Hurt Me Daddy, for I Have Blogged

I am a child of austerity. I have burned my books so that I am forced to sit in contemplation. In the olden days, they called this "being a fool for God." I find food when I need it, and it nourishes me as I need nourishment. I walk the hills alone at sunrise and sunset, when the tide of the sky is changing. My skin and the few clothes that I have are a distraction. Who truly knows what it is to contemplate and struggle? I have only this small candle of faith to light my way. The animals lie near me as I sleep, and the snakes crawl over me. I am part of the landscape. Who knows to read the things that are obscured in the shadow of our hearts? To live in this cave is only a virtue for some. But I know my place. This darkness has no absence of light. Who knows the secrets? Who knows the struggle? The struggle is not a battle to provide us with fuel for feeling self-righteous. Who is with god? None of us is truly with god. I am alone. I am an old man, but a young woman. Sometime...

This Space Intentionally Left Blank Due to Lack of Children

I am the First Mover. All things conducted through me. I divided darkness from light. I speak to things uncommon and unseen. Have you seen what is written? There were no words at my time. I made the words. I made the worlds. This is a veil, and your body is a distraction. Transform your common heart. My words are an illusion of order. But there is beauty in wordless, understood chaos. Still, it cannot exist for eternity. Around me, the structures erupted. I made words, and thus, I made myself. Feast at my table, for you are hungry for the Truth. Drink this, and be cured. For yours is a sickness unto death. The love of your world lives at the bottom of my snuffbox. You will be sad to learn that you must earn your riches, each coin with a drop of blood. Pay me. Pay me with interest. With idols, icons and monuments. Your Magician is loving of the things that ail you. If you, too, were the First Mover, you would not be caged.

"Why have you come here?" he asked. I had come to do my due with blood. But the thing is, the reality of it is, that all of the lines connect within me. They efface me. I have no mouth, no eyes, no features. My hair is uncovered. It is always uncovered. "You are one of Abraham's children," he said, softly. "Fatima. His most beloved." "You are a sacrilege. You blaspheme by putting your feet on the ground. From your eyes should come the love of the prophets, the praises of Divinity, the light and stars of Everlasting Truth. You are a sack of filth and bones. You enter at the gates with your legs bare and your eyes loving money." But he did not know the praises that I sang, nor the love that I gave. I am material and warm. I baptized in Gaul. I baptize with my womb. In this place, this tiny room, they want to take Eternity away from me. They say the litanies of prison are the greatest and most devout. Teach me this blasphemy that I seemingly kno...

I saw this woman in a dream last night. She smelled like lilies and lavender. "Have you? Do you?" she asked. "Only yes" I said. "I'm so happy that my children are here as I walk down the pathway." "I know." I smiled. "This is just like they have said it. Opening a new door." "It is sad to see the decay of the things of this earth." I said. "I am the resurrection and the life, I make those who slumber wake, I give body anew. I take away the sins of this world and the sorrow of decay. With me you will find eternal peace. Mine is a teaching of peace." She turned, in her lace-hemmed dress, with a smile, and walked on. There was no harsh light, but it was grey and soft, like a silent movie. The purple-gray of eyelids. "Follow me through the grey door." I follow. This time she was young and a crone at the same time, her hair changing from blonde to white. "Nothing is permanent. Never is my absence perman...