Sit down. Enjoy my fire. Relax. Let go. Loosen that belt of fear you keep oh so tightly throttled around your throat, launching your blood pressure off to the moon. But it's the excitement, the rush, isn't it? That why you pull on it like a leash on some S-and-M leather collar? Tight roping over a safety net of sky worshipping daggers, the thrill of the thought of impalement without needing to experience it. The experience pales in comparison to the thought. The love of It is not the love of It. It is the love of the Thought of It. It and the Thought of It are one. The same. Thought. Word. Deed. Your Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
Father and Ghost. The Same. Where's the Son?
Sit down, my Son. Tell me not Who you are. Tell me Why you are. What brought you to my fire? My light is a candle next to the glory of the Sun; yet both bring forth light. My heat is a foggy breath in the frozen tundra; the Sun turns the tundra to tropic. My fuel is dead snapping branches and crisp cracking leaves that fought valiantly, won and got sucked back into the loamy whirlpool of creation. Save the Sun we would have neither branch nor leaf, ranch nor beef, cattled and mind addled by meals of wheat becoming sides of meat, diets complete. It is meet that we meet. Did you eat?
Have some. Eat. Neither Man nor Woman lives by bread alone. A little butter, a little flavoring will bring variety and change to that bread. Simple. A couple of smokes, five bucks and a smile: What more is there? Just a little flavoring. Lest we become so attached to the variety that it becomes the same thing. Variety repeated is variety denied; it is no longer variety. Give us our daily bread; we've grown tired of the meat filling inside. Just a little security; let us know that there will always be bread. Just a little happiness; let us know that there will always be a smile. Always...What's that, you must go?
Then go you must. For it is meet, my Son, to follow your heart, to do what you must. Muster your courage; let not the dank must of indolence gain hold of your energies. Here's some mustard, variety, spice for your bread and your journey. It is meet that you must muster the courage to beat the wheat to eat the meat, mustarded bread so complete.
Adieu, adieu. To God. With God. By God, fare thee well. I hope you enjoyed my fire. Remember, it is your fire. It is my fire. It is the fire that burns within each of us. Separate pot fires that conjoin in sexual union to light up the darkness until the darkness is not, until the darkness becomes the thought of darkness, It becoming the Thought of It. And in so doing, It becomes Itself.