The Light

Writing

Galaxies erupt across the landscape of inner vision,
Rocketing molton-fire up into the pitch,
Burning bloodred light amid explosions of
Brilliant blues and greens
And shattered diamonds of blinding white.

A canopy of light becomes the firmament,
Constellations of crystal flames
Forming symbols and patterns beyond reckoning,
Holy designs stitched in pulsing webs
Flung across the crushing black.

A prickling all over.
A tingling.
Tiny germinations of light flicker into existence,
Sparkling in refractions
Like the light scattered in countless prisms
On the face of open water.
Mirrors of light, crystals, orbs aglow and glimmering,
Shards and flecks and radiant beams of glittering golden light.

The light is raining down upon me now
In a shimmering golden mist.
It clings like cobwebs,
Strands of electric gold.
All around and over me,
The crackling and popping of energy;
The buzzing aliveness of light.

The light is inside of me now,
Coursing through the superhighway of circulation.
My blood is fire;
My eyes aflame;
My flesh a blinding radiance of
Heat upon heat upon heat.

The brilliance envelops me now
In a crushing aura of intense hues.
There is nothing but the light.
The amber and violet and blue
And gold of flame;
The ferocity of blinding white.

In a final heaving swell,
I am consumed;
Completed.

There is nothing but the light.

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