howl

In our burning longing we consume the universe, pouring everything into our gaping maw. Things, persons, causes, chickens and whole cows, trophy homes, flirtations for our charm bracelet, beliefs, intellects, capabilities, careers, ocean cruises, doodads and current fads, all thrown in, unsatisfying. We will not sate our burning longing until we find its Source. And when we do, we find an eternal leaving with great abandon and an eternally rejoicing coming home.

Cry on, O humans! Weep and wail. Eat everything in sight with no full fill. Keep following the abandon and despise the coming home. This is hell, all prettified. Give yourself an Oscar and set it on your shelf. Do not recognize the angel of your being. And above all, blame!

"What's got into him?" "Oh nothing. He's just tired of dealing with the wounded. And beginning to feel, as he puts it, 'that every mother loving conglomeration of human flesh on earth not only has suppurating wounds of soul and spirit but rejoices in the wallow.' He'll be okay as soon as he relaxes and settles into the eternal coming home. He'll start rejoicing at that, and pretty soon, real soon, he'll be dancing with the angels once again."