The Sacrifice

We have brought this upon ourselves: This virus, this egregore: This cult of individuality. Our right to die and bring others with us! Truly an inversion of full potentiality: Others live so we may make right. The Sun shines on all, says the Teacher, And vanity blows among its rays. Like a mask covering a face, so the individual masks their community: The community devoted to the rite of self-absorption and absolute dismissal of the Absolute that is the ground beneath us all. In the guise of a serpent, pleading to be left alone, like the man behind the curtain, pulling the strings of our poem, like a talking donkey, kicking us down the road, this power and principality wants us to become I and all to be you so it may survive another day, sacrificing us at the anti-altar of death and decay. No blood will flow – no life to be seen - growing and growing, spreading its seed: From west to east, by the forces of materiality and powers that be. There’s a certain irony to it all: We must as individuals overcome our idiotic being - rather, be captured by the wonder of the other - and come to the altar fully experiencing the body and blood of the Other fleshed before us, drawing our eyes toward the gaze of an other.