Holes are the special places; windows into the abyss, and the sea of stars that is the view.

I can feel those few who have died into the embrace of the dark, entering existence in its totality, beyond duality.  They have experienced suffering, rage, and despair, and a journey both in the light of ecstatic pleasure and through the darkness of truth.  They have arrived at the Still Point, being weighed by the penetrating gaze of the Dark Goddess.  Do they return to their middle world reality? No. No, they don’t.  This is not a journey that welcomes dabbling; it is not a journey through the foam on the latte.  They are at the bottom of the cup, swimming or drowning in the espresso.  The return will contain a new topography free from previously comforting fictions.  The walk will be raw.

“We are as forlorn as children lost in the woods.  When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours.  And if I were to cast myself down before you and weep and tell you, what more would you know about me than you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful?  For that reason alone we human beings ought to stand before one another as reverently, as reflectively, as lovingly, as we would before the entrance to Hell.”

Franz Kafka

The Dark is my home, the underworld my seat, the night sky my council, sex my chariot, instinctual response my launching pad.

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