Sacred Tantrums
Effortless spontaneity may be the incarnation of profound grace, the mark of the sacred, but it is enriched by the patterns out of which it arises; the structured arrangements of its viscera; the predictability that composes its flesh. Cycling orders and redundancies are the pillars of novelty, weaving tapestries of unforeseen experience and expression. The preeminent example of open minds and hearts is flaunted, in my eyes receding from the supposed leashes of reason and its alien posturing.
I have by no means transcended or contained mystery. I neither hope that my attempts at intending within what is playing out in this immense cascade will shelter me from the profound limitations of control, nor that any understanding I might embody will delimit the stature of the real in a way that could even approach its true and utter state, in the grandeur of intractable, indeterminate, incomprehensible phenomena of complexity. It is just as readily the conviction in the infinite stature of spirit and of self, especially along with all the certain but subtle persuasions that unfailingly accompany its characterization, that leave deep fissures of circumscription while impersonating wisdoms of neutral deficiency and receptive equanimity; eclipsing the burdens of persistent and practical love for the enthronements of true sacrifice and martyrdom.

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