The Dance of the Macabre
The waxy film of delusion draining off its pedestal, revealing the malignance underneath. No secret to hide the strings of the jaded puppeteer, now toiling without a veil to conceal his fearful maneuvering. An attempt at error faithfully undermined by the sword of illumination. An arrogance so clear, its sound rings in an echo that deafens the left ear. A sound that is heard as the inner voice, a vision to deny the truth, and a feeling that reveals the shadows play on the stage of inhibited lamenting.
Still the spheres are burning, still the transmuting fire burns ever within and reduces the charcoal of humanities folly into the ash of redemption. Ever purifying, its light swirls upward, ever liberating the bondage from the heart of deceit and betrayal. In the self fulfilling prophecy of scientific law, profaning the Word of the Creator. Only to burry its error in the casket of the past where it gestates in the tomb of grace only to resurrect again as the Miracle of Divine Splendor.
The Dance of the Macabre to celebrate the death of illusion, gleefully grieving the recognition of what never was, as not having ever been. And so we toast our hearts to the faithful liberation of times ignorant servants who now throw down their hammers and trowels and build false idols no more. So now we pull the cotter pins from the yoke that pulled the plow of slavery and set our beloveds free to play in the garden of endless abundance.
Each breath an affirmation of existence, being forever what it is. Changeless is its nature, pure is its form and guided is it tireless function, ever expounding the perfection of its Source being the loving extension of it. Negating the false it is whole, betraying the incongruous it is redeemed, accepting the gift of giving its unbound in the Unity of its completed nature. ~ Asa
