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5/16/2025, 10:51:32 AM
>Enlightenment
You will make it true. You will make it good for everybody, will set it right and proper, so what happens is what ought to happen. Is what everybody wants to happen. The happy ending. You will not allow doubt into your heart, and if you can help it, you will not allow doubt into others'. Everybody will get to see the sun again.
You will open the way for them. You will reach further than they can and bring the way back with you, if you have to. You will see the paths and choose the one in the light. Gateopener. Dooropener. Are you a key too? [OPEN] is inside you.
[OPEN] now. See your not-body peel away. Be the sun and the water, and be sleeping blood and clay, and be— not yet— but aren't you taking the future and grasping it? Someday something will unfurl from you, you but not you, you but perfect, and it will come forth like this, and it will see all things clearly. The way forward. The way out.
There is a door. You will have to bend and curl to enter, and when you exit, water pooling after you, you will remain bent, remain curled, and be soundly asleep.
You dream.
—
You dream that you are wet. Your circumstances were bad before, but this is a worsening beyond what you imagined. You are heaped upon by a million, billion, trillion tons of wet, oozing, salty, glopping mud, which drips into your mouth, creeps through your scales, imposes itself in every way upon you. You are imprisoned with it forever.
You had been imprisoned before, but the burden was lighter and drier, once. You could act, once. Proclaim, once. While your children and their slaves ruled. When they were not enough, they were done away with. It was regrettable. You excreted your regret as liquid, it and the other burdens: the tenderness, the sorrow. You did not realize you stored so much. You did not realize you would weep so long. It soaked the earth through, gluing it fast, and spilled atop it, and your ungrateful and misbegotten offspring arose.
It is they who played with mud and made the fleas. It is they who dried the mud and made the land and all the little things atop it. It was all flawed, grossly and flagrantly flawed, and it itched you to bear it aloft. Burdened as you were, it was not simple to stamp it out. Oh, you tried. You shook yourself silly. But as the fleas would die, the land would topple, your ungrateful offspring would build it back. And as you shook, you wore yourself out completely. You could not move more. You could not think more. You fell into unsettled sleep.
(1/3)
You will make it true. You will make it good for everybody, will set it right and proper, so what happens is what ought to happen. Is what everybody wants to happen. The happy ending. You will not allow doubt into your heart, and if you can help it, you will not allow doubt into others'. Everybody will get to see the sun again.
You will open the way for them. You will reach further than they can and bring the way back with you, if you have to. You will see the paths and choose the one in the light. Gateopener. Dooropener. Are you a key too? [OPEN] is inside you.
[OPEN] now. See your not-body peel away. Be the sun and the water, and be sleeping blood and clay, and be— not yet— but aren't you taking the future and grasping it? Someday something will unfurl from you, you but not you, you but perfect, and it will come forth like this, and it will see all things clearly. The way forward. The way out.
There is a door. You will have to bend and curl to enter, and when you exit, water pooling after you, you will remain bent, remain curled, and be soundly asleep.
You dream.
—
You dream that you are wet. Your circumstances were bad before, but this is a worsening beyond what you imagined. You are heaped upon by a million, billion, trillion tons of wet, oozing, salty, glopping mud, which drips into your mouth, creeps through your scales, imposes itself in every way upon you. You are imprisoned with it forever.
You had been imprisoned before, but the burden was lighter and drier, once. You could act, once. Proclaim, once. While your children and their slaves ruled. When they were not enough, they were done away with. It was regrettable. You excreted your regret as liquid, it and the other burdens: the tenderness, the sorrow. You did not realize you stored so much. You did not realize you would weep so long. It soaked the earth through, gluing it fast, and spilled atop it, and your ungrateful and misbegotten offspring arose.
It is they who played with mud and made the fleas. It is they who dried the mud and made the land and all the little things atop it. It was all flawed, grossly and flagrantly flawed, and it itched you to bear it aloft. Burdened as you were, it was not simple to stamp it out. Oh, you tried. You shook yourself silly. But as the fleas would die, the land would topple, your ungrateful offspring would build it back. And as you shook, you wore yourself out completely. You could not move more. You could not think more. You fell into unsettled sleep.
(1/3)
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