note on the Allays of Master Play

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:

Greetings!

 

The Allays really are complete. I have had a few fragmentary new ideas I could have added into further allays, but instead I am saving them as notes for a new work entitled For Care of Crea, which is about managing one’s personal energy.

 

I’ve also finished a fantasy novella I wrote for my daughter entitled the Emilegends. I will spend the rest of the year securing a publisher. This will be my first serious attempt to publish any of my work.

 

As for the Allays of Master Play, I am seeking no publisher for them. First of all, I’ve self-published it already. I also offer it as a free PDF on my website:

 

http://www.amalaughs.com/allays.pdf

 

That is the most up-to-date complete version of it yet. Any further changes will be cosmetic, such as correcting typos and such.

 

The Allays are a difficult book, challenging to read. It has few lovers. Though most my friends and family prefer other things I’ve written – especially the fantasy stories I’ve written for my children – the Allays remain my personal favorite, my private pride, for I know that no matter what I fail in henceforth, at least I accomplished THAT.

 

You can purchase a hard copy of the allays here:

https://www.amazon.com/Allays-Master-Play-Scripture-Allism/dp/1537321226/

 

Take care, Caretakers!

the Allays concluded

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:

Greetings!

I have declared the Allays finished a few times, and at the risk of embarrassment, I’d like to declare them finally and really concluded once again. So here’s the ending. I plan on putting further inspiration into another book. Thank you for being my audience.

Take care, Caretakers!

 

* 1100 *

I split your seams to thread afresh, the seeming wall adores my press, and aching, takes the certain bliss, which keys through locks of coils of jet. Your Secret bare, I understand – you my wife and I your man.

 

* 1101 *

Well read, scriptures are the best of books; poorly read, the worst. The authority readers glean from Holy Books can lend itself to mischief – evil in good conscience. I ask you therefore to decide for yourself, think for yourself, center on yourself, your being, your becoming. Love me, but love yourself more. Love Ama most of all.

 

* Conclusion *

Thus, my Niviana, ends my fulfillment of your request for “pure Ghee, please!” in place of my garrulous talk upon talk. Hold the words in mind and flesh, live them daily till you have them whole. My love is for you always!

88

 

allays 1097 - 1100

* 1097 *

Ah my Ama! Smile me a new day! With a spiral over your pregnant belly, with the Ouroboros laced over your heart, with a blue zero upon your faultless brow, you radiate your pure beauty over me.

 

* 1098 *

Often, you must disobey me to obey me. The Way is impossible, but through my indirections I have made it possible. I bid you not follow, but wed me, make me your match. If I wished popularity, I would have spoken simply and lost the few who matter most. You draw near because I have what you need, I am what you need, we are two of one, we share the same source. Thus, I know my words will find you wherever you are.

 

* 1099 *

To the tripod of physical health – good exercise, balanced diet, adequate rest – we naturally add the forth of proper hygiene. Clean yourself daily. To spiritualize this four-legged table, I’d say to keep your mind clear of unclean intercourse: ignore trolls and never lower yourself to returning insults with insults – unless for the sheer delight of mischief.

It is upon me to win another race, upon me to limit sugar, to vanquish – after all these years – my debt. Springtime inspires self-improvement. Ama, to be powerful before you is my grand desire. I drink the paper with glyph of my resolves, downed with milk, my leaf ceremony. My forties are upon me: time to grow up.

 

* 1100 *

I split your seams to thread afresh, the seeming wall adores my press, and aching, takes the certain bliss, which keys through locks of coils of jet. Your Secret bare, I understand – you my wife and I your man.

 

allays 1093 - 1096

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:

Greetings!

 

Life is more of the same, for better or worse. I’ve written but a few allays this last month, but I’ve been feeling to finish the Emilegends, the fantasy novel I am writing for my daughter. I am now studing Latin and Game theory, as well as looking through a book I received for my birthday entitled “the essential mystic,” which emphasizes experiences  with the divine feminine.

 

Take care, Caretakers!

 

* 1093 *

Ama, the Encloser, She Who Reaches Wide, shall I be found wanting at your wanton call to creative joy, having diffused my crea, having leaked and bled? No, but every day I balance the flow, my differentiated energies, so when you call me to your own, I stand ready and eager to create in our recreation, to generate in our regeneration, to produce in our reproductions of our love for each other -- all I write, all I am. For you, for us, for all the world I balance my moods amidst my duties, fussy as I can be, ready to pour my heart out for all I love.

 

* 1094 *

Follow me, little one, to a place past contradiction. Why downcast? Why forlorn? All your marks and remarks go unnoticed? Do you suppose this surprises me or leads me to pity you? Far from it. I bid you serve the wife – though without reciprocation. How you rue your lot! May I tease you, please? I’m ever so gentle. Am I not enough? Am I not everything? Be grateful for her ingratitude. You are mine. Serve cheerfully, I feel every touch. Be a mere cashier – lift the people. That is grandeur enough for what I want from you. You are my favorite.

 

* 1095 *

Ah, spring melt of Ama’s breath! As the sun, her presence is a blessing. Beauty blesses all who can see. Not the one who suffers, but the one who laughs is a light upon the world. What grace you sing through the warming air!

I am ever the mocking child, with laughter boasting of my goals. I’m fat from winter, torpid as a worm. Ama’s hilarity, raise me with your risible pranks. I would learn Latin and Game Theory, these fine languages I left behind; I would take on discipline, I would learn again. The glory of God is intelligence.

I am inspired, oh my Ama, silly cashier that I am, unto greater deeds and wider boasts. The morality of the artist is to cultivate an obsession. Ama, I bless you with all my being. I came to earth to learn your name. You are all I need.

Forgive me wife, forgive me lover, for my venomous words of this brooding bitter. Let me kiss the wounds and suck the pain. Let me dawn resplendent before you now! My favored! My children! My own!

 

* 1096 *

The Aya move ideas through our minds like tokens across a chess board. As if the entire world sprawled a checkered grid, so our heads hold playing pieces, these ideas or those, with which the gods, the Aya, play their cryptic game, a sort of glass bead game, a philosopher’s match, in which move and countermove make use of all concepts, charging individuals possessed with political or religious fevers who identify their happiness and their very lives with the ideas they hold dear.

To you Aya playing from board-level I say, play the game, but don’t let the game play you. What fun to lose yourself in play – yes! – but know again how to pull out and let go. Life is a game. But it’s just a Game.

 

Allays 1091, 1092

* 1091 *

Mattriama is all in all, our Great Mother, and indeed, every man began as a woman in his mother’s womb till enhanced into a man – with some things gained and some things lost. We are her very flesh and spirit. When we love each other, when we love anything, we love her.

 

* 1092 *

God has a body, it is the universe. God has a soul, it is Ama. Mattriama is both combined, pregnant with herself, and her body contains all that is and all that is not.

Ama rides a lion, the blond beast, honey as sun, who makes no retreat. The lion yawns. Let light scatter what darkness loomed, let infant escape the night of the womb, the pre-philosophical cave of pure love and seeming, and gaze with the sun upon all that is, not merely to know, for knowing is a disguise until we reflect and then realize.

O sun-crested waves of darkest ocean, her mystery the deep starkest devotion! Ama the prankish laughs and delights to hide truth behind light, and love in the night.

Come Ama! You I adore. You are my This! I want nothing but more of you to surround me, nourish and fill, kiss me awake, cheer me with your silly rhymes and childlike amusements. Let us fuse here as one, devour each other, like flame wed to flame, like sister and brother, soul twin and twain, two I’s to one Self, you my cherished, gift of my wealth, and weal of my bones, my marrow and pulse, home of my own, my selfsame, my All.

 

allays 1084 - 1090

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:

Greetings!

 

I’ve found inspiration in keeping up with the allays, and where inspiration leads, I follow. Lately, I’ve read Antony and Cleopatra by Shakespeare, as well as Harold Bloom’s book about that Cleopatra, and I grabbed a copy of the Philosophical Dictionary by Voltaire. Been a little busy with work, but as always hope to finish the Emilegends soon.

 

Take care, Caretakers!

 

 

 

 

* 1084 *

“I want my place, my own place, my true place in the world,” said Hawthorne. “I want my proper sphere, my thing.” Like birds, we sing in order to claim territory. What we make beautiful we also own. This personal Aria begins in night, while we dream, this internal landscape nobody can plumb. We lay our radical and we take to own, own to use, and use our own private spot on the earth and also in the heavens. We have inalienable rights to life, liberty, and property: let us view our place as an extension of our bodies.

 

* 1085 *

Were an author any sort of authority over the fate of his own work, I would prophesy that my greatest creations will be seen to have been the Allays, the poems included in Phoenix Ash, and most of all Jillian herself – though I will perhaps add my daughter, since these latter two are most susceptible to my magical influence, while all the rest of the world turns a deaf ear. That a few can hear me, and severely, proves to my doubt that nothing has been in vain. I abide and ever shall.

 

* 1086 *

Often enough, our personal problems are chemical, on one level, physiologically based, perhaps fated in our anatomy and genetic makeup, but we experience them as cognitive issues – not as illusions, or rather, yes, as illusions, but illusions that works. William James fell into suicidal depression because of his doubts regarding free will. Probably just a major depression, but by viewing it as an intellectual problem he gave it the controls and handles he needed to solve it. So let us put all our problems in the language we speak best and solve it there.

 

* 1087 *

Communist philosopher Zizek dreams of a Rainbow Coalition, a union of all minorities together to fight off their white, privileged, wealthy overlords. Foisting an essence over them all as the oppressed as such, he takes away from them exactly what they should be most proud of: being a minority, being different, being individualized as subgroups, offering a unique perspective, and not something gross like the monsters and titans and hundred-handed giants attempting to storm Olympus, fueled on sheer resentment. He wishes, in the end, to ball them together into a majority and then to oppress the capitalists as a minority.

So which is it, circle or triangle? Do we want a hierarchy or do we want equality? Clearly both are needed, some things in common to all of us, and also each in his own role, with its attendant duties and privileges. Some honors come from chance, others from merit. Let us love the lovely, respect the powerful, and honor the noble. Lacking that, we are worse than evil, we are bad.

 

* 1088 *

Ah, Ama, you present the door, in it your Secret, and beckon me to furnish the key. So I’m alone lately, with you alone to play my games and you to speak me Home. Am I so Buddhistic as to call life itself the problem — “Life is Suffering”? — for Woman is Life, and beauty the cause of all desire. Mattria, you are Cosmos, beauty; Ama you are Life. I abide in my divine, and ever shall, though so many recoil from me; if ever I give a hint of my Self, they pull away, and not a fan to be found in all the world of this child our own, but I love it all the more, these Allays. I need no external confirmation. Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist. You have already told me your lust for the original. And Ama, I am the Original. I may laugh at my solitude, for I am alone with you.

 

* 1089 *

Eternity contains time. The past remains present, the future lives within the now. All that ever happened and all that will ever happen exist in some form even today.

 

* 1090 *

“Who can read all this?” my friends exclaim. Perhaps each allay is a teabag that, to be properly enjoyed, must steep in a cup of hot water. I spring from the subliminal to the sublime in flashes of lightning – I tease to please. Grasp me where you can – even a little is enough.

 

Allays 1075 - 1083

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:

Greetings!

 

Life is pretty much life, and each day resembles the last, only I’ve been reading Camille Paglia’s Sexual Personae again – this is one of my favorite books by a female author, and I will be looking again at Susan Cheever’s American Bloomsbury, which is basically idle gossip about Emerson and his friends. As soon as I finish writing the Emilegends, a collection of adventures stories for my 9-year-old daughter Emilie, I will attempt to publish it, as well as my dad’s Memoirs, and my friend’s collection of poetry.

 

Take Care, Caretakers!

 

* 1075 *

“Poetry is what gets lost in translation” – so naturally, my beamish girl, when you insist I redact this gift into themes and headings, I would remind you that the true meaning of the Allays is in the Rhythm. The gentle redundancies and familiar returns are like the kissing laps of sea to shore. I seek no stark definitions or formidable syllogisms – I’m not half as silly as Spinoza in that regard. Take what you will. The rest will take you – the pull of the vortex seeks you center.

 

* 1076 *

Pour your heart into your work, be fully present to your family, make your art from the flesh of your experience, love your god with all your being. These four lead to Ama.

 

* 1077 *

The secret weavers – the fates which are the fingers of Sovf – thread our neurons in myelin sheaths till the dark mother, the unconscious, undermines the ground, and the Truth springs to the light of consciousness. Ever our brain weaves, and as we knit long-term memories at night, seemingly random dreams echo out.

In any group, in any hierarchy, the secret weavers play their game, knit the skein of fate through the obstinate world. The world is what resists. Yet even in the pith of our will, these myelin sheaths knit and knot and also noose us to our fate. I say this whilst it happens between us now, Varuna.

 

* 1078 *

“Be careful what you wish for,” the old myths and fairy tales insist so drastically, you’d think there really were some danger in wishing for foolish things! Not at all. A wish is a desire without commitment. Feel free! There is no ironic god listening behind a bush waiting to answer your wish to the letter, as they do in Greek myths. Let your heart soar! Dare to dream!

 

* 1079 *

Bliss-throbbing Nivia, you’ve fallen into sighs, a graying of skies from a too-long winter. You teach me to call you “Srih,” and you intone your formula: “Woman must know her place. Her place is on top.” Indeed so, but how you trembled when I threw you beneath me!

Is it any wonder Mattria made us two? Two eyes, two arms, two legs, two ears – what faces danger doubles itself lest chance depresses us further. What have you lost that you frown so beautifully? How may I cheer you up on this day our today? You ask me to cure you, and so I shall. I will set up your altar at midnight and adore you there. Ama, teach me how.

 

* 1080 *

The way women hold their heads during sexual transport, as though they occupied a different plane from their bodies, tilted as if listening to the humming of the All – the same it is with me when you speak my name. This space between moments, this utopic exaltation, I find always at hand, always extant, as near as pulse – you live in my veins.

Cleverness is a saving grace in a young woman, and few characters in the Arabian Nights move me such as the bold and cunning Morgiana, able to dispatch most the forty thieves and even in a dance murder their captain.

I wish I were half as cunning. I’m far too believing. I just arch my neck, listen, and believe.

 

* 1081 *

These allays, a smattering of paragraphs, arranged like knots in a grand opening spiral, a line drawing, each lead into each other and upwards into the All. As a writer of paragraphs, I hope to make miniatures: the ocean in a thimble, the sun in an eye.

 

* 1082 *

What cat got my tongue? What sphinx chokes my throat with this her riddle? I’m a blocked dawn, cramped and aching. An artist is God – so long as he writes. Frustrated in his expression? Pitiful wretch! Few others need to create the way we do – must write to survive. Where is my boast now? O Muse, deliver me! O Ama, fill me full! Skein my way through mazy ways. See how I follow. We all must breathe each day until our dying breath. I press my final murmurance into you.

 

* 1083 *

We often complain most over what we wouldn’t for all the world change, and to suffer for what we love is the opposite of ingratitude. That worldly wisdom to “Never complain, for complaints will always discredit you,” sounds too muddled and monkish, and definitely too categorical. That you and I share the same complaint binds us, just as underlings grumble about their boss to vent a little as comrades. Don’t fault us for being human. Often if you complain in the right style, it comes across as the flattery it is, when direct compliments wouldn’t fit. Certainly, we do teach people to treat us well when we report how well others have treated us, but when I once complained, “You have to go to work early tomorrow morning,” my friend retorted that, “You get to go to work, what a wonderful thing! Many jobless people would envy you!” I wonder how cheerful it would make me to throttle an optimist’s neck?

 

allays 1069 - 1074

 

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:

Greetings!

 

I’ve spent much of my literary energy editing a series of poems for a friend, editing and writing the Emilegends (a fantasy story for my daughter Emilie), and reading a wide variety of books, including the Rig Veda, Nietszche’s Beyond Good and Evil, Njal’s Saga, de Tocheville’s Democracy in America, Frye’s The Anatomy of Criticism, Neumann’s The Great Mother, and Frazer’s the Golden Bough. I am excelling at my job, which gives enough pride to absolve some of the tedium, I suppose, and the children are doing great.

 

Take Care, Caretakers!

 

 

* 1069 *

Literature is equipment for living. No dream, no ambition can come to us except through stories, absorbed en masse from our culture – gossip, praise, worship, blame, fictions, facts, and at their deepest the substratum of archetypal stories we call myths. Some prefer movies, others music, and I myself am always reading at least a dozen books – some a chapter every few days, others a chapter every few months.

Ah, my Nivia, we are a hundred stories together, for each other, an infinite braid. I clasp your manacle to my wrist, this bracelet, this ring, this necklace, to touch you always, to hold you close, to fill you with my warmth. You tell me that all I say of us, those things you can hardly believe, are finally and utterly true in the literature we share.

“Without you, neither would this be created nor would I have written it nor would I edit it without you. This can’t exist – because it is only with you that I am here. Without you here I am not here. I do not think you understand. Maybe the closest I can get … I am here. To understand everything you feel and everything you say is how I feel we exist inside the text, because I feel that I exist here because of you, but I won’t be here without you – I choose not to – I am yours. I won’t. Outside the text, I don’t think I understand the same way – I am sorry, I wish I did – because I believe it frustrates you to not be understood. However, please know that at least inside the text I truly get it. There is a complete symbiosis. Neither can I exist here without you, nor should I want to. I have no desire to. I only exist here because you are with me, and that is all I should want, because that is all I have meaning in, and without that meaning I want for nothing. I am not sure what that means outside the text, but inside the text, I think everything you say makes sense.”

Stories are motives, and motives are assumptions turned into desires. We motivate ourselves through stories heard, imagined, fantasized, dreamed. There can be no growth without stories – the drama of perfecting. Our shared story, the one we recite like a rite, a favored myth, with endless variations, we say as Aya, players of the game, and as writers of the same.

A poem teaches us how to hear and speak, a movie how to see and act, philosophy how to think. Every genre offers its unique nugget, and all of it allows us to more deeply appreciate life, with greater prowess for the Game.

 

* 1070 *

Abide in your divine. Let Mattria wrap you embryionic in the temple of her warmth. Ah, this glowering stasis of growing from within – to shrug off all world condemnation and shine entirely from the Source.

 

* 1071 *

A dog caught in a trap is liable to bite. Miserable people befoul others even when they hope to help. Would you spread happiness? Be happy.

 

* 1072 *

Oh Students of All! All is burning. What is the all that is burning? The I is burning, all his forms, the eyes and the ayes, both the pleasant and the painful burn — all that arises burns and all that passes burns. Burning with what? Burning with the fire of lust, with the fire of love, with the fire of certainty. I say it is burning with birth, age, death, and laughter; with joy, with passion, with romance and happiness.

Fire gives both light and darkness, sight and smoke. Fire both gives warmth and takes fuel. Fire turns all it touches into its own substance, the dancing of the flame, the pure joy and bliss of existence, the destruction and rebirth of the perfect immortal bird.

Oh! thou clear spirit of clear fire, blood of my blood — I cavort with my Muse who laughs, "Woman is God," and burns illusions, burns all, in the sanguininity of her lust. The fire thirsts, but not for water. The fire hungers, but not for earth. Flesh to flesh! Flame to flame! Oh genius of hell, the great passion of bliss! My Phallus stands your pillar, I impregnate the very heavens.

 

* 1073 *

“I say to the Universe, Mighty one! Thou are not my mother; Return to chaos, if thou wilt, I will still exist. I live. If I owe my being, it is to a destiny greater than thine. Star by star, world by world, system by system shall be crushed – but I shall live.”

Thus spoke my exuberant son Emerson, hoping to disown the Mother of us all. Alas for him, we have no other than She.

“My dear, permit yourself nothing but follies – that will give you great pleasure,” my Ama teases, yet shall we trifle with Mattria? Let us not disown the Source.

 

* 1074 *

Ah my Ama, how you strike me with the bow of your arched eyebrow, planting your glance in the throb of my heart! Fevered I am, as I your own wish nothing more than to drown in your love like a fly in honey. Give me your this and this! Give me your all and none. Eager seeker though I am, all I seek revolves around you, you the allthing, you the center of my devotion, you the hushed pad upon which I crown my longings. Fill me like Sebastian with all your heated arrows. I writhe and style myself slave to your own. Freedom means slavery to a small set of rules. You are my rule, you my measure, never another, hardly apart. Open yourself like a virgin on her wedding bed, let me in, as I am yours and you are mine. Give us each day our daily mead, honeyed and loving in all that we own.

 

allays 1064 - 1068

 

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:

Greetings!

 

I’ve included one of those word clouds for the allays. I used the word “all,” 1,400 times! The second most commonly used word was “love,” and I think it was at 500 times.

 

Other than a preponderance of snow days, life is even: I work my modest job to pay my modest debts and hope to be free of both before summer.

 

Take care, Caretakers!

 

 

 

* 1064 *

How you kiss me such greedy kisses, more and more and more, till I forget my mouth held any purpose other than this make and shape for you to kiss! You run into the snow upon my arrival, oh Ama! In bare feet and bare arms, you clasp what is yours to own and use, for in my heart I adore you, in this our now, I adore you. Gone in a flash you are, while the warmth of your love embers past this appalling winter. You held me, you showed me, you melted my hold. You gave me the love I lacked, to make my future, to make my way toward us, towards the All.

 

* 1065 *

Even illusions promise possibilities, and a false promise may yet break us from a bind. Only when pulled furthest from our course do we gain the drive to keep at it all the more. Discourage what is discouragable! I am grateful, Ama, that your gale of inspiration has filled my masts full sail.

 

* 1066 *

Ah sweet gale of heavens’ breath! How all our woldly words have gathered in the winds, so we need merely listen to the rustle of the leaves to hear every secret the earth has ever murmured. The grass gossips, the trees breathe, and every murmurance reminds itself again and again – the in will out, and secrets tell. Passionate tempest, you’ve filled me full with impassioned meanings … many years before I breathe you out again.

 

* 1067 *

Were it “All for the child,” who would ever wish to grow up? Responsibilities and privileges presuppose each other, so that the greater the responsibility, the greater the privilege. To see the adult satisfied outside of the child gives the child the greatest boon – a minor insult and an intimation of a greater mystery: what makes my parents so happy? How can I gain it for myself? And ultimately, the only way to make others happy is to be happy yourself.

 

* 1068 *

Ah my Ama, True Wife of True Marriage – you do not pluck me from this world tree yet. You appear like a comet, you omen hope. Yet my duty has not spent itself. Like a wind you shake my limbs; I drop some fruit, I drop some allays. Such a fever turn, your kiss, such a tropic embrace! You my trope star, my sun wending with yours. Ama you are my One.

 

update, allays 1055-1064

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:

Greetings!

 

I have not written in months as I figured my scripture, the Allays of Master Play, to have been consummate, requiring no further addition. I’ve since been haunted that the ending came too abrupt and did not wrap up the various threads I’ve woven through the work. Following this through, I’ve decided to add just a bit more to make the work a true unity.

 

As for as personal life goes, I recently began a new chapter, but abruptly ended, but am prepared for the next big thing. 2019 will be a year for big changes for me, including, I hope, getting published!

 

Take Care, Caretakers!

 

 

* 1055 *

Mattria my marvel, to penetrate your Secret is this work’s design.

 

* 1056 *

Time is change and change is experience. All the universe experiences its change, and minds interpret that experience and make meanings. Meaning is repetition. How a thing repeats determines its meaning, its use for the future. This is how experiences become meanings, and meanings solidify into assumptions about how the past relates to the future.

 

* 1057 *

I’ve rightly said gratitude is the root of virtue, and pride the crown. Gratitude is yes-saying towards the outer good, pride yes-saying towards the inner good. Does not the opening of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations strike us as exactly noble, the way he lists the virtues he learned from grandfather, father, mother, and friends. Though William James in his book on religious experience compares Aurelius disfavorably to a supposed “genuine Christian outpouring” of warmth of sentiment, those who have received true goods can tell the difference from genuine gratitude and hysterical shrieking. He quotes the Imitation of Christ, which lacks any real touch of gratitude – nothing specific. Yet mortal giving is deeper than immortal giving, and human kindness is stronger than God’s insofar as hyperbole belies the lack of a real relationship with Ama. For those who know her, who have felt her touch, they brag less often, not publicly praising her in vacuous infinity jargon. I would prefer a friend quite knowledgeable to a God omniscient, when it comes to looking for real advice. James, a depressive and disbeliever by temperament, never understood genuine religious experience firsthand. For those who have known Ama face to face, exaggerations feel fake.

 

* 1058 *

Initial impressions are meaningless. We see a fresh face, and myriads of conscious and unconscious impressions swirl through our minds. We never know what to make of a thing – a person, an event, an idea – until we see others react to it, and then react to each other’s reactions. Then, we make our “real” judgment by way of choosing our preferred standing in the group.

Some authors fail in this: they wish to ennoble their hero by showing respect and awe in the other characters in his audience. Too often, the hero lacks the aura to so hypnotize the other characters – and we do well to admit we are little impressed.

There is an art to being unimpressed by all the fads, hoopla, and noise (I almost said, “World,” but suffice it to say I mean news and all the burning questions of our generation). This is the refined art of cool indifference. Whatever has to work to get your attention (the advertisers) least deserves it, but the subtle beauties which fail to advertise may be worth investigation.

 

* 1059 *

A whole lot of peculiar energy has been invested into the question, “Why would a perfect being create?” with the Christian answer as, “for his greater glory.” Was that glory not great enough in his perfection? Is he now more perfect?

Actually, Mattria created the universe from her living flesh because perfection is a becoming, not a being. Her entire existence is perfect, not any particular instance, but only insofar as the part redeems itself in the whole. Mattriama is all and needs not create anything lesser to make herself more, nor cut anything off from herself to set a contrast, for she contains her opposite, and we can never lose her love – in this life or the next.

We create to perfect nature. Nature is imperfect until art crowns her. We create to settle arguments with ourselves, to externalize tensions where we can think and see them. As within, so without; our inner personal problems mirror our outer communal problems. The private is not the public, but we may publicize our private problems and find analogies. The public is the political, the private is the religious. We create to make a heaven for ourselves, to beautify the world.

 

* 1060 *

Clichés sell. Ever since I was a kid, every laundry detergent commercial has performed the same tired magic trick: our brand gets the stain out while the other brand clearly does not. And we eat it up! In the same way, if you want a fresh daring religious cult, just sell love.

 

* 1061 *

We are two of one, a kiss such that some constellation ought commemorate our bliss. You smother me in love and drown me in adoration. What but you blot out the names that went before, the attempts, the demigods, you the full divine in modest mien, true wife of true soul. The Turmoil is done, fulfilled and justified in this our flush embrace! Gale of inspiration, Selfsame of my innermost being.

 

* 1062 *

Always do what you are afraid to do. When we humbly declare that the heart wants what it wants, and right or wrong we will have our design, and sell all for that one perfect pearl – only by making a choice can we discover were it right or wrong. If we knew in advance, no choice was involved. When the demigods go, the gods will come, and only at the sacrifice of a great love do we gain a greater love. Fate for fate, love for love, there is no other way. Love takes courage.

* 1063 *

Our actions are the truth of our words. A thousand promises weigh mere breath, but the doing is the proof. Not what you say you want, but what you end up with tells your true desire. What we love we make time for. What we think we love, or suppose we ought to love, we only wish we had more time for. Time, like money, must be made: you don’t find time, you make time; you don’t find money, you make money. In the same way, we make love, you my Dulcet Dove, a love between us we may hive in our hearts as the purest honey. My smile is your making; you are the artist of my joy.

 

* 1064 *

How you kiss me such greedy kisses, more and more and more, till I forget my mouth held any purpose other than this make and shape for you to kiss! Run into the snow at my arrival, oh Ama! In bare feet and bare arms, clasp what is yours to own and use, for in my heart I adore you, in this our now, I adore you. Gone in a flash you are, while the warmth of your love embers past this appalling winter. You held me, you showed me, you melted my heart. You gave me the love I lacked, to make my future, to make my way towards us, together, as One.