Rosarium No. 1
Red beads descend unto the crown of my head. Upon your most sanctified rosary I pray, O’ heightened Mother, your wisdoms I seek to utter from my mouth. Steadfast, you hold my wrists and guide what movements are required for my mind in the presence of heavy suffering and pain borne by flesh and bone. Your heart envelops me always and in it I burn within the completion of all four fires. In moments between action, I feel You; hot, blazing sun who’s love penetrates up my spine and smites me to my knees. Divine electricity bursts past the seams of my soul: it is what chariot you have bestowed. I need only to hush my eyes and there you appear, placing your hands upon my ruddied cheeks. I am your prism, O’ Mother. My Mary and darkest Cāmuṇḍā.
Your words are thus.
Peace, peace, peace to those who quiver in the reeds of their minds. Fearful creatures, moisture seeking in the desert that dries our shores.
Look from thereupon your scripts and into the coming sandstorm. Long lashes of the camel you must don and thereby blink away disorientating refuse and adopt the grinning grace of unfelled masters.
The slow beat of wings as the angels descend shall be the final call. A trumpet sounds past the red dawn’s horizon. There she will stand. Mighty and ink-skinned, adorned with flesh of a billion lightning bolts. Her tongue shall lap up those who fear her as her nostrils feast upon their rankness.
Your salvation will come against the waters of a vast ocean. Should you seek to drink it, your innermost nature would become crumpled kindling for the adversary’s bonfire. Should you take breath and relinquish to its deep current, be saved. I will be there. I am IT. While all shall dry, you shall be wet. Nourished by the ever expanding body. Leave it not to your puny mind but consume it with your heart. I will be there. No one shall touch you.
Child, forget not your minuteness so that you may drift through the cracks of a breaking world. You sinners, those who remain obtuse. Tread lightly little one, lest you wake the ignorance of your own demise. Know nothing. Assume such freedom. I will be there. No one shall touch you, my heart.
