Whale and Bird

God-blue-whale cruises through the liquid space
of his unlimited reality,
imagining vast populated worlds
within himself; these glowing dream-worlds float
within the cruising blue whale as he dreams.

A ragged bird forms in his abdomen;
it lies chest-upward, still inside of him –
the giant, ragged predatory bird
encloses many of those glowing worlds
that hover in the blue whale’s abdomen.

The whale extrudes the bird; the bird is born.
It’s now outside the blue whale’s abdomen
but holds itself there, pressed against the whale,
its chest against the blue-whale’s abdomen;
it clings with piercing claws and ragged wings.

A predator, a giant parasite,
clings chest-up to the blue-whale’s abdomen –
a vulture-parrot-crow with hateful eyes,
stab-stabbing God-flesh with its gory beak;
it constantly adjusts its piercing grip.

The worlds within the vulture’s gut remain
within its gut, but they have now become
realities – the bird’s birth made them real,
and their inhabitants are separate selves
self-consciously inhabiting these worlds.

Our world’s a rotting carcass in the gut
of an enormous predatory bird
with ragged wings that clings chest-up to God,
stab-stabbing upward with its gory beak,
its beak and talons puncturing God’s flesh.

God’s son – Thor, Heracles, and Yeshua –
descends into the bird and leads us out
through cluttered intersecting corridors,
up damaged stairwells.  We evade the guards;
the red-eyed specters don’t quite see us pass.

We’ve left the rotting world; we’ve left the bird.
We’re in God-blue-whale once again; we’re home.
We’re him; we dream ourselves; we’re dreaming worlds
within ourselves, dream-worlds in which we live
as dream-men dreaming our own histories.

Am I in fact within the Holy One –
a blue whale swimming through infinity,
the endless sea that is somehow himself?

Am I in fact a drop condensed within
the Holy One, a drop of his own mind?

Perhaps the ragged predatory bird
that I imagined, clinging with its claws
to His exterior, beak-stabbing Him
repeatedly, our world within its gut
(as I concluded) was illusory –
a phantom generated by my fear.

But why was I afraid?  What can I fear
if I’m a drop within the Holy One,
a condensation of His intellect?

I’m drawn apart from His reality
within him – separated from the Self
that I have been, the self I really am.

The force that separates me from myself,
the force that is His own projected force,
which He projects within himself, appears
as this great hateful ragged clutching bird.

The streets and public halls and vehicles
are full of beastly humanoids – man-apes,
man-rats, man-cows, man-dogs, man-arthropods –
with savagely intense or bleary eyes,
tight predatory or loose drooling lips.
They shuffle, scamper, amble, scurry, trot –
degenerate warped blurry images
of an original humanity
that God imagined and imagines now.