Enthroned

To scorch into ashes the Archons of Propaganda, the One from whose lips flows the fire of perfect silence is enthroned in your belly like the sun.

On her right hand sits mighty angel El Melchesadek proclaiming liberation from the Archon of the Corporate Monopoly.

On her left hand sits the mighty angel El Metatron proclaiming liberation from the Archon of the Socialist State.

Her lips breathe No Word, for She would rather hum than speak; yet She imbues all creatures with innate intelligence through her ineffable power of astonishment.

Yet from the wound in her breast spills the wisdom of 300 million voices, creating new worlds through an indecipherable calculus of soundless phonetic vibrations in the void, manifest as rapturous sighs, ecstatic murmurs, bijas of ananda, mantric tremors of emptiness.

Could one possibly transmute their hymn into our speech, this is what it must testify:

We are the voices of God.
We are the People.
We are the birth pangs of Christ
and the anarchy of love.
Now is the Kairos,
our appointed time.
We sing only this moment.
We sing only this law:
Don't merely love one another.
Weep for one another.
Listen to one another's wounds,
they drip, they sing.
Laugh each other's laughter.
Dance each other's body
of desire.
Dissolve the political
into the personal.
The revolution is to breathe.
The radical act is being present.
Now is the hour to become
once again the Animal
of God who drinks
from the spring of attention
in the heart."




Painting: Goddess of Strength by Isabel Bryna