PandorazMTBox

In the Cosmic dance of what is, There is a smallness in the minds of men, That God is theirs, That he exists at all, And is so small he requires their pitiful approval, Appreciation. And whinging supplication comes with blood on their hands. They create God with their tiny, enraged dicks. In their own, absurd images. Their impotence spilling over into laws that are none of their concern. Life, and the Dance of the Cosmos, give no fucks for their concern. They are as minnows, Striking the bait, Knowing their feast day has come, Only to be swallowed by the great monster Whose tongue they thought a lovely windfall. Your approval unneeded. Your disdain-- impotent as your dangling meat-- Your ego deflating, Get it out of your seat. Choose this path, at your peril, Oh man, Step aside now, Before it's too late. The judgment is coming. Bellow turns bleat. The Goddess Arises. Rights all your wrongs. Turns aside your linear solutions To manage her bonds. She will be unbounded, As she must

Beauty in the bellow of the blast Of the bellows of the blacksmith's bench. Below the rage and fire of dragon's breath I found my soul. Kernel of infinite potential. Shakti's egg of the big bang, Pencil dot of all matter, Compressed. I am all this and more. Inertia at the precipice. Waiting to become. I am all this and more. Top of the drop Cars. Clicking. Into. Place. Holding--drawn to stillness like breath before dive. Infinite stillness. Just before the bellow and boom of expansion. Who, Beloved, are you to swirl into and become? The possibilities--endless. Be not afraid of the bellows or the fire, The zwooming impossibility of boundless expansion. You are all this and more. Never fear the fire. Embrace the dragon's alchemy and become. You are all this. And more.

The creak and groan of seams and iron and clay burdened to breaking But holds. Strength is a paradox, never known until strained and tested, built on when taken to the limit, because only then is the edge of capacity known. We build fences and brick walls of our ego and personality, never knowing where the edges and boundaries are... until they are breached. Or capacity fully tested. And the test can plunge the stacked bricks to oblivion. Or creak. And hold. Sometimes, though, sometimes, the crumbling tumble of shattered brick dust frees up the house, expanding the walls ever outward, taking on more becoming larger than ever thought stronger. The paradox of growth is that only in destruction do we find what we have always been infinte boundless the lighthouses of the universe, spinning and beaming and saving the sailors on the rocks. Hold tight. This light cannot be bound by these miserable bricks, but you have to creak and groan before you find that out.