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 . . ?