Friday, April 12, 2019

allays 1093 - 1096

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:



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.


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