The rain was a baptism. Purifying me with Divine violation.

“God,” Pan says, “Play your flute. Swirl me with Chaos. I only wish to sing in color.”

I awake in a panic. Fleeing a great darkness. I remember this old enemy of Reason. This quencher of Light. I have seen her face before. She scarred me and I loved her for it.

It’s unraveling. The whole of…everything is coming apart in spindles. Ordered– with purpose– in infinite spirals. It’s unraveling so it can reform itself anew and in perfection. In order for a New Heaven and New Earth to descend into existence, the old must be erased. Eliminated from the concept of reality. Two must become one. Separate but Equal.

The sins of man are not the sins of God.

Human beings cannot achieve salvation without the Godhead. We are flawed program constructs only capable of correction and realization with help from a perfect outside influence—God. Everything we create is destroyed. Everything we give life to dies. Everything we glorify mutates into Evil. We are sick and can’t heal ourselves. Man’s greatest sin is imagining he can.


About Universal Shift

I am the Sonata Unusual. I coat myself with some obtuse angle too far below zero to become any warmer. I create motivation, activate schemas, moisten gardens with scents of natural honeydew. Construct this meaning, you sleepy flock. Silence your singing—despairing contortions out of tune. Shatter the brittle butterfly glass with your hideous wailing. I am born of my god’s imagination. When I die I shall meet him. For there are many things to discuss over tea…or scotch.

Posted on March 16, 2012, in Author, Fiction, Philosophy, Religion and Spirituality, Spirituality, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. This speaks louder, Love what you wrote, every word of it!

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