To eat the power and to drink the glory of our Lord

 The fire burns to the right and left, but they are not alarmed.

They're walking in the furnace, not a hair of them is harmed.

They're walking with the Son of Man, the guards who brought them slain.

They've come a long way from their homes, they've come through fire and rain.

They're eating kings and captains, horses, even men of war:

they've washed the filth off of their hearts with truths bought from His store.

Give us your mercy and your truth! He sells them without price.

All details are arranged by Love. There's no such thing as dice.

They're walking in the light of Him, they're strengthened in His heat.

He gives them inner light to drink and fat, His love, to eat.

We eat forgiveness and sincerity, the flesh of Him

and drink His light who gave these teachings and who lit this hymn.

Procession of the Gyres External State

Rousseau accessed the seething sea beneath

Society and felt the Mandate's loss.

Just so did Dostoyevsky in his book

<<The Devils>> feel the Mandate's loss in time.

The Sun King likewise felt the coming flood

In the lucidity of his late age.

"...some fool thing in the Balkans..."; Providence;

Projecting wrath and anger onto God

How angrily thou caused us not to fear

thee! In thy wrath thou caused us to depart

thy way. We fled unto the right and were

burnt up. We fled unto the left and drowned.

How long, O Lord, wilt thou pour out thy anger

and thy wrath upon the vineyard of thy root

and branch? How long wilt thou consume us, root

and branch? Return again and make thy face

to shine upon us, as in days of new

wine in new bottles making all things new.

How long will caterpillars eat the root

and locusts strip the branch? How long until

our cup be full and fully drunk unto

the dregs? Until the night and morning and

the day of wrath and flood. Until the filth

and bloods have been washed off. Then shall He say,

Arise O daughter of my people, marry and rejoice.

Conjunction with the knowing love of God

 The lady in the desert with forehead

of gold and hand of silver drinks the flood

and swallows fire, eats of the land's

fat honey and its lunar milk. No birds,

no buzzards, circle bodies of the slain --

uncircumcised, slain by the sword -- but bride

and bridegroom joyously live out their days

and round of cuckoo clock. His marriage of

the bread and wine in hearts and minds who strengthens

hearts and fills the minds with light sounds joyously.

He grows up His choice vineyard, builds a tower

out of uncut stones amid it, builds a

wall of uncut stone about it, bids the

nations and the people enter; passing

nations through the fire and peoples through the

water. His conjunction of the root

and branch bears fruit, all useful deeds, all conscientious

acts, all quenching of strange fires of nations

and all purifying of the bitter

waters of the peoples. Kings and Queens

stream into New Jerusalem. The length

of love and breadth of truth and height of their

degree of marriage are all equally

our Lord. And Peter, James, and John is He,

and root and branch and fruit, and Father, Son and Ghost.

On golden plates, in silver cups, by light of sun and moon

Though that strange lady drinks strange wine upon a tower, yet 

will it dissolve beneath her; she shall tumble from her base 

into the black and bitter water, and the cup of gold

containing blood of innocents shall tumble from her hand.

Together they shall sink in waves of fire and flood, the whore 

and cup together; and together they shall sink beneath 

the black and bitter waves. And He shall sweep the filthy plates

and bloody cups from off the table, and shall ring His bell

and call His servants, whom He tells to bring fresh plates and cups. 

And straightaway when brought He fills them up with bread and wine 

on golden plates, in silver cups, by light of sun and moon.

His rungs are ever finer couplings of the good and true

He melts the hard heart and vain elements with fervent heat.

He melts idolatry, will burn the burning of the dawn.

The dawn will lift the land in light, in patient arms, in heat.

The dawn will well up in containers of His will and eye,

will slay the beast of love of self that rises out of Hell,

will dawn within the infrastructure of the universe. 

Continuum! My Lord! Capacity to will and know!

The dawn please grant within one's cup and platter, Lord of life!

Lord Jesus Christ, the infrastructure of the universe

and Jacob's Ladder, underlies all thought-will-work,

all branch-root-fruit, all Peter, James and John, all fruitfulness.

One brain per tentacle plus CPU

 nopales; octopus rotation;

Arizona; knowledge aperture enlargement;

monsoon season; nucleus-imperial divergance;

tunas; alternate fraternity;

the Valley of the Sun; hysterical projectionism; 

Mesa; famine-hoarder panning;

beige walls; interlocking oligarchy;

like Mos Eisley; polymathic modeling; 

drawn drapes; transnationality;

dawn in the desert; every arm a tongue;

Go forth, mine webbots, into everythang!

Our mission is to warm while crumbling down;

for when it rains for days we snipe and frown.

Nuke turbines are not turning à la France.

The shipping is not moving dort am Rhine.

White flashes flicker in the desert clouds.

Let's slurp up the Atlantic with a straw,

store the Pacific Ocean in our maw.

The farms go up the sky and down the sea

after our complex hydrocarbon spree.

The Valley of the Sun gets pushed, then pulled:

monsoons, restrictions on its water use,

hysterical projectionism, gears

within world system processes and trends,

such as the energy our lifestyle spends... 

The dropping water levels in Lake Mead

and in Lake Powell demonstrate the need

for other sources for Oasis Base,

for xericulture and less watered lawns,

for binning not our water bottles, for

recycling even our wastewater here.

So much now seems to happen in a year!

We're all so ready fit to burst our seams!

Ready or not, we'll watch our rusting dreams

disintegrating like an industry

that we assumed would last forever, like

a twig contracting back into a branch,

or like a branch reversing towards the trunk.

It's all enough to make a man a monk!

These rapids rear, our Hectic Twenties roar

and frequently one wonders if the soar

will be of phoenix wings or buzzard. Years 

careen, supply chains teeter, readjust,

push/pulled by limits/ideology.

This octopus is ready for a romp.

That open road is ready for a tromp.

These eyes look down on nationality.

Though one suspects transnationality

will go the way of nation-states before --

like mansions/opera houses in Detroit 

amid Two Minute Hates and Eat-the-bugs --

yet now it flings its Tetrarchies at time;

would fain switch Growth to Degrowth on a dime.

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*Transnationality consists in the sum total of interlocking of directorate on steroids and all oligarchies as well as their interrelations, being independent of national boundaries and having supplanted the nation-state in an orderly series of power centralizations and aggregations.  There is no economic feudalism apart from concomitant demographic, political and linguistic feudalism. There is no economic mercantilism without concomitant demographic, political and linguistic mercantilism. There is no economic capitalism without concomitant demographic, political and linguistic capitalism. There is no economic globalism without concomitant demographic, political and linguistic globalism. And there is no economic degrowth without concomitant demographic, political and linguistic degrowth.

Obshchina

In 1941 the Bruderhofs 

in England set up house in Uruguay,

set up a hospital in Uruguay.

What's more and more along the shore,

beyond first hot and then Cold War, 

the Mennonite Central Committee 

assisted the Bruderhof move,

which reminds one of cities and towns

staffed by Hutterite colonies, Bruderhof too

in a patchwork of getting along.

Not utopian, not in the least! Nor

were Doukhobors self-described 'Communists' banned

outright!

(that is, instead of seriously learning

from their practical experience). It 

does to believe in God in communes, if you'd

rather they not bicker and unravel,

just as capitalist godlessness slays 

souls, this in the midst of air-conditioned

whee! The world's a creepy crawly crumbling 

place up close but like stained glass from way high

up.

These stained glass glitter waves red russet fields and green

paint chords of inner music sung by what this eye has seen.

*Obshchina signifies a historical Russian phenomenon in Tsarist times, that of village communism; a successful model which some ideologues tend to forget in their haste to announce that communism does not work, just as they forget the Hutterites, Bruderhof, Doukhobors and sundry. Communism does work, this non-communist declares, and it matters to declare this fact; to explode the inadequate going understandings of communism in practice and to situate these matters in the clear sight of day in art and thought. 

** Of note, the Free Diggers of England proposed a similarly Crown-sponsored village communism, which suggests a clear-sighted view of the possible well worthy of mention.