In the cloud you're in

The woman in her cloud, where did her happiness go? Swallowed up, by what? Something troubled her. While before I felt she saw me, I realize now I'm no more than a shadow of a shadow in a dream she's dreaming. I'm often in clouds too, not seeing the cloud at all, perceiving instead only what I imagine to occur while the cloud envelops me, the cloud I can't see, an invisible smudge of mysterious origin.

When Buddhists talk about the emptiness of all things, I'm told this means that things do exist, just not as we think they do. But there seems to be quite a difference semantically between those two ideas. All I know for sure is that I most often miss the most important things, things that are more actual than the actual, that are the voice of the cloud disguised as something actually heard.

Welcoming the Wild One

Satanism is religion for novices. The real wild one is God, the one who arranged the ultimate inescapable sacrifice while retreating into sheer darkness. Who, when a certain ripeness is indicated, lowers the lathe, or shakes us awake. We are all asked to let go of these warm, attractive cloaks and bags of tricks eventually, to open to the infinite. He breaks our hearts open.