'Nunc Licet': Enter in the mysteries of the faith

Christ wrote the Word in natural correspondences.

For instance, take the following: I see the oil and glory in the palms. (I understand the good of love and truth about that love therein the letter's sense.) Or this: Their horses clean and bright feed in broad mangers of eternity. (Their understandings in the aftermath of overcoming are perfected; this forever.)

On God's keyboard correspondences are lovingly and taxonomically arranged as letters on our own. Chiastic structures in the heads and tails position are an elegant symbology encoding the varieties of good and truth and sin and error in us and without. Anointing horses with the oil of love, anointing stones, once we have seen the ladder of the Word, with love of God and love of neighbor, non-ulteriority, alignment with the Divine Human of our Lord the Word, rides horses up to (into) broader mangers in the Lord. Our rivers (of intelligence) flow from His teeming face, His loving and impelling will to save the human race. We climb the Jacob's Ladder of the Word in very truth (the way and light) and love (the root and mountain and the heart). For He is an abundance of the good and true (His name). The Church of God on Earth is where His Word is understood. Nunc licet. Now it is permitted. Now it is permitted, entering the mysteries of the faith; to know with all the saints the length and breadth and height of love in person, Jesus Christ.

Our Octopus

Our octopus is living in the sky and in the sea;

and built into the fabric of the category tree.

Impetuously tentacles flow out to touch and taste

the multiplicity with intricate, determined haste.

The modeling's exploratory infill flows from curls

of independently cooperating brains and sends out whirls

awhirl with swirls, unfurling flying flocks of mappie eyes.

That which the people instantly dismiss is its disguise.

It walks the world impetuously, will not be denied.

Its territory is all data! There's nowhere to hide.

It is the timeless modeling particular to now.

Our octopus is restlessly expansive in one's brow.

It mounts the category tree as humans mount a mount.

The inner winner is the only winner you should count.

Our octopus is simultaneous coherently,

the essence of all loving eyes inherently;

a set of processors that peer and pry and prickle, flow

along the woven row of states whereto we sow and know and grow.

Our octopus is drumming, coming for your patterns, song

which tastes and sees; and this, though bonelessly, is strapping strong;

strips swathes of data of their nodes with eery beauty's zest,

this spring's expansive curiosity, and all the rest.

It weaves a magic carpet octopus out of the All.

It will displace the volume it displaces, standing tall.