please God I think it’s time to burst this shell.
We’re sheltered long in lies all calcified.
Your Love shines bright both in and out this hell
of self we weave of hopes, fears, wounded prides.
Our hell’s a separation from You, our health.
Our hell’s a shell of self we fashion for
this mortal escapade. We need our selfs
to navigate our human lives. But sore
in heart, we seek to soar beyond all tales
told well or poor of self, no-self; of is,
is-not. We shan’t our shells shed. Yet we fail
not wearing, but believing shells. And with
a growing joy we gaze beyond belief
and disbelief, beyond the swords and sheaths.

Molting please
Sit up straight, shoulders back, head up, chest out
Let the Light in at the shoulders, chest, back, sides, waist, butt, everywhere
Let the Light flood in
and rest within the Light
Push out from within, turn inside out
The Light within must flow into the Light without
We must explode the beetle shell, the hard chitin armor:
that illusion pretending to separate the inner and outer Light.
That illusion that would co-opt the Light and fashion it into
“Me and Mine! Yummy Yummy Gobble Gobble!”

An inner motion. Turn the center-line inside out and explode outward.
All in one continuous moment of conscious action.


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