Love finds itself.

I found this in some old writing I was doing during a healing phase...

Love
relentlessly whispers
in His everloving, everbeckoning
Voice.
‘Bring the pieces together.
Bring the dismembered pieces together.’
So, I search for my scattered fragments.
I search in my soul for my shadow that
has been innocently, brutally pushed into the darkness.
I hunt for my parts that have been cast into a loveless world,
(those stupid niggers, greedy Jews, bitches with sagging breasts and skewed eyes and lumbering stomachs, white skinhead fascist fucks)
painfully bringing them back into the light,
bringing the dismembered pieces back together,
welcoming back my outcast and my poor.

In my submission to Love,
I practice,
Often nothing more than a hamster on a wheel
Spinning through endless cycles of meditation,
studying, body-work, Who am I?
Who am I?
Who!
I drift out of the practice into fantasies of
the melon breasted jellybean nippled woman at the gym.
(Of course I will find eternal comfort in her succulent embrace).
Where was I?
Who am I?
Back to the practice; keep spinning the wheel
until the cage of my mind breaks.

‘Bring the pieces together.
Bring the strewn pieces together.’
I read Integral books,
trying to complete the puzzle of this kaleidoscopic world.
My sex drives and power drives don’t care about depth.
All they see is flatland as they scream for nothing but airbrushed surfaces.
(Given their way, slavery and rape and dictatorship would be the world order.)
Thank God for the higher.
Thank God for the salvation of the higher.
Thank God for transcend and include.

Love compels me to drop the ignorant illusions of a lying self
and superficial promises
Love makes me include the depths, the interiors, the abandoned, the fragmented, the exteriors, the people, the love, the complexity.
‘Continue on this journey into wholeness.
Continue until liberation.
Trust the sacred passageway.’

I have no choice but to listen to the Voice.
The first murmurings of Love
are heard as the gentle stirring
of the incoming tide.
Small waves caress the dry beach.
‘It’s time for you to move.
It’s time for you to leave your reptilian slumber
And move up the sand.’
When I hear that Voice,
I know not to fall asleep again.
I have learnt my painful lessons,
because if I do not listen,
if I do not quickly obey,
then,
Love will grow angry and stormy,
Love will flex Her infinitely powerful muscles,
throwing me, exhausting me, tumbling me
With relentless waves
Until I am left humiliated, broken,
washed up on the Higher ground.
(if She has not decided, by the mercy of Her grace, to drown me first).

A command echoes from the heavens.
‘You will listen!
Your will will listen to me!
Eventually, your will will become My Will!’
I have no choice but to listen to the Voice.
(unless I want to be thrown, exhausted, tumbled and broken)
I cannot fight the Infinite with worn out excuses of ignorance and selfishness.
I cannot try to find my wholeness in blind separation,
trying to preserve my comfort within the
ceaseless
exhausting
arguments of my desires.


‘Better. Truer. More beautiful.’
The Voice of Love will eventually win,

It’s all complete within you anyway.
Just this.
A chair scrapes.
A woman rides past on a bicycle.
The summer air is hot.
I watch myself writing, arising, awriting.
It’s all within you.
You are already whole; Love has already won.
Stop denying this.
Stop Denying This!
Stop Denying Who You Really Are!
Stop resisting your homeless parts.
Stop resisting wholeness.
Stop it!

When exhaustion finally breaks your search for separation,
You can rest, you can find rest.