We find ourselves in a place only for running away. our minds, caught in a flood, leap for the shore, even as the body is pulled in. Who will raise the call, who will speak the dead shadows and make them live?

This is the prophecy

There is a low woman in the hospital who cleans the sick. She washes vagina’s for a living. And oh holy of holys, she does a better job than you could do yourself. The cleanliness, the godliness that she achieves in this life…

she will one day be a god in her own right. She will unfold from a flower and be ordained in the Temple of the Sky.

Her name will mean ‘friend.’  It is the last of the Buddha’s names.

said already and repeated, 
"the flag of truth must be destroyed to see the truth for yourself."

The Word was not the beginning

You were flung on reality, played like the winning card.

The Ace of cups uses our souls to wash the sins of wealthy donors

The only card left in our hand
The Wheel of Sympathy
is made a whirling cesspool
"accepting bodies" says the Sign
As if there was only one Sign and the Wise ones say
"Follow the signs" but the signs are everywhere, hitting me over the head like
"save a dollar, buy a coffee" strong enough to defend my own weakness

The Marketplace of Salvation
There was something before these words,
Something before the first word,
Something Fierce and Metallic, brandished 

The old knowledge was transmitted from mouth to ear

Older knowledge was transmitted from breast to babe.
The biology of knowledge, 
The woman silently transmits more than can ever be thrown across cosmic chasms. DNA Flung like wordless signs 

The light of those ancestral eyes held an empty landscape with no line.

the womb is the original space, giving birth to the mind

and there is no difference between mind and womb.

Now

Milk mongers selling scientific messianic molecules 
fit in the brain like our young men fit in sex robots. 

compared to the old ways 
Science is not a scalpel, 
it is a bludgeon.