The Revelation of Contemplation

It’s not enough.

Nothing is enough, anymore.

Desire is pain,
the ever-increasing need
to fill
empty space inside
with the wanting of
needing another
close.

Worldly gain
is meaningless in a space
of directionless longing.

There is no pain
like a pain that has
no bottom,
an Abyss of Absolutes,
like a hole gaping within
one’s soul
seeking solace, or
some way to fill that which
cannot be
satisfied by anything
of this world.

It’s not enough.

Life offers nothing
worthy of pursuit
other than
pleasures that pale
by comparison to…

…something more. But what?

Money, fame, sex
scintillate in visions of
vacuous promiscuity
promising
nothing except a
further descent into
flesh.

Where lie the higher realms?

That which severs the Self
set adrift to diminish
the universal solvent called
gnosis
seeping into souls tired
of tribulation?

When does movement equal
matriculation past the morass?

When will life be enough?

When will something
anything
be enough to awaken my desire
once again?

I want to just go … get up and leave, letting concern and caring dissipate beneath the weight of the moment as each new thing rises in experience birthing action and reaction, whispering silently into the past as ghost-like emanations, reverberating across inter-spatial solstices, rising and falling through oblivion. Matrices of motive action branching out into infinity, culminating in the coalescence of the One, eternally evolving past sensation as souls expand and contract in omniversal awareness of perpetual motion.

What may fill the void?

What yearning is this, that cannot be filled?

Who made it, for what reason?

It overwhelms the intellect and reason, obliterating intention with the futility of anything past the rumination upon navels spiraling inward toward death and rebirth.

Silence.

Darkness beckons, as does the light, revealing all ills, secrets exposed for all to see. Awakening to the dawn of Truth. The Revelation of Contemplation.

Nowhere in this world does enough exist.

Everywhere lies disappointment and unease.

Outer promises bleakly threaten dissolution. Silky thighs caressed, hard nipples poking licked, jutting moans strutting past rock-hard cocks. Desire pales beside the need of satiation, vampiric siphoning of life-energy even hollow, blood spattered across faces gaunt with unpent want.

Tell me when you find enough.

Show me where it’s at.

Lead me to the trough, so I may drink my fill and rise, reveling, into the heights of joy, leaving happiness and sadness behind, trial and tribulation, pain and suffering.

Wake me when the dream of this life ends, and the furthest shores approach, the sound of waves crashing upon the brow of G-d’s most febrile dreams approximating the sound of celestial choirs, singing odes to reality television and junk food binges, soothing my soul.

Salve my wounds with your tears, salty and sensual, giving your life for mine, as fate returns to the game, rolling skull-faced bones seeking snake-eyed redemption in time.

This, is where the passion is.

Where enough has hidden, afraid to be found.

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