fly into your hands”. I raise them and there it leaps like a proud mare into my grasp.

I am a mirror, but I cannot see myself. My boat floats silently towards its goal. My sails rich with air, I remain still, being made aware to a new trembling in the heartbeat of the world. A melody distillable, distinguished from among the songs of familiar creation. With each wavelet, all hanging heavily on the tread of the ocean, I feel the shadow rising.

When it came for me,

I raised my being above the stature of man and spoke thus: I am a heart washed in chilies a thousand fold, again and again eaten by the undeserving – I still pump blood. I burn those who raise their voice above mine from, the inside. Their eyes become fire like the cruel efreet.

The dragon prostrating itself before me – its throat I slit, and now it revolves around me in circles of blood, its tail clutching me ever harder, its scales, screeching heavily. Poisoned words spill from between its teeth: “You and I are one”.

However powerful you may be, you are a dragon born of human mind. Can you imagine the tongue of the Lord, dancing like a whip on fallen souls, can you imagine His Song – deafening?
He needs no prophets.

But those of us who recognize Him he salutes, personally. Your soul can never be clean enough for such a guest. Fool! Scrubbing the temple floor for millennia, you are lowest of the low, the dirtiest in His presence.

Armies ride forth from His smile.

Look for me on the battlefield, my friend.

I am the one who blows the horn.

I am the standard bearer.

I am blissful death.

I am

Lightning bolt.

I am

Who I am.

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