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hiding the wound

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The corridor is long and deceiving. It can seem as though you are being moved along by a conveyer belt, unable to slow the pace, only capable of an acceleration which would feel worse.

All the while you will be tempted or terrified by unrestrained visitations. Curly Black hair like a subterranean root system brushes your face , your bare skin and your exposed soul. Yes these things will get inside you.

You may resist and feel them wriggling forcefully into you, or allow them to pass through you as a stone dropping past the surface and into the depths of a placid lake. Either way they penetrate you.

The moans of the other in the arms of your lover, sounds you never wanted to hear- amplified, vibrating through everything. The dark and childlike fears of your worst enemy revealed. There is no running back, only running in place as the conveyor moves forward.

The sounds, buzzing, gurgling, alien...

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Trying to make their way into you.

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At some point you realize that when you resist, these apparitions wear you down, grinding you, like a hapless swan caught in the wheel of a water mill. In this factory of light you are reducing yourself to a product of fear.

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When the doorway to immortality opens to you,
there is no hiding the wound.

You will not be admitted without your nightmares.

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In a moment things may crystallize.

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Those who decide to become immortal cannot even wear their preferences to this ball.

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Life Eternal
is life
in heaven
and hell
and every pit stop in between
all at once.

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You are
the hideous and the glorious.

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Creation
is
the hysterical
schizophrenic
need to escape
one part
of one's own self.

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Rebirth.

Choosing
not to be
everything.

Into the blaring white light of the hospital...

pulled by the head
into the tormented world.

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Send any comments, suggestions or questions to jc@viasinistrae.com

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