The Last Funeral Mass

Eve…what a beautiful name. And New Years Eve…the expression would inspire hope. It seems so tragic this past year has been marked by many deaths and funerals, that we couldn’t even attend in person.

But there are people saying this New Year’s Eve of 2021, despite the pandemic and all we have endured or perhaps, because of it ~ they sense a shift in the force.

This includes me.

I will go further and state I believe humanity is in spiritual labor, that despite everything, mankind is about to die to something to give birth to something, something better described as a non thing ~ or Substantive, Universal Awareness.

I find myself pondering the “Eve” in Genesis.

I wonder if the word translated “Eve” really meant not a gender, not a woman,  but womb-man or mankind with the free will to conceive things, or realize things, from within. It also could mean  “labor before New Birth”. She is vulnerable, but with vast potential.

Certainly today, more people than myself have woken up to the reality that outer material systems and authoritative institutions often fail to serve those very humans they were designed to serve.

And I believe when the material, pre-evolved form of a thing, or a letter of law (like a literalist approach to Scripture) is put before the invisible spiritual, or human good it is supposed to serve, it becomes an inhumane monster, an idolatrous “graven image” serving itself.

The older I get, the more I see this phenomena happening all around me. Corrupt police force (that was supposed to defend all human life, assuming it vulnerable and innocent) and the Black Lives Matter movement, is an example of it.

Real human beings – sacrificed for or abused by inhuman systems, powers or beasts of man –  are often the first to realize that true Love and Unity, what we universally recognize as the higher “God or Good” force in all of us (regardless of whether or not we even believe in God) can only be conceived from within. Perhaps the pandemic is serving to remind, in allegory, that old, outer forms must pass away and if they are rebuilt, must be built in a way that protects that which is invisible and lays within, or is at heart and is spiritually substantive.

We as humans have long tapped man’s intellect, or material perceptions, for outer discoveries and material “goods” as the answers to life’s problems. But what if mankind’s survival rests not in outer attainment, but individual, inner enlightenment, and intuitive communication with one’s higher self, or Divine within, including within those persons we are in “habit” of perceiving as the enemy?

For what really kills – if not old habits, that die hard?

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Old “shells” are comfortable. But we will surely die if we don’t shed them. They keep us from communication with, and even seeing, others of our kind. The artificial or “material” self-produced division gives the false impression we are separate, above or beneath others in importance.

One would think in a world in which conspiracy theories and assumptions abound, and sometimes are even glorified like new religious dogma – used to justify cruelty or irresponsibility against our own neighbor, human beings would also be able to conceive that we all experience a Christmas, a Passover, and a Ramadan. And perhaps those of us best equipped to inform or aid the other in understanding the “true nature of things” are not those who are most educated, or who have things, but those who most represent in their life journey the Universal Christ ~whether they be Christian, Jew, Muslim, atheist or agnostic.

My Christmas/New Years wish for all of us is that there will be a moment in which this realization of true, undying unity comes to fruition in all of our hearts.

Whether we be on one side of the globe or the other, whether we be practicing a religious tradition, or not, whether we be serving soup to keep someone warm and alive in a practical sense, whether we be seemingly alone, with only our guardian angel’s wings wrapped around us, or searching our corner of the sky for that new Christmas star (because we do not want our loved one’s to catch COVID-19), may we feel that Golden Light, that Divine Invisible Substance, which truly unites all of us, and issues in a New Day and a Love that material or mental viruses can’t ever kill or destroy. We are approaching the brink of an event horizon.

Can you see it, can you know it, without utilizing material perception?

For in the end dust is dust, but Spirit sings in the new Nature…of things.

And even though my own material expressions fall short when I try to describe what I observe and hope for from “inside”, I will dare to describe it in allegory:

The Last Funeral Mass

let’s build in matter’s image
said man
and construct forms,
and laws
they will be necessary
for if not man
who else
will save the world?
but the sound of
Woman weeping
troubled them so,
for she would not hush
nor accept their offer
of plea bargain
she had not
to her own demise
nor was she blaming
for theirs
(it was rumored)
she conceived
without them
did away with genders
or reflected
them both
inside of herself
and they held meeting
to determine
if they could
still call her
a her anymore
a song had been born
from her tears
or perhaps
The Song
had been born
like a burbling brook,
crystal clear water,
a river
or the motion in it
damn it
grumbled the men
 it is just
like the wind
this background noise
it is persistent
but elusive
some freak
deja vu
the men couldn’t put
their finger on it
what they feared
about this sound
that wasn’t a sound
and this mere woman
who wasn’t mere woman
from whence The Song
without effort
or strategy
and they did fear it
like sorrow,
or discomfort,
and unexpected
a beautiful,
yet plaintive  
funeral song
that’s what it was
that she sang,
that’s what it was
they figured,
and asked
is not this
sort of thing
or contagious?
they wondered if
her song
was somehow
about them
though it bore
no actual resemblance
and she seemed sad
but happy
at the same time
while the song
seemed to grow
and expand
echo back at them
out of their own heads
they feared it
and hated it so
because they couldn’t hold it,
or touch it,
to make it definable,
and containable
or give it a label
a form,
a package
or box
to make it safe
for human consumption
it was too unpredictable,
too vulnerable,
too wild,
too free,
too rapid
for thought
or human logistics
like she had already shed
her own shell
without authorization
or permission
from higher command
who did she think
she was?
and they did think
it must be stupid,
this fruit
what woman had birthed
but actually swifter
more direct
than them
and their inhuman
as if this spirit
this spirit
of hers
this non material
this conception
always had
a mind
of its own
or worse
was a mind
of its own
different than theirs
from their plans
for her
and the child-song’s
greater good
didn’t the woman
and child
know they were
in danger?
in fact
she and her own
seemed quite at home
in their lovely place
in the woods
where her table was set
with invisible fine things
and she invited them
to dine
on invisible abundance,
the invisible laughing
a beautiful,
dinner bell chime
how crazy was that
how inappropriate
they felt it was
for a funeral
how dare she
who was she
how was she
even still alive
yet alone,
they wondered,
a white wedding veil
had not they created
what really mattered
a material
body of knowledge
and she borne
only what couldn’t
be seen
the ghost
we thought
we eliminated
centuries ago
for her own sake
when we condemned her
for understanding
the fruit
of the tree
the first time
I know
said one
how to fix this
(for they were
after all men,
did I mention)
let’s burn her house down
set fire to the trees
that hide her child
from us
that way he will have to
come out
and show his face
show us
who he really is
that which we cannot
or reflect
in our own image
a likeness
that we
can’t even see
and they came at her
with weapons
of mass destruction
but the fire
would not catch,
or light,
or burn those living trees
that she had nurtured
with her own hands
only their black suits
and their own instruments
of death
caught fire
they noticed their hands
now matched their clothing
and were dirty
and marked
with inky black soot
while she calmly reproved them
telling them hurry
and wash up for dinner
she said
you are like
soldered clocks
ticking no time,
while my labor
is complete
for this last
funeral mass
this one
last time
we are not celebrating
the death of my son,
my song
the Love of my heart
who is not made of matter
and cannot die
but celebrating his rebirth
at the death
of your own
for yours is what
is no longer useful
the empty chalice,
a rusted metal vessel
all along

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