0xd5a498bb…fb43sent to0xb0279b25…c85b·#18,035,342·0x5dd961c2…5e5bc9
With a gourd at my breast and a lily of Sharon at my womb I pray for fertility, for the sins of an ancestor are only rectified through the life of a descendant.
We have many sins, my dove.
We have been born and we have died just as many times. Finding each other again and again in the dark left eye of this ancestral skull, this monument of of earth, cedar, flesh and lore.
Look at the fire, my Abraham, into the right eye. Sip of vitality. For when Sodom falls, the season of our bareness will end.Amidst the clamor and chaos sits a pure spirit.
A boy, unexposed to the intricacies of life.
Fixated only on what is within an arm's reach.
The mask is a mirror. It replies to the boy’s curious eyes.
Promethean chants echo from his ancient past into his adolescent mind.
The mask is an aperture. He holds it up to peer through.
The empire on the other side beckons. Flesh is torn, blood is drawn.
He has heard murmurs of Luci by the campfire.
Pain prompts growth, dominion demands sacrifice.If not for this white dot, would you have bothered to look up the sky?
All eyes are on the eventful ground, in search of what we can comprehend and relate to.
But in pursuit of meaning lies the danger of losing yourself.
So this is a reminder.
To take a step back and look up. Remember your purpose, your loved ones.
Why this spot?
It is so plain, yet so obvious.
The shape of an eye, watching it all.
Perhaps the reflection of you, staring at the chaos below, getting consumed by it.