“The way is empty

The way is clear

Paved by Spirit

A goddess draws near”



These gods have so many languages and you can’t speak any of them

That is really what it is to be in exile, to feel the texture of a world that you don’t understand

And that doesn’t understand you, see?

Because you cannot make the language yours you can only partake in it, in something else

So there is something there that can, and does fail to understand you

Every god speaks a different language, and none of them can be learned

The world of geopolitics, and of abstracted sociality, is about this failure of language

Here we can find the mythological architecture that not only manifests itself so clearly in secularity, in difference

But we can find the many mirrors of the world

Even spirited, gregarious polytheism stymied, distributed, historical being

Seems to seek of seeking a seeming which is itself not myth but just its opposite

Just as pure being collapses at last, at once restful and satisfied, into nothingness, and, eventually, thus vice versa

She does not imagine herself highest, she merely speaks for it, of it, is of it, for it

So when this goddess comes to pay us a visit she comes as messenger of the ocean

Just as we all do in our own seeking among the thickets of mysticism and lost smiles, amid liberation, laughter

We must come to understand how the secular body might smirk in the same motion that the glib mind might grin

Every speaker tiptoes around suffering, and the question of its abolition

Absolution, this whence the font of our living wells–

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