Xepera, xeper, Xeperu

"I have Come Into Being, and by the Process of my Coming In to Being, the Process of Coming Into Being Is Established."


Between the things of this world and the things of being there is an unbridgeable gap.  Jump.  You cannot think your way there.  
Only by daring will you get there.   Only by being.  
But you can't be; you can only think.
What is more a waste of time than philosophy?  
  It holds out the prospect of knowledge beyond the secrets of God.  
  It promises to lead you to the heart of being.  
  It will give you existence.  
  It and you will work to try to remember its arguments.  
Then surely they will see you in Glory.  
But you never succeed in remembering, existence has been yours all along, and God is a secret you are embarrassed to tell.  
Time is a wasteland.  
Philosophy will not follow you back into town.  
And your thoughts of town has become little mosquitoes in this horrible night.  
Too hot.  You can't cover up. You can't uncover.  
The thoughts bite and will not leave you alone.  
Being is close and love is far away.  The itch is all you have.  
But if you had something the itching and scratching could be oh so lovely.  
On to the other.  
And biting.  And pricking. And swelling up.  And digging.  
Until the rain comes.  And it's over.  At last.
It's an entanglement and a knot and you have only to pull it tighter.  
The mess of your thinking is full of being.  It is nothing but being.  
If you will only let it be, but you can't.  
And that is your way home.  The night has been long.  
It will turn to fire. 

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