Theres a dark thing that takes shape in the deep, formed by shame and mortification, a trembling nervous sensation of awfulness that wants out of this body and out of this life. It longs for the meaning of home manifested.
Any perfect place we may wish for, our cramped desires, only drives the dark thing deeper, its inner perfection unrealized. The pearl made by chagrin. Where it goes, it cannot be seen and there is only trace feelings of it. It is invisible and insensate anywhere near the surface of our day to day compensations. Way down below awareness, it hides and it waits.
It requires something perfectly pitched in resonance to awaken it, something awful and shameful. Then a strange assurance swells into reptilian legs and glazed wings and a fire begins to burn in the cavity of this dark damp thing.
It begins an ascent through layers of dearth and dust and damages, the garbage thrown down over the ages into the subterranean passages within the psyche. Now it has form and it has movement and it shakes all the foundations, true or false, as it rises toward a surface it has never before investigated.
The heart is pierced in its wake. It tramples any moral strength of character or the compensation of reputation. It wakes up any secret weaknesses. It pulls on all things, though few there may be, of what is true and truthful within. It draws those little lights into its deep blackness and the lights disappear into its body. A black hole inspiring.
A tail emerges out of the pitch-dark movement and swings heavily through the dim, stabilizing and pushing forward through the dankness, its thick body of accumulated spark and coal. It is fierce for truth and will not return to any depth until the truth be known.
What I am or have created above ground, all is as nothing to the weight and power of this dark mutant. There is no malice, no threat, no revenge in any aspect of its internal authority, despite the abuse it has consumed. It has only one motive, is only interested in one thing, to find that thing, to see it, to reveal it, and understand it.
Riding on the back of this massive movement of deep dark love
love that has been missed
love that has been pushed way down under
Down below the conforming constraints of social and cultural precepts
Under the alienation of brain washed compliance and restrictions
Where is the place for this love and power in a world of fear?
How it shakes! And the body trembles in response. It is good and done with being shunned and shoved out of the way. On its own it has no need of fear. It moves by love beyond conditions. Any downward force of a lifetime spent in denial, or whatever deviant force has been used to bury and hide its existence, only excites its upward progress. Now it is galvanized into a power free to move. Now there will be no more turning inward. No more will it be hidden or restrained. The energy has turned and it is moving up from its damp dark hideout.
It rises breathing fire, and look! There is one I know, riding on its back, wild and rodeo-ing upward, at one with the great black monster, riding wild and free, defiant and brazen.
She rides the dragon rising.
Trembling radiates throughout the body as the darkness within shakes everything, inside and out. Let it come. Let it rise. Let her ride the black dragon up into the light. It will no longer be held down. It only wants the truth.
It awoke and came to at the death of a loved one, one so deep and dark and blessed as the thing inside me. A resonant presence of depth and energy, my dark thing, her darkness, vibrating in unison. Together an alliance was formed with only one clear mandate, toward the truth, for truths sake.
Her strange departure rattled the chains in the damp depths of our collective body. We wanted her back, safe and sound, far from the death wish that took her away from us. Any attempts to make sense of her leaving were twisted and squelched by the motorhead. Suicide doesnt make for good marketing.
As she passed, there were parts of her that found a place astride the darkness in me. The dark black creature trembled at the admonitions received from the motorhead, veiled threats of exile. It shook them off as light as water, brilliant droplets flying everywhere.
The dragon was aroused in the ambient intolerances, the echoes of We must not have this. This is not tolerated. This must be stopped. What was good and innocent, what was born of woman and then was shamed, it churned and turned deep down within and became this mass with momentum.
A force condensed, is now lumbering upward along dank passages of dirt and disgust, ancient odours and blindness. Rising up, not to be seen, but to see.
There is courage in commanding the forces once used to reign ourselves in. Bravery can be unleashed and it can rise up for truth.
Otherwise, I might die used up in trying to conform, spent as a penny. I could pass away, never knowing there is a pearl within.
ARISE!!
Beautiful!