Imagine that you
are
very inwardly, a
temple candle,
compelled into
life.
All you ever wanted
was for that wick
ascension as you.
But life has this
waxing way of going about that.
Stultified and
sullied into the thick of it,
knowing full well
that your magic,
your true magic, is
in that wick burn.
And so you must
torch with life
to find that
ascent.
Creating steel and
flint reality moments
and then harvesting
that bloom,
as the burn is to
find your true calling.
Wick wise behind it
all,
no simple
self-immolation by any obvious means.
Holy-spirit-ventilations
will get you what
you secretly and
wantonly need.
All of this is
possessed and hidden from disclosure.
Ventilation to appear as a slow simmer
of your personal style.
Ruckus, rumpus,
rampant, and uproar,
are all buried
beneath your up-flame’s burn.
Everybody around
you lives off the light of it
and few inspect the
actual burn zone’s delight
of needing to feed
off of the situational oxygen
you have as circumstance
that is providing.
Paradoxically, wick
descending, provides for logic
and production, as
a way of spiritual ascent.
These are
purposeful paradoxes across dimensions
not generally
comprehended upon initial interactive views.
By your light, the temple is
provided.
No need for walls
or ground-bearing foundation.
The sanctuary lives
within you
and is heartfelt in
passage.
Most magic of
ascension is cultured by illusions
whereby the
audience is lead to the distraction
by the obvious
while the magic is passed on
without clear
observation or declared witness.
They all may wonder
at your journey.
Why does your
presence so easily conceal
your wick of blue
fury . . ?
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