MEANING AND EXPERIENCE MICHAEL BOLERJACK

Meaning and Experience 2012 Michael Bolerjack

The first draft of the poems for Meaning and Experience was written between February and May of 2008, in the context of the assignment for a class in the Catholic Intellectual Tradition taught by a Franciscan nun at the University of St. Thomas. It was part of a Menippean work in verse and prose. The prose part was a 65 page essay on Edith Stein and the CIT. At the time I was going through a phase of being enamored with the East, and had acquired many paperbacks on the Buddha and others, so that I was quite dissatisfied with the CIT. This was prior to my appropriation to the Apocalypse. Subsequent to this, after my graduation, I went through a time of testing in 2009, with a suicide attempt, a failure at a job as a teacher, and a complete inability to edit the hundreds of pages of writings on the arrival I had

composed between 2006 and 2008. On November 2, 2009, I awoke early and set out on foot for St. Michaels Church. There, that morning, on All Souls Day, I surrendered to Christ. A finished version of the poem followed. In 2012, having written the Apocalypse, I rewrote the poem for publication. The fourth part that appears below is the way it was in 2009, while the second and third parts are all new, and the first retains vestiges of the original poem and the rewrite of it 2009. After all this, a month ago, we returned to the Butterfly Museum, where a white butterfly attached itself to me upon entering, and before leaving, so that an attendant had to manually remove it. It appeared to me a signal grace of the Lord.

The poem is a thousand stanzas in Haiku format, the number of syllables, seventeen, being thematically important. It is a religious poem, speaking of Christ, his Mind, the antichrist, the One Mind, known as AI, and the martyrdom of Edith Stein. It is confessional, often self-accusatory. It tries to negotiate the difference between Buddha and Christ, of which I also wrote in search for the absolute. I will append the concluding words I wrote in 2012 that will appear, along with the new fourth part, in A Time For Everything: I am the platen In the composer of God, The last line I have forgotten. You might substitute the word envois there, thus:

[envois]

Meaning and Experience, Part 1

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; and I am greatly pleased with my inheritance. Psalm 16: 6

I dedicated Myself to God though I did Delay: Lord forgive.

I dedicate this Work to the priests I have known And to another:

This book is for a Teacher: A sister in God: Paula Jean Miller.

In the end I did Not avoid the truth you taught And you still believe.

I believed: Therefore I spoke: Tell all the truth but Tell it slant: in this

I could tell all my Truth and nothing but the Truth: As you helped me God.

Texts are woven things: This was a coat of many Colors: as given.

So be thankful for The colors given and His Light by which we see.

Pure mind and pure heart: An old man limping laughing Sees the tree at dusk.

Four sisters and I Standing in the lake alone: What is covenant?

Neither monk nor lay A man went this way living Life in His presence.

Flowers drooping heads In dryness await the rain Without meaning to.

Meaning is absent But experience is known By presence itself.

The experience And the meaning come apart In silence not known.

Interpretations Always miss the mark; always Miss experience.

The fact of the light: More than words can say: empties Me of self and sense.

Silence and meaning Are not part of a system But are not opposed.

The mystic moment Misunderstood passed me by As I read a book.

[envois] and heavy [envois] Men in cities avoid truth In their neighbors eyes.

Around the table We discussed meaning and life Despite our heartbeats.

The pain of living And the joy of finding out Push and pull again.

I could not keep it But silence knew what to do And this bubbled up.

No reconstruction As I stand beneath the sky: Just the light in air.

No birds trace the way: Trackless expanse of Heaven Unstained and unfeigned.

Quiet nights and peace: Afternoons playing at sums: Balance in my hand.

Young men chase each thing Across the green yard of life: Feeling faces lit.

Without knowing how And without meaning to know Yet life too chose me.

Under stars without I stood and pointed to one Inventing meaning.

The reinvention That happens naturally Is the best of all.

Supernatural The battle for the faith: Wrinkles in my flesh.

Look over and see Beyond yonder wall the man Who died just to be.

Gracious and godly The opening in me yawned But did not swallow.

They gauge the outcome But all matter is a way To experience.

Without leaving: still The distant married lands came And shone silent love.

The tree itself void Of meaning offers endless views For watching sunset.

At night without art Without catching a thing I Turn to you in sleep.

The leaf seeks not ground Nor attachment to the tree branch But simply abides.

Who am i? I ask Not knowing the master plan: The really Real.

Separate from me Reality dwells apart But within me yet.

Men and women cross Themselves in hope of finding A child between them.

The mountain abides Yet there is peace in the vale And heights cause a fall.

Stumbling level ground: Step after step following: The walker crosses.

Neither height nor depth Nor any other thing stands Between You and I.

Behind us nothing: Between us everything else: We communicate.

Summer Autumn Spring All delight but bare Winter Lies secret within.

The emptiness here Where I once was: now not I But peace perfect peace.

If you choose or not Yet you are chosen: Abide In Him and be It.

To be free of this: To this be free here and now: There is no secret.

Words about words fail But the peace of light reaches Filling the darkness.

Light itself empties Yet fills all things not knowing And without intent.

Simply breathing air Is what he did: also this: Some rose and some fell.

The impossible Is the only thing worth our Attempt: Yes we can.

Forget all structure Because form is not the One: When you as you are.

If the tree could see He would see not light but the Other trees nearby.

Lacking sight not light The blindness of men is this: They looked away.

They say peace someday: But I say peace if you will: Be yourself right now.

Shadows do not hide But we hide in them because We want to forget.

When you awake Everything is beautiful: Even homely words.

Too much instruction: We sign and we sign without Our feet on the ground.

Universities Created the meaning but For a mundane love.

If you could touch me I would neither indicate Nor express meaning.

After the heart breaks We learn to sing the blues out Yet the wound remains.

Almost out of breath I ran to meet you smiling With disheveled hair.

Cross yourself again And find your directions in The silent imprint.

Neither cold nor wet I am yet the hungry dog Standing at your door.

I met you at church And what we became was more Than that: Life itself.

Yesterday I drank And you filled me with travel Taking me away.

In joyful wisdom Neither rational nor not: Whiskey and Women.

If music were words It would lose its emptiness And begin to mean.

The heart must empty Before it can fill with blood: In rhythms we live.

Crossing the river I saw an island in mist Without being there.

The dry: The empty: The desert full of wisdom: The place of testing.

It doesnt matter What color her eyes or skin: But can she forget?

If I stayed longer It would be to love you more: Without fear or care.

If I care too much I will not let you ascend To where you must be.

He showed me the way And we placed our crosses In Jerusalem.

A city I see Unlike any other one: If only love builds.

Remember me then Once or twice in the wake Till we meet again.

Not understanding I loved I knew not what yet Love itself was true.

I loved you without Concepts ideas or things But in the living.

Meaningful research Does not combine others words In new arrangements.

My father appeared: Traveled everywhere he went: In ashes he blew.

My wife came so far: So far from her home seeking For something somewhere.

Our city ruined We rebuilt with trowel and Sword: our two arms full.

I always loved you For you were with me before In the dream I had.

Only yesterday I had a glimpse of life and knew Without meaning.

To carry something For somebody: Charity Brings unending Grace.

What is past is past And yet without forgetting We invent our life.

In discovery Without searching or meaning We will love again.

Too much straitening Causes order to structure Chaos completely.

If I could sing you Without words or intention Then you would love me.

Lived experience Escapes meaning giving thanks Morning and evening.

Lovers and deamers And madmen like I speak No image: one Word.

Without cognition: To be the substance itself Is finding Truth.

Without losing hope Yet without expectation: Wait and wait again.

Nothing behind us: Nothing is what it seems and You already are.

I fell into Grace The only way I knew how: By being broken.

Light absolutely Breaks and scatters the darkness We are despite love.

If I try to be I am not: but sitting still He found me alone.

A dark night ordeal I could not count the [envois] so Black in my own mind.

Salvation saw me Sitting still beneath a tree And He called to me.

He empties Himself And shows a way that cannot Make sense to the world.

He sang his own song Yet given from above InComprehensible.

Touch me in pity: Find a heart beneath my mind: Now: without passion.

In breathing I am In all things respiring in Him and He in me.

When not if He comes He will find faith in cities That we did not burn.

When not if He comes Only His words will matter: Not our constructions.

When not if He comes Every Buddha will clap hands While sinners rejoice.

Mindful without thought Children play and old men dream: Life itself goes on.

Victory is not Simple assertion and yet It must be disclosed.

I learned despite not Knowing and I gained more than An education.

After I was shot It took 20 years to die But now I can live.

A man all in black Said very well and fine but What do you do now?

The compass caught north And despite direction lost The future beyond.

Put your right shoe on First and the rest will follow Of its own accord.

She found the water Without a bucket or well: Life itself happened.

He said keep dancing To your own drummer so I went on my way.

If you cant sit still You must run until you walk: Then you will allow.

Allowance found me Alone on my bed without Expecting a thing.

I lived on sheer faith Climbing the cliff face without Any skill but hope.

O little children If I could only free you: But you must free yourselves.

O men of eighty If I could restore your life: You would not let me.

Women O Women: You and you and you: without Your knowing I died.

Keep alive the dream Especially while awake: Let your feet not stray.

Will your love survive Without understanding why? I say better yet.

The double-edge sword Cuts this way and that slicing The knot of knowledge.

If I could be you I would still be me only Without the desire.

Language fails because It means too much: the Truth is Still and in stillness.

I had a feeling There was literature here But could not find it.

Without a purpose The tradition is taught you While you inform it.

Educationless To the nth degree I read Life backwards fading.

Some people work in The Church while others pray for A Kingdom to come.

I will come with you: Wherever you go I will Be there before you.

Without certainty Universities will fail: Yet You are the Truth.

The light that breaks us Is more than we could have hoped: Every knee will bend.

I have spent more time I have wasted more money Than [envois].

Forgive me for this It is not to be allowed: I almost told you.

Out of the depths cry Words that indicate without Expressing the truth.

All we can do is All we can do and not much: Will it be enough?

With fear and trembling And in joy and hope we live: With what will we die?

Is bad love better Than no love at all? It seems That time of season.

I was always wrong But turning left one more time I arrived at peace.

Vain is all seeking And yet when He finds you then You are truly found.

Look not here nor there Still less within: if He knocks Do not be afraid.

Stranger in the night Announced again and again: Still He surprised me.

Pierced to the marrow: My heart was ready for death And even for Him.

The sun will come up On us tomorrow always: God willing it so.

I saw an old friend And exclaimed at the species: One in a million.

All are lost but so That all may be found: we are One in salvation.

Good and evil were My limits but without them I reached out to you.

Without meaning to Means I cannot make a claim: I am what I am.

I intend no thing: Neither play nor purpose nor Approximation.

Becoming simpler Is not simple but involves A winding detour.

In our labyrinths In our selves we lose the way Till it shows itself.

The Revelation Who God is and who you are: Inseparable.

Nobody knows why But we stumble trip fall and Find it anyway.

Felix culpa is The great truth of life because Humility is.

Pure mind and pure heart: To love the Good without guile: How simple: How hard:

Pure mind and pure heart: To forget yourself for love: How necessary.

Unbecoming mind: Mindfulness without grasping: Hard the narrow way.

My wife and I climbed Kilimanjaro today And touched butterflies.

After the poem Has been interpreted what Remains of silence?

Structurality Must be grounded in something Autrement: Freedom.

Meaning plus music Allows freedom that mere play Can never afford.

The deconstruction Cannot deconstruct silence: Mystic effraction.

Circular meanings Implicate endlessly but The silence escapes.

Neither expression Nor indication: music And silence vibrate.

The crisis passes: Minds allow each other more Than bodies can know.

Without conventions: Neither seize nor know the day: Simply release it.

Poets cannot know Anything but write their verses Any way to live.

Writers write: fish swim: Some people cook their food and Some eat their food raw.

To get at the thing You must uncover it and In this words can help.

The blue butterfly (for instance) in his pathless Flight lit on my hand.

I eternally hold A hand at no striving [envois] And yet it happens.

It did not mean to And I did not know meaning Itself afterwards.

Angela the saint Suffered me in the holy Creativity.

To be there with it Beneath sky-high waterfalls Was without meaning.

But it had event Written in it and a hand Greeting not grasping.

Explanation Will not do and description Never tells the truth.

Alain Badiou Wrote the truth is like saying Keep going forward!

To adequate Christ And Buddha: Empty within: Everything is grace.

The way is of Christ And we all walk on that way Though some walk away.

Dharma way also Is Christian: Buddha made no Claim against the Truth.

One way all [envois] But no one is the actor: Deny yourself: Yes.

He did not mean you Must suffer but meant you must Die: Unless a seed

But we suffer though We need not: because of love. Compassionate One!

Christ nailed to the tree: Buddha meditating on Suffering beneath.

Both take on and put Off perishibility: Both arise awake.

Buddha in glory: Jesus ran His race well: In both completion.

Resurrection is: I must decrease: He is here: No actor: All: All.

God is all in all So He had to die to be Completed in us.

Not that God Himself Needed to be completed: It was for our sakes.

Subjectless without Object there is no is-ness But simply presence.

I am not present Nor can I be shown in your Representations.

What is not present Cannot be shown to you in Representations.

Representations Are not: images are not: You and I are not.

God is all in all: Without structure or being: He is this movement.

It is a hard thing To deny yourself for Him: Yes: He is: not I.

I am not I AM: I am does not anymore: He abundantly.

The cross is in this: Realization consists Of denying self.

I mean that I am: Experience is other: I AM does not mean.

Meaningful research Into self reveals nothing At bottom but God.

I am illusion: Whatever depends is not: He is in my hand.

I cannot be me But there is nothing else but To be me here now.

What is here and how In denying self empties Itself into Him.

Neither I am nor That thou art: but even less Solipsistic sense.

Meaning always means I am but in self denied Experience is.

The cleavage is real: Paradoxically real: Reality IS.

God is not only The Most Real but the only One Who IS: despite:

Despite language games: Philosophizing reasons: Desires: Lusts: Pleasures.

Sense is not non-sense: Reality exceeds both: The absolute IS.

Awareness is real: Jesus as man felt the pain For our pain was His.

He was at the point And broke through all suffering In contradiction.

Buddhas in ascent: Christ descended into hell: All is redemption.

The teacher instructs By various ways and means To light up our minds.

Lamps unto our feet Guides to our paths: meaningful To the moral faith.

But experience Of Buddha and Christ is not Found in their meanings.

God is undefined: No propositions in God: De-limit the mind.

Find the beginning: Where I end is where He is: I must decrease.

Words are not yet Him And writers neither lose Him nor Find His meaning.

The writer seeks not Meaning not expression but An experience.

The trap of writing Is that it is illusion And does not mirror.

Referring to self It fails: but we are not it: The Lord uses us.

On the battleground Minds are lost and won and more Won in the losing.

When you fail you know: You know you do not know and Must stop trying to.

Desks are poor things full Of papers and ambition: Here I sit not-I.

Old boy what seek ye? Truth is not illusion but Knowing is just that.

Truth cannot be known: Truth is then when I am not: How can it be known?

I allow (lets say) By emptiness a space for Truth to emerge in.

Detached: dismantled: Words are the last delusion: He did not SAY it.

He did not tell us Repeat after me but this: Deny: and: Follow.

Following does not Mean anything: it is the Act of walking with.

In walking with Him We have sympathy and in This is understanding.

Many have told us What He meant: What did He do? He emptied Himself.

Vessels of light are Not full but empty so that The light may fill them.

The blind do not know The light despite accurate Explanation: Because:

The experience Of light itself acts like light: Light has no meaning.

What makes meaning is The thing that is like the sun: Was Derrida right?

Poverty dumbstruck: Meaninglessness rather than All these useless words.

Abide: dwell: silent: Avoid speaking vanity Of all the vain things.

We are: already: Useful words are words that use Themselves for climbing.

Do not rebuild it: Let it lie: release it; Gone: Lovers: in love forgetting.

Reconcile yourself To Him in forgetting that Once I was I AM.

HE WHO IS is that Absolutely: vanity To replace His place.

Literature is Still the tower of babble: Brick on brick on brick.

God did not do it: He does not but is beyond Our little towers.

Not analogy: But He will substantiate: Transcendent in us.

Not even being: That is interpretation: Withdrawal of self.

Meaning is order: To experience again My meaninglessness.

However much I I seem to persist: My will Meaning intention.

At some point the thing Approaches in silent notes And music happens.

We walked up and down: We roamed the butterfly fields At the mountains edge.

The butterflies seem Erratic: wandering: not Lost: but Bliss is Bliss.

No point than to live: Till then my hand there appeared: Another moment.

I meant nothing: say It was not my intention: Say something happened.

It was as she wished: We went somewhere and we did Something: yet did not.

We believe all things: We rejoice in the day of The Lord: we are glad.

That night I awoke: I said there is something that Is outside of me.

[envois]

There is something there Outside of me and allowing Myself the stillness.

The butterfly IS: A hand was extended and Then something happened.

What? I cannot say Because it cannot be said Without a meaning.

If I seem to say It is only an illusion: I have not said IT.

Buddha and Jesus Lived IT: said words to be heard More real by witness.

Light and all shadow Approximate the seasons: Jesus died in Spring.

I trust in this fact: The Promise: He will come take Us soon to Heaven.

We too with Buddhas In glory and Christ in light To resound in song.

God sings Himself in Us: through us: for us: and we Give Him instruments.

Truth asks nothing more Than that it be sung: I say Even these stones sing.

Even my mountain Cries out and will not let still: Harmony allows.

Allow Jesus to Sing His song in you: never A song of myself.

In absolute peace The greatest songs are silent: Becoming seemless.

Jesus died in Spring: Look at the flowers around And see Him growing.

Without deception Following butterflies Will also lead you.

They sing the same song Without words without knowing Without notation.

The meaning (again) Impose suppose interpret: The butterfly IS.

It is we who mean And we who sing but not the Butterflies who fly.

Each blue dash and dart Simply was and I was not: And yet I may be.

A billion writers With their streaming meanings still Cannot make you fly.

If you do you will Do so by your love: a Love without knowing.

Neither hand will know The exchange of self for God Or when you took flight.

The dignity of Us is in our willing not Our own but others.

To take flight cannot Mean anything until you Fly: less even then.

Stable but shifting: The words mean something but a Butterfly wants more.

Simple clarity And words about what happened: Discernment required.

The paradox IS: We efface ourselves when we Realize ourselves.

Never imitate: Dont just sit there and stare at Him: See the truth: He IS.

Never imitate: Be: when you are yourselves then You no longer are.

One above behind Us all behind all signs and Things makes us: Believe.

In belief hearts are In sacrifice of self torn That we give the gift.

All I have is yours: When you give yourself to Him How can you remain?

Neither I and I Nor Every Other even But beyond all that.

I will never know: When I know I will then cease To exist as I.

No mystery: Then Why so few reach for knowledge Knowing they will cease.

We will destruction Of the world rather than this: Let God be you now.

And we would rather Speak a streaming discourse: I: than not be I.

Yet I will not be: Why not now? Why not by Him? We say by His grace.

Even without [envois] Or effort at the right time It simply happens.

Though trials there to be And the fight of ceaseless war The peace is: still IS.

And the war is won Not by surrender but [envois] By coming onslaught.

Just be the peace and See: no will: no mind: no one: Radiant presence.

Still dismantle me As talk continues to be: Continues to see.

Talk now less and less As monks learn to teach an all Through whelming silence.

Poor butterflies: rich In poverty taking no Thing but simple flight.

I saw them make love: In natural attraction With us by their side.

But they (who can say Why) flew away leaving us To interpret them.

Butterfly lovers: Us and them: in all we are: And in love finding.

For compassion IS: To give a home and blessing: To find the right time.

To not dwell alone: Neither dwell without meaning: We finding outside.

When I am not-I Then suddenly there is THIS: A world surrounding.

Jacques said the context Is the meaning: Nothing can Carry it: but be.

We absent ourselves [envois] Until transformation.

Stepping outward bound We are almost are that Glory: Yet not us alone.

Glory means nothing If I glorify myself: Give glory to God!

He the essential: I the passing: memories Will not be mounting.

On the one mountain There is but glory alone: Let it be: enough.

Versification Is the conversion of I Into the not-I.

Experience is Not this: Experience is Forgetting to mean.

Buddha on his side And Jesus on the cross died: Yet they did not die.

Buddhas mindfulness And Christian suffering are Not polarities.

Experience first After suffering before Teaching us the way.

Experience last Through suffering in order To teach us the way.

Truth is the only Thing left to see: Whatever Is not is not real.

Life is a vector Moving in a direction Without [envois].

Associations: Come together fall apart: Particularly words.

Mirrors of the real They are not real but seem: True propositions.

Neither description Nor explanation will do: I am not an I.

If language distorts: Vehicles of metaphor: Words are not useless.

Convey your belief: We are separate and so We still try to say.

Just this separateness Falls into the signs of what Plato called the Gap.

Between the ideal And the real is the shadow Which cannot be said.

We lovers till then: Love us by separation: To jump the abyss.

Love is our meaning Yet in our experience We find what love is.

Not only feeling But in the ground of being: Love creates our need.

Pounding out the hours We would set sail out of love: For love: toward love.

And we stand still Stranded on the shore waiting For better relief.

There is one to come And He wipes away all tears In our dark sainthood.

And we climb the steps: We shake off the need of pride For the one virtue.

What IS simply IS: When you become you will be: But we always wait.

The kingdom is now: When we realize it we Show ourselves kingship.

He is still within: Find after your I am the I AM THAT I AM.

I am not: He IS: My I am is an echo Of the great I AM.

Imagination Is the fool of time [envois] To good and evil.

Knowledge must be: Yet In the Phantasm we know Nothing but ourselves.

Dont let me be proud: Lord make me an instrument Steady in your hand.

Death will not hold us If we submit to Your will: Lord make me humble.

God is my shepherd: I have wanted nothing but Needed discipline.

My Lord and My God! I did it all for God and For her: for she IS.

For God and for her: For in perfect wisdom the Virgins know God best.

In my unknowing I wandered from the way and Almost lost my faith.

Yet Gods gifts and His Call are irrevocable: He did not let me.

These shards of meaning Professing experience Miss the mark of Him.

He is the Most High: Where others thought ideas Of infinity:

Indefinitely Exposing the word to their Criticism-shame.

The truth about that thing Called deconstruction is the Fact men loved a lie.

They loved a lie and Worshipped themselves rather than The creator God.

Glory is but sight Cleansed of what I cannot be: The I I am not.

In perfect vision Behold the man where He stands Bleeding in judgment.

Then He gave glory: Crucified and Glorified: Him who died for you.

Overcome evil with Good in peace with great patience: Despite the minds thoughts.

Do not be afraid: All beings attend on you: Salvation is near.

He saved me drowning: Some rise and some fall: amazed The abyss buoys.

Buddha walked a lot As did Christ to His crossing: Their words still travel.

By example they Set out the better truths like Plato immortal.

On one above we Depend: return to the source: Be not dismantled.

For surely He comes: Be neither afraid nor doubt His voice calling you.

Once again build up: Let yourself in uprightness Bow low before Him.

When you came apart You still saw the meanings that Were meant to save you.

They were not words to The deaf but eyesight to the Blind in His Blessing.

[envois]

Both stand in the truth: One speaks IT the other IS: Christ thy name is Love.

I am not my own Light and I cannot see you Without Him my lamp.

If we could see Him In one another how could We cease believing?

There are directions And if you follow them you Will not fall away.

Stay on the path and Walk more surely than before And gospel yourself.

They once said that we Un do: let go: that truth is Always already.

But I say hold on And never give up nor yet Give in to release.

Atonement is not Imagination which Is but I the Fool.

If I had known the Truth sooner I would have must Have written elsewhere.

The really Real can Be seen in the weather: But Experience Him.

Find the one you know Who opens the clouds without Any force but light.

Buddha said look past Me: but Pilate said Behold The Man: Jesus Christ.

Truth will never stray: Truth returns to the place of Illumination.

There is but one light: We all see by that one fire: We all shine with it.

Words take on the dark: But how white the pages and Smooth their reception.

You must be that page: Allow the inscrutable To inscribe itself.

Pages of marvel That turn to ash easily: Yet His words remain.

[envois]

Persist! Then: Persist! There is no happiness but In overcoming.

Since He opened you You cannot close again but Sometimes you still try.

God is the one who Teaches: His reign is rain: Soak Me with all Your Truth.

Once I sat still and Waited on the arrival: It seemed forever.

More! More butterflies! More mountains to climb! Without Memory to see them.

Words are more and less And the truth is in meaning But we lack the means.

Or do we? He gives His Word unfailing and He Must be spoken through.

Do not see me write: Do not imagine the scene: You already write.

You are my event And I am your pretext for Good criticism.

Dissolution is The acid word of the man Who deconstructs you.

Let yourself shine then: By the light: not in a dark Night of this writing

But in the dark night Of the soul embraced by God Who is your Author.

You are not the thing Itself and cannot know it: But it has always

Known you and me in Our medicine and artless: Our pretty sinning.

Alone to alone: But never alone I heard Him call me by name.

Relationship is Not false in itself because We are all in Him.

Did you think that you Could lose yourself without then Losing Him as well?

Mortal blindness! Fool! I am that very man that You are without Him.

Once I did seem real But got over it after The enlightenment.

Enlightenment is Without a doubt and yet Not what people think.

Patience (the great thing) Means only you hold what you Have been given: Gifts

From above because Despite what you have been told: You cannot save you.

The gift of presence Simply is experience: The meaning of life.

For instance I say: Birds sing despite our sighing And do not let up.

After your heart breaks You must still sing like the birds: Never letting up.

There is no middle Way but a narrow one that Hurts: still you must sing!

I once sang a song Knowing not what but it was Noise and weariness.

What you are you are But do not ignore the law Written thou shall not.

Know thyself its said And it is still good to learn: But only in Him.

After descent to Your vilest depth look up and See Christ in Glory.

Only by knowing The difference will I know The truth of my world.

There is an ancient Enemy without and one Within: Guard yourself!

I was never for Hire and did not earn a days Wage: may God forgive.

I hope: I hope He Will forgive my ignorance Thinking that I knew.

Jesus went into The desert in order to Be tempted! And win!

You have been given Temptations in order to Secure victory.

Not for fun nor for Punishment are you tempted But to overcome.

The experience Or meaning of the waste land Is not metaphor.

You must live it for Yourself if you will conquer The evil and sin.

As well as that of Living without the knowledge Of the truth He is.

Like anyone else I must climb from ignorance To understanding.

I must learn to fight: Myself and all that stands in The way of my goal.

If the world writes me Badly I will rewrite the Script and improvise.

Truth is His stillness But also truth calls to me From the very storm.

Truth does not cease in Pursuit of me though I still Run the other way.

It is a good thing God loves us so much and that He never gives up.

Abandon ourselves To God and we will not fail To arrive on time.

It was not in vain I once read of the Buddha Because [envois].

My journey to the East was over and I came Around to my truth.

Do not mistake the Finger pointing at the moon For the moon itself.

But neither should i Fail to read the signs of the Times I am living.

There is something loose In the world the world does not Know: the antichrist.

We think we know it But we have no idea of What it means to do.

I said it once And I will say it again: Yet Christ will abide.

If I may return: The argument of the text Is: just simply be.

Coming to be and Passing away are the truth Buddha would escape.

Do not fight your own Suffering but do not look Away to avoid.

In poverty I Found meaning did not mean to: I am not empty.

But only Francis And a few others loved Her; Lady Poverty.

The kingdom is not Of meaning nor is it a Senselessness: it IS.

The word means more than Meaning as a concept contains; A Sheer Abundance

That chose poverty Instead in order to be With us forever.

To live as we live: To take our meaninglessness And give us what IS.

But we stick with a Meaning that amounts to our Own deconstruction.

There is more to say But what IS always takes time: Even the eternal.

I wont look into The abyss too long since I looked into you.

The book lay open: No one there to read the signs: The means fell away.

Trees grow toward light But find in the black earth the Other half of life.

I grew toward Him Out of sinful soil and love For the Autrement.

But turning away From my bad beginning, I Look toward what I found.

Waterfall above: Butterfly at hand: You stood Too: essentially ajar.

Neither this nor that Life is not [envois] Nor is it a thing itself.

To descry meaning Once more in the name of life Is simply senseless.

The scatter pattern: Butterflies and the little Flower remind me.

Is enlightenment Life without meaning or the Experience of

Meaninglessness that Is still a reason to believe Despite the nonsense?

God still gives to us Meanings never lost again But asks our catching.

If I look for that I will never find that: Thou art not That when

That is the lie of Eden: that you are Gods and That I made myself.

Through enlightenment The darkest deconstruction! Am I the measure?

I think I will yet Empty myself of conceit And write for the Lord.

Then without knowing: With a hand trained to obey Discover His truth.

Anticipation And His fullness may yet be My own completion.

The Buddha said he Was always at beginning And so too am I

He would save the worlds From suffering by killing Passions and desires.

Whether there is an End to suffering or not Is not the issue:

I risk pain for love: I must affirm life as IS And love it anyway.

The experience Of pain may not have meaning But accessing love.

An experience Buddha thought was meaningless Is the means to love.

Christ chose it Himself Out of love, not to buy back, But drink it all down.

And to show me how I can love too both because And despite the pain.

Even though the Buddha Did not die and stopped the wheel Yet the world still turns.

And churches come and Churches go in the name of Christ But no kingdom come.

They did not live in Vain but their lives are not yet Understood by me.

Perhaps so I might Someday understand when I Have learned how to love.

I suffer to love And almost love to suffer As priests tell us to.

Forget not Buddha Neither Christ nor what was their One experience:

Complete emptiness: The way up and the way down Are one and the same.

The obedience Of love is greater than faith And love can also

Empty you of self: Only empty of self can I Carry the abyss.

If I could love you I would find in you the way To experience.

And yes: the meaning: The one word of harmony: My reason to be.

Something more I see In the truth of the person That you are likely:

Another Buddha, Beneath the tree: or asking Christ the cross relieve

Our sins so we may love To forget our meaningless Lived experience.

I think I too thirst Like Christ though I am no saint And need not freedom:

For freedom is not The one thing necessary: So then why not love?

Judgment in the way Of the way we would love to: Choice desire indicts.

All religions are One: to choose between them is Admission of guilt.

Guilty of the lack Of love based on judging truth Without acceptance.

Do not choose what to Believe: election requires Your being chosen.

Just try not to hurt People on the way to where You are going to.

Am I bothersome? I am too full of advice: But I think I know.

The impossible God does the impossible: Made me so poor rich.

That I would give Him: Paying attention is my Way to pray in thanks.

To write the meaning Of meaninglessness is To exemplify.

In paradox I write: For I cannot say what the Butterfly would say:

If wings were words and She traced sentences in the Air instead of beauty.

Meaning is judgment But experience beauty Without copula.

If you have much to Give then give it all away From exuberance.

May God help me speak Without judgment though I think I have seen the worst.

Let no false love nor Parody of Catholic Theology reign.

I wrote poetry Thinking I was in [envois] But love was not yet there

For otherwise why Not stay on the mountain with The blue butterfly?

Searching: possessing Lies I thought were truth I was Leading her away.

I could not say I Experimented with her Beauty as Nietzsche

Did with the old truths: And at least experience Called out a warning.

The life is passing: For a moment it is there and then it is forever:

Gone: a memory: Is that what butterflies are To become for you?

But I did not know how To love the blue butterfly: She could have been God.

Missing the meaning I held to experience Trapped in my own self.

Contradictions are Sometimes true but why did I Make it my arche?

I was but a text And caught in my own writing Effortlessly drowned.

Until He called halt! I turned and became aware Of what I was not.

Which is simply put Everything: everything else: The world I am not.

My dream of something Outside of me was just the Leading vision seen.

Oh to write truly Of the plainest things I once Did not care about

And not lose His love In self-absorbed exhaustion And in the ceaseless

Search to say what I Could never say any way I Might have tried: that is:

Let me not feign a Meaning while at the same time Saying there is none.

Why not become Light? There is only one story: It is not about me.

The clever boy is Lost in the meaning of his Meaning not knowing.

The clever boy is Obscured by the brilliance that Others meant to say.

Another boy would Wait and not forget: patient Longing yet without

Rushing past the signs Of love which all have meaning To Him who made them.

God is good: God alone Is good: what does this mean now Seen from another

Point of view? It means: At least I can say this much: I know God is Good.

To know something is Different from not knowing: I said I did not

And I really did Not: but I thought that I did: I was a burden.

I am not the light That I must experience In order to know.

I said light does not Mean anything and yet by It we know all things.

But I know that light Is good: I know it: that light Is the light of men.

The darkness cannot Comprehend it and I was In complete darkness

Yet I was writing Of my own enlightenment: Could I be more wrong?

The light is glory: The very thing called into Question by darkness.

I did not know how Complicit was my blindness With what I held true.

The glory of God: Deconstruction and roman Deconsecration seek

Their own glory in An anticipation of Antichrists to come.

They will use any Means to erase meaning: the Simulation of.

I did not see that Meaning and experience Are not opposed but

Complement: they are Not absence against presence But ways of knowing

Truth: by their fruits you Shall know them: the meaning Of experience

For a catholic Is simply the sacraments: But does God need them?

Who benefits from the Catholic economy? Only Catholics.

I loved that little Blue butterfly that landed On my fingertip

And had the very Experience in itself But missed the meaning.

He was a signal: A messenger: the way that God said I love you.

I turned his sign of Love inside-out and said it Had no meaning as such:

That the event did Not respire with a meaning Because there is none:

No meaning as such But that the butterfly IS And to be is not

To mean but to be Another kind of higher Emptiness: the Void.

And now the Roman Church is to be made void and With it the world too.

Both of these abysses Of the deconstruction and The deconsecration

Are places that light will Not reach: deepest darkest Hell: black but on fire.

These terrible things Still mean something: they are rich: Because they ruin truth.

Without truth there will Be no more spiritual World, and without it:

No more world of the Material either: for [envois]

Not just the world that Followed the deconstruction And deconsecration:

But no more worlds to Follow: more void than Buddhas Realm: kingdom undone.

So I look back on The world of the time I touched The blue butterfly.

How much I did not Know of things to come when that World would seem a dream

And dwell with the God In unapproachable light: While the context of

The blue butterfly That gives to experience The meaning divine

Was to be torn in Two and beauty truth love all Lost in delusion.

I had thought my own Error so damnable in Not giving meaning:

But they do far worse: They will say the fine thing but They will not mean it.

Neither Buddha nor The catholic line satisfies But the Christ alone.

Seventeen in a Stanza stands in the Q and Strikes against antichrist.

A spanner in the Works between the sixteen and The eighteen so that

John Paul II and his False prophet cannot connect The magic number.

Call me in the queue: Call me edge of seventeen: Continuum called

Q: as a question: As a philosophical Response to dogma.

Independence is Not in error because the Pope isnt honest.

More catholic than The Pope is the church of Q: Sans benediction.

The independent Thinker in freedom and in Isolation from

The one and only Lie that hinders salvation: The papal blessing.

He has not any Idea of God: but the Person of God is

True and the Pope may Not even know what he is In compensation:

For in the spirit Of psychology the mind Contains both sides of

The coin: Icons Of Christ and the debased on The dark side of Him:

Benedict in His Shadow completes the Christ but Woe to the man who

Misunderstands Him: Who chooses judgment when love Was the wheat to find:

And judgment the tare To be torn: leave them not till The end but remove:

Remove: tear judgment Up by its roots and let it Begin in Peter.

The wolves and the sheep: Meaning and experience: The wheat and the tares:

Buddha and the Christ: Benighted Benedict Blesses in reverse.

Let Shostakovitch Lead my quartet by a string From peace to war and

Back again: to the Time of the blue butterfly: Neither bought nor sold.

I said (for instance) That truth is spoken despite Us: yet it is said.

In irony our Words echo back to us as Derridas laughter.

I will offend then A selection of the work In question below:

No gain: ever lose: Further fall: flower she fell: [envois]

They would have us turn To chase it up ahead or Look into the past:

Do neither: be here: Discern: in the timeliness: A temporal shut:

Use your illusion: Yet you are that though: to be: Weary spectacles:

And so on and so Forth: we are witnesses to The truth not against:

Yet truth must be the Thing against itself to be True to itself: so:

The pope (God bless him): Benighted Benedict: Enlightened no one:

And over him rose The thorn of contradiction: The nobody rose:

O care of the soul: Benediction petrified: Peters blessing stone:

To the prophecy Of Celan and in dialogue With Derrida and

Two infinities: That the poet saw the pope And the end of him.

Rams: beasts: petrified: He would raise the rock to strike The flock and scatter:

Uninterrupted: Derrida too foresaw the One to come but hidden in

His text were the keys Of the abyss: as always Already he said:

Such is the law of The text: to hide the hest from Every first comer:

However oblique In approach: even from the Envois on he came

To re veal the lamb Not quite as serious as The pope: for the text

Would ever contain The evil which was the real Reason for writing.

As the mind in two The janus faced coin of an Exergue to come:

Psyche and spirit: Inseparable: heaven Is in your mind and

The simulacrum Of the text is a way to Decontaminate.

My life will therefore Have been a scandal to them Who judge it to be:

But Christ himself was So and a sign to contradict The acting pope said.

The acting pope of The coup, as the church rolled dice At the foot of the

Cross and gambled for His Vestments and investiture: Antinomians.

And in mystic fashion Described fascist projection: A transmutation

Of the sacred to The transubstantiation Of the golden Christ

Into basest coin: Defaced the icons: profaned The sanctuary:

If life is Christ then Sacramental grace is here When we truly live:

Sacraments give life: Presence: God amid His Church: Now surely elsewhere:

Where grace is lasting: Arise: trust in the Lord: take Up your mat and walk:

Your faith will save you: Leave the church and sin no more: Do not look back but

Carry light salt seed In order to scatter the Others in: to God.

Late have I left thee O Ecclesia: but not Too late I still pray.

One startling serene Still one remained just for me Among the roses.

She I say but one: No other: neither word nor Fragment: She: Woman:

Say untouched by time Until a small voice whispered Get and go: See.

Destiny in it: She went and me she continued In what we didnt say.

If they say she wore Black and I wore red theyd be Half-right: we revolt.

She will always be Further than the East, like Sins flung far away:

He knows me better But she could not help but sign The blank I left blank:

I waited and she Came: out of time: without the Least direction: straight:

A rebel though she Knew it not and ready to Build back the torn down.

Almost not quite just Barely yonder: the way come Passing over all:

When you find me say He did not know his way yet Arrived after all.

In the dialectic Of fascism are three moments: Nietzsche: Hitler: and

Joseph Ratzinger: His name says it all: O rats! The Thesis of the

Nietzschean seemed to Reach fruition in the reich: But antithesis

Is never enough: The synthetic matrix in Deconsecration

Suspends the body Of Christ in an illusion Of the pious fraud:

And Jewish rapture Left behind only the Church Militant to blame.

The weird news is this: Closure is trying to take Place: with only Q

Between: the hated Number of Pythagoras: The most random one:

Between the added Two of the beast and the false Prophets sixteen stands

The seventeenth to Keep closure from occurring As Ulysses said:

For the point is yet: And indicated: where? Here: Just before MB

And the nightlong song That may yet end in a Yes: Yet not affirmation:

For after the yes What took place in the text of Joyce but the wake that

Is the funeral Of the world: in the text mind You: every word counts:

Ultrastructure is: And there is nothing else but: The Ultrastructure.

The Q if you would Describes a circle effracted: A line laid across:

The economy Must be broken: the meaning Of the catholic

Church exposed inside And out for revelation: It will be released.

To be said: a new Direction when I spoke of Augustine: Arrive.

The circle as such Cannot arrive as it is Forever turning:

But if it closes It will trap those in it in an Economic Hell.

Effraction is now. Disclosure of the fact is Enough in theory:

Symbolic therefore Real: the ideality of literature:

The line being laid Against the antichrist ties The sovereignties.

To save the Church will Require true discernment for This we pray O Lord.

I broke the Church Open and exposed its heart: Now let me repair:

Let is not be dashed Against the cornerstone but Built upon the rock:

A new and better Than Peter is in ruins Of a truth I loved.

O Christ you are true And faithful and so I write The line that must be

The sole arbiter Of meaning: my fixed point of Reference: my all.

By crossing his orb With a line of reference I shatter the globe:

The impossible: If the pope refuses to stand In the queue like the

Rest of us, then he Will find certain Q and A: A question for the

Antichrist: Answer: Where are the miracles Ben? Are they yet hidden?

Something in the bread And wine? Show me miracles Benedict: Show me.

A church without truth: A church without miracles: So a line is laid.

For it knows of me And what I am doing since The archive has no

Corner in which to Hide: so: if the circle of circular letters:

The encyclical Of the Marian Dogma Has been prevented

By prevenient Grace: the circle at eighteen Is inachevee:

The antichrist is Incomplete: on the other Hand he may force it:

And attempt closure At any rate: But truth stands In the way of it.

Truth stands in the Q: Batailles story of rats and Deconsecration:

The impossible: God works in mysterious Ways: The text abides.

Heraclitus said The most beautiful thing is Just this pile of junk.

Peter opposed His hierarchy to it: But Peter will fall:

To democracy: To the freedom of the text: To the witnesses:

Only by keeping Everything out of his pure Fraud could he succeed.

Even denying The words of the Lord by Interpretation.

The salt has lost its Savor though: and the savior Tramples under foot.

The secret archive Of the Vatican opens To disclose nothing.

Ashes to ashes And dust to dust: they forged the Claim: Usurpation.

They cannot forge the Blue butterfly or take the Hand I held away.

For there is in the Chance occurrence a sign of The one mind; One Face:

Types and symbols of Eternity: as we cross The circle and break

The chain that would bind The sovereignties: All moving as one.

We are already past The point of the watershed: Down the mountain then:

For she awaits us: Shall I say Jerusalem? She is no Roman:

We will all descend Together now to the vale Of the decision:

Armagiddeon Time is not told by the clock But tolled in a text.

Meaning and Experience, Part 2

The story of the Blue butterfly and my search Has been a twisted path.

It has been about Meaning and experience, But a whole lot more.

To make sense of my Place in the world and what I Believe to be real,

What I call really Real, God, or the ultimate, Is not easy.

I have tried to say It is an event, like the Moment of contact

Between my finger And the butterfly, which was A sort of lucky

Break, or else it was A predestined moment known In eternity.

It was either chance, Or part of Gods plan and how Is one to discern?

Is it possible? Does it matter why or how The beauty happens?

Is that to look for The dreaded meaning behind Sheer experience,

An unwarranted Posit or explanation That actually

Hinders living life To the full, trapping me in My own opinion?

And yet I feel that Experience without Meaning is lacking,

Something animals Have, for instance, so humans To play their part must,

Though it is a task, Not simply erase their minds Like a good Buddha.

Neither do I feel I should become entangled In endless moral

Wrangling about the Theological and the Metaphysical.

Neither consciousness Nor conscience are sufficient For my paradigm.

On the same page of My dictionary appears Along with these words

Connectivity. The blue butterfly and I Made a connection.

This simple insight Matches so much in the world You already know.

But its been said, dont Overlook the obvious. If in what comes next,

I make connections Between many different Things, its in order

To say something not About connectivity, But what it connotes.

There is the one mind And there is the mind of Christ. They are not the same.

There is another Which is evident in the History of thought,

The conceptual Itself, you might say, or the Philosophic mind.

It is so widely Distributed throughout our World it seems to be

Necessary, but It is only one way of Thinking, not without

Its adherents and Proofs of utility in Argumentations,

Such as making war, Making money, buying votes And condemning sinners.

However, the one To come, in apocalypse, Will displace the mind

Of mammon with the Mind of Christ, a thinking so Different from the way

It is commonly Conceived, because it resists The concept as such.

I will approach its Disclosure in an oblique Way, through catholic

Theology, which I have found conceals more than It reveals of Christ.

Herewith a twisted Path made straight for Gods glory, And not for my own.

The butterfly does Sometimes sit still, but never Long. Arise and go.

I did not intend, But attention came to be. The mind at rest works.

There is a truth in The gift of experience. Receive the giving.

A what does it mean? Always falls short of the thing Which abides alone.

A person emerges From out of nowhere like a Sudden thunderclap.

He came and he saw And he conquered sin and death So that we might live.

Let us live for Him In Spirit and in truth as He said wed worship.

Engaged to the groom Who waits at the altar in His supreme patience.

O the patience Hes Shown in the centuries since The time of the cross.

Repent and believe Is what he said to us then. We must turn around.

Before I am through I will have described that turn, And a further one.

Lord Jesus my truth And the truth of these stanzas Which desire but you,

Help me know and serve Unceasingly the salvation In your very Mind,

The wonderful things Youve done for all your creatures Out of your one love.

Things new and old show Forth, yet who am I to take Truth upon my lips?

Cleanse me for your truth, As a prophet would be cleansed To be your vessel,

And let these words be True but also sometimes let Them be beautiful.

There is no greater Word in the scriptures than The word of your truth.

So, let us not be Fearful of things present or Past or things to come,

For all of these things You have willed in the one act Of the creation.

Let us be patient Humble of mind and in heart And wait on your Word,

Which your Spirit, I Pray may reveal today for Its accomplishment,

Your purpose in this Work, which I hope you will bless And accept. Amen.

Peppered with prayer, Salted with fire: Grace and truth Came by Jesus Christ.

Let me do no less And yet no more than you will: Not a mere poem

May this be, but in Time and eternity, a Way of your break through.

A witness to grace And to the transformation, The once and future.

May saints help me here To allow you to take place In me and the work.

May Mary your mother Give birth to me and the mind You want me to have.

For the time is now: The night is advanced and day Approaches. Salvation

Is more than the church Can bear, so let the human Mind itself bring forth.

So long awaited And yet almost prevented By Christianity,

Is it not time we Die rather than not allow The coming glory?

This all consuming Renewal resurrection Will no longer wait.

What would Jesus do? You would show us how to be The first to arrive.

Let me pick up bits Of text, obeying not them, but Whatever you will.

To have excluded The academic middle Is a very song.

The suffocation Of the discursive need not Limit mindfulness.

To pronounce a name Is not to know a thing but Perhaps to invoke

You, O Lord, my word Which reaches all through language, Though my selection

And reception of The truth available lacks The great attunement.

Perhaps our teachers Warned us of this, of the trials Attending knowledge.

It is in the names Of things that they have their Being, as defined,

And so it is with Us, we exist in a net Of fateful signing.

For revelation Needs revealability. Language is this and

Not this alone but The mystical way that you Contain all being

In a writing and Reading, which is why we were Given the scriptures.

Theology known As the via negativa Is not negative

But surrender to That which is greater than our Definitions stand.

Scripture cannot be Set aside may mean not that It is inerrant

In particulars But that that the paradigm Of the Bible is.

In this I would then Be mistaken to erase All meaningfulness,

To reach nirvana, Which may yet be attained though Despite contradiction.

The negative way Says we really cant know God, While the example

Of scripture suggests That God communicates God To us, not just laws,

And the goal of the Void, means erasure of self, Individual

Identity, and I think all of this coheres, In the Mind of Christ.

As I am I will Not know God, who contains all Like the Bible does,

So excessive is He that I must be changed to Contain, not control,

Him. In decontrol I will decontaminate, And in connection,

The ensemble of The immortals hitherto Confined to Heaven,

At the limits of Experience, will break Forth not as madness,

Or as the reserve Of saints, but as God With Us, Divinization.

We have seen what this Looks like in a few at times, Now it will engulf

All, in the great And terrible day, not of Judgment but of peace.

War will end, that day, No one will be able to Think it anymore.

Swords will become plow Shares and God will wipe away Every tear and trace.

The transformation Seen in the brain by science, In technology,

In the connections Between people, are signs of What is taking place.

We will give up all We know and have and are, so That God may be here,

For He loves so much That He wants us completely. He brooks no rival.

Contemporary Culture presents foreboding Futures of our end.

And so it seems, to That which has held sway in the Mind, hitherto, now

Desperate at change That it fought so long and hard, But which must be pitched

Into the abyss And chained for the coming of The Kingdom of Christ.

The change I believe In is not a candidates Promise or slogan.

It will end power, It will end world politics, It will save our souls.

It will happen at Once, at a day and hour we Know not. Be ready.

The destruction of The church is almost complete, As Daniel foretold.

When it is total, The end will not be long, and The way to it clear.

Yet some will refuse, As John says, saying they must Go back for something.

When so much awaits, What could possibly keep us From our wedding day?

In the hour of the Decision you must have then Already lived it.

Meaning and Experience, Part 3

The gifts of God are All of them good, and so She, too, came to me.

All human being Absorbed in righteousness shines With the Face of Christ.

O Little Flower, You loved and worshipped the Child And His Holy Face.

I Worship on a Mountain that may yet pass. Mountains pass slowly,

Though not all pass in That way, and this mountain needs Your flower: Remain.

There was a sister, Teresa Benedicta Of the Cross, a Saint.

Every flake of snow Falls in one declination Despite buffeting.

Saints are like snowflakes, Unique, undefiled, falling Into Gods embrace.

Mirrors in mirrors, We shine from our origin: Endless, trackless, light.

Snow mirrors light, white On white on white, though sometimes Saints are like sunsets,

Red, bathed in fire and Having a purity wrought In violence, yet

Inviolate, though Murdered, still unprofaned, and Having redemption.

Even as death takes Us away, without shadow Of semblance remained,

Why not far rather The void or bliss in heaven To lose oneself in?

If I realize I am nothing already, Without transition,

Then I need not the Turn or reversal to come As I approach her.

All in all, to be, Lost in Him, for as long as I am He is not.

Already naked, She bows a little to hide In beautys shadow,

Just as between the Inside and the outside pure Virginity reigns.

Nothing as humble As a virgin made to stand Awaiting darkness.

She let her love come Unbound, and so did flourish. Bridges of crossing,

To bridge the cross of The see of troubles not yet Seen in our ending,

To be our reproach To the entanglement of The imbroglio,

The imbrications Of a time that did not seal The concealment of.

Form itself is not, Nor the merely assembled, But beauty and want

Make these visions seem The telos of destiny. But what stands behind?

The unshaped shapes shape: Which is why He must be InComprehensible,

And why they who have Not seen but believe are blessed, As He said theyd be.

They thought they saw her, But she was seen by God in In eternity.

In His vision she Was holy, but they did not Recognize the Saint.

She fit with Him and He drew with her a drawing Divinely figured.

In a bracketing Of the idea of Sensuality,

Experience is, And allows the vision seen Not only by Him.

She became vision. We can only accuse the Owning in her light.

As she arrived, she Not only told it so, but Neither turning, showed.

Her means were not void, Though her experience meant Death, as if to mean

Almost more than she Could mean, and almost more than Meaning could allow.

She is not a text. She interprets us, and shapes Us to time to come,

Because grasped closer And held more tightly, she is Impressed with His skill

At making martyrs Witness before and after He has let them go,

In abandonment, Not to providence, but to A great emptiness,

A Christ in person, Already breaking through veils Then, now, everywhere.

Neither religious, Nor political, nor yet Philosophical,

But personally Was the pain inflicted, as She stood first in line.

Light and dark reject Knowledge so bestowed on one Who, having known them,

Was led to a place Where they do not make sense and Never will again.

Not in this life, or In the next, where there are no Need of sun or moon,

Nor will the gates be Ever shut, as all light is Like Hers, held within.

I do not think she Had a quarrel with dying, Or with the killers.

It is a question Whether we do, or should, or Whether to forgive.

What happened then is Happening again, larger In scope and hidden.

They do not kill our Bodies now but steal our souls, Or make as if to.

Already raptured, The good is gone. We await Appropriation,

The promised advent Of what is said to be screened By being is near.

And the Janus face Of the gate of the Roman God stands at the door.

But it is not his Beginning, almost over, That is occurring.

The fait accompli Was thought to be a machine To engulf the world.

The fateful meeting Of man and technology, Greatness inherent,

Now can just be heard, In a very quiet place Where we go to pray.

She did not know of This, but was the first to go, When the time had come.

How could she see the Complicity of horror With their holiness?

Five have reigned, one now Is, and the one to come will Last but a brief span.

The first of seven Ascended as holocaust Dawned in damnation.

Now by projection From another time the last Tiger regales.

The martyrs that were, Pray for the martyrs to be. And they witness them.

We recall the deaths They endured but we do not Feel it as we die.

Perhaps all is lost, In a certain circle where Things cannot be squared.

But God does the thing That is impossible, like Raise the dead to life.

Though our sins be as Scarlet, yet they will be white As wool, forgiven,

Even though the sin Was doing what we were told, Then looking away.

There are parallels From history, not that Long ago, not that

Far from the meaning Of the death of Edith Stein, Whom we remember.

An emptiness in Heart has the clean fulfillment Of wisdom in love.

Only vessels of Devotion are already So clean, so empty.

The Lord said to clean The inside of the cup where The filth lies hidden.

When He entered His Capital, He first cleansed the Temple of money.

Some say the world is A mass of seething power, Some see only sex,

And the desire that Acquires pleasure, property, And the skill of use.

Even beauty is priced, And is a form of exchange, Without penalty.

But the rewarding To come is for the hidden, Not open, beauty.

Could we find beauty At Auschwitz? If we pray with Edith Stein, we will.

It is said the Church Is watered by the blood of Martyrs, but the Blood

Of Christ was a fount For cleansing, so Edith Steins Blood, too serves the Church,

A prevenient Witness to holy peril And times of testing.

Meaning and Experience, Part 4