Tree of Fire

I don't want information, I want light.

"Information" is creation's first fire imprisoned in bytes of silicon, trapped in dendrites of cerebral protein, snuffed into memes of smokey thought. At least for a few minutes this morning, in deep meditation, free my radiance from knowing!

Isn't this what happened to Moses when he saw God in the "burning bush?" It wasn't a bush but his own brain stem. His spine was the Tree of Life, branches catching glory, spreading the fiery first commandment of the hypothalamus, 'Let there be light!'

Doesn't the Bible say, "Our God is a consuming fire?" The Word of creation is not information, but bliss.

Let the burning breath of my sushumna surge through the root-ball amygdala, brilliant sap bursting synaptic twigs in radiant blossoms of the cerebellum, leaves of electric flame. The Lord did not plant this tree to overload the branches of my nervous system with the Knowledge of Good and Evil, hanging in clusters of opposites.

I was pruned to bear more fire.

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