more than sometimes
during a powerful lunar phase
I get the spiritual impulse to
make my own bible and live by its
verses to blow my own trumpet till the walls come tumbling down I am alive and always changing the crown of creation adorns my brow I’m truly living the human experience the high of all highs the most holy of holies the
revelation of incarnation has lit me
up a beacon of truth in the fog of ignorance
I’m getting into the world
and everything in it riding the waves of existence through
the ever expanding now where everything ever imagined is real we create ourselves from that mosaic of fancy but we’ve evolved into plastic gods makers and breakers of private worlds each
is imperfectly cast in their own distorted image we are
the graven idols in the temples of babylon
the worship of self is the
religion of hubris and hubris precedes disgrace sure as the ebb and flow of every lunar phase
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