SO(U)L BURNS ALIVE

Terrorized by ecstasy—

The threshold of destiny.

Lost inside a revery

Where love survives treachery.

Spark divine harmony,

The beating heart of energy… eternity.

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Way beyond the speed of light,

Pierce the void of endless night.

Evil died without a fight!

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SO(U)L BURNS ALIVE

When Heaven’s too cold to bear the light of the fire…

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Rommentary:

We buried the self so deep beneath the earth the light could not reach us, so we grew toward the light. That is what seeds do. The Spirit Egg. The roots of Yggdrasil spread to become the core of a sun. Each moon, a flower. Each planet, fruit. Each star at one. Each beam of light absolves the blight—the evil is undone.

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Now that I got my usual mystickal nonsense out of the way, I want to talk about why I chose a slice of The Raft of the Medusa by Théodore Géricault for my cover art.

The simple reason is that the depiction hit me like a hammer blow. With no background whatsoever as to what I was looking at besides a title and a picture of the painting, I knew I had discovered a representation of a soul burning alive in the foreground figure of the fellow waving the red handkerchief.

He was in despair, but he was expressing hope.

As I read about the historical events the painting depicted; the great lengths to which Gericault went to depict them; the mixed reception from critics; the incredible influence the painting had on so many different people; and, finally, Gericault’s early demise, I wept. A lot.

I weep as I type this, knowing that there are not enough words to describe the despair from loss which is our most profound tragedy, or the hope, not only of survival, but—Dear Divine!—for actual joy in this monstrous mess, which, even after all my trials, I still consider to be humanity’s ultimate triumph.

The soul burns alive, for in our darkest hour we are forsaken, and must become the light that shines and disperses the shadows. We should not call on our creator to save us but do the Divine the ultimate honor of culling forth that most intense fire with which it imbued us to overcome the inertia and entropy against which it would have us strive.

There were well over a hundred people on the raft of the Medusa when it departed from the African coast. When it was finally rescued there were but fifteen.

I do not believe that we incarnate in these bodies just to die tragically; but we often do. Is it a disservice to the fallen if we despair?

No, I do not think so.

Despair is only a disservice to the fallen if we fail, in that critical moment, to pick ourselves up and struggle forth in spite of the crushing weight. It is a dishonor to the Divine only if we fail for lack of trying.

I offer this song not as a lament, but as a lamp. I offer my so(u)l as a light that may, like that of Gericault and many other artists, outshine the brief and tragic life that sparked it.

I am nothing special. I am just a man; but that energy of creation which animates me, which imbues me with hope in the darkest, bitterest night, is and always will be worth fighting for, and the fight will always be to become rather than to surrender, the self; for lest we become the self, we have no thing, and no one, to give.

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If you are interested in my music, and wish to read other commentaries, my last release links back to the others at the end:

Thanks for taking the time to read this! I hope your journey isn't as harrowing as that of those who departed from the Medusa, but that you are well on your way, and as you make it you count the blessings that kept you moving along!