A Daily Help in Personal and Family Devotions

The Quiet Hour

The Final State of Basilides

"I am soul, and the soul is a lidless eye.
...
At every moment, the bottom again became the top."

Victor Hugo — According To Orpheus And According to Melchisedech

The Being Buried Within The Stone Said

their signals traveled not in sky but in time—
pass on, God alone dwells here—
and he shouted. 

And I Shall Live In A Thousand Years

their signals traveled not in sky but in time—
version for love

And I Shall Live In A Thousand Years (Version)

Would that the memory of the fathers would exhale from the tombs...
Skeleton honey.

Jon (Exhale The Tombs)

. y —

Encasement comes to me.
I encase my beloved.
Cocoon prior to Will.
A woozy coze.
Rest now, my beloved.
When crumble I in the long eventual, flight
Is for you bestowing eternal. 
After ever after,
How can one reject the gift one gives oneself?

— x . 

Cocoon Prior To Will

"Late have I loved You, Beauty so old and new."

Late Have I Loved You

You opened my eyes to whispers. You waited for brilliance. You drowned in it. You aren't going to be soon. You opened the moon's eye. You rolled the rival river in on itself. You told the joke at the revival service. You call it a funeral. You know what it was. You walk alone, but not without the One. 

You bathed in the rows of flowers. You lost yourself and found. You didn't ask what, you just wrote it down. You just slapped yourself with a shadow. You started it back up again. You heard his bells announce his coming. You stretched backward and forward and laid back down again. 

You bathed in the rows of flowers. 
You bathed in the rows of flowers. 
You bathed in the rows of flowers. 

You opened my eyes to whispers. 

You opened the moon's eye.
You opened the moon's eye.
You opened the moon's eye. 

You bathed in the rows of flowers. You didn't ask what, you just wrote it down. You just slapped yourself with a shadow. You stretched backward and forward and laid back down again... and laid back down again... and laid back down again... and laid back down again... and laid back down again... and laid back down again. 

You walk alone, but not without the One. 

Abyssalwareness

Impeccable Deities

Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? Or whither shall I flee from Thy Presence? If I ascend up into heaven, Thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, Thou art there.

Whither Shall I Flee From Thy Presence

Prayer of Simple Regard

You live in pleasure on the earth and you still want more—
Maranatha

Eat The Moth

"For we even say that the air about us is darkened by lacking light and by the absence of light. For the light itself is always light and always illumines the dark. Hence evil is neither in demons or in us as be-ing evil but as a lack and defection of our most complete and proper goods."

Of The Silence Of The Innermost Sanctuaries

Dreaming With Corinth pt. I 

nothing held back but the

Divining The Execution

"... of every origin, superessentially super-original origin; and of the Hidden, as far as is right, beneficent communication; and, in one word, the life of the living, and essence of things that be; of all life and essence, origin and cause; because Its goodness produces and sustains things that be, in their being." 
—Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite (On Divine Names, Ch. I, Section III)

And Of The Hidden

Mantle Of Inspiration

They are going to be executing a man. We sit at the cliffside beside him in the supple sun. I am holding the fist of leaves uncertain the time for release. Their flight and fall shall be his sentence. Death famished I hear a voice speak clear speak true: Give it to Lawrence's hand. 

I raise my hand of leaves to the sky outstretched to pleroma, let the leaves be taken by a breeze far greater than I, far grander than live and die. Fitting they fly and fall to land, yet still I hold the deeper stick, like patterns pressed to palm, like syrup dried to thick, an etch yet brittle boned...

A young man goes to gather the fallen. Returning he has the deadthick gloss on unseen lips— "I knew it would be worth it."

Offering This Fist Of Leaves To St Lawrence

Do you think the sacred heavens are askew? 

Are You Some Thing That Light Has Told To Vanish?

ambient devotional experiments 
synth + shortwave
theology + hauntology

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