IMPOSSIBILITY

Allways an allready concluded possibility.
forged with a fiery passivity.
a profound jealousy for the ignorance present in beasts
instead, we developed a bestiality that resents, and yet begs for the ultimate prize of our curse:
the knowledge of duality: absence/presence.
hence we violate our nature with an unholy intercourse. we violate first and foremost, the totality of the human psyche. we violate our virginity that is also our duality. We cannot run away from duality.

- But, I am both female and male only when I come face to face with my opposite.

first, the violence of the anima and animus. then, the violence of metaphysics.
There are always departures, instead of total and inward transcendences; or the inward leap of faith. instead we are condemned to meaning. Falling into places. Poor Aquinas and Albert Magnus...Poor Augustine. and Calvin...........and yet, I am not confident that I am falling into the wilderness. With this revelation, it makes me even more lonesome.

(hence, only the virgin birth could save us.)

desire is not a lack. It is an overwhelming Eros that burns within us; the raging inner war of polarities.
Logos deals with it externally. Mythos deals with it internally.
But the Geist shakes you; breaks you; overpowers you; slips in between.

As Jung puts it, our focus has to be on the Geist. No doubt, we look to Christ; but the supply of Ghost; the chronological baptism of the spirit at Pentecost; the great emblem that is ironically always invisible; immediately separates us from our wretched bodies, but holds the anima and animus together, till the outward persona may somehow manifest this sanctification: I am trapped alongside my Ghost and inside my body - Ghost in a shell. The Geist holds an immediate relation to 'I'. The ultimate stranger and friend. The super Other.

Hence, nothing is more volcanic, more trembling, more fearful, more exciting, more shocking and haunting than the Ghost. It shakes my shell into submission. It wages war against the flesh. It rocks me. I cannot see, feel, hear or speak as dialogues are conventionally done. It makes no sensory transmission. It just does not relate to me as objects of this world does. It just is; within and outside of me. It is so quiet, I thought it does nothing. And yet this nothingness is so profound, so deep and so loud. I can become deaf hearing it. It is a black hole, that staring at this deep pit, I can become blind. And the numerous times I scream, cry and pray at it, I can go dumb. But when all fails, worm that I am, shall dig with nothing but into the underground I go and instead, find the hidden talents and rhizomes that have always been there.

Ah. Unhappy Marriage. Ah. Happy Mourning.

There will be no bestial intercourse at a mass grave upon death.
Death shall make us perfect.
Death shall be the perfect manifestation of love.

I just hope I don't go mad before that happens.