What do i want out of this? What am I really getting at here? What is my agenda, my deal? Let me confess.
I want to destroy your hope, every last ounce of it. I want to utterly deflate you, put a brick wall in front of your face.
I want to murder your belief in a secret spiritual element of yourself that can escape the tide of things.
I want to leave you utterly desolate, stranded, isolated and cut off from all salvation, momentum and dynamism.
I want you to feel the bare earth beneath you, to drag you down to my dark level, the very lowest place, where nothing moves.
I want you in defeat to touch this patch of damp ground hidden underneath the heavy stone of your despair
And to recognise that this is where you belong.
This, between you and me, is an ultimatum
Our own private crisis in which I hold you hostage
There is no room for negotiation here
This is too vital for agreement, let alone disagreement
There is no flexibility for your interpretation of this
This is too central, too crucial to be about something
So don’t…don’t you dare move to understand this
This is only an impulse without a point
A grenade of voice, a violent expression of love
Exploding across your mindscape
A ringing in your inner ear
And now…now, it is done.
I have only 2 things to say right now, both of which are completely redundant and without any objective foundation.
a) This entire universe and everything beyond it arises out of nothing into now.
b) Whatever you think of this arising, in the first instance, it is an unconditional gift.
“Is everything alright, darling? What on earth are you looking at?” she asked. Her husband had been looking steadily at the power socket midway up the kitchen wall, toast in hand, for the past fifteen minutes or so. “Nothing, nothing at all” he replied, captivated by the darkness of the holes and the mystery of what he couldn’t see beyond.
Enlightenment doesn’t happen on Sundays; you’ll have to wait until tomorrow at the earliest.
A wood pigeon calls out
Everything he thought he’d understood
Everything he thought yet constrained him
A pair of mums, a pair of daughters and a pair of fluffy dogs, all six heading off over the parkland just before mid-morning, still a sleepy coolness in the air, a misty sunlight throwing weak shadows over the grass. How simple, he thought. How perfectly simple.