COVER
In my journey bosomed between the soil and the sun, I stand bare before you Lord. He, of your blessing, is to be commanded from me, by my own hands.................... I question not your glory, Lord, just the fate that befalls me.
Dearest son, son of Abraham, forgive your father for he is with God, and forgive your God, for he is your Father. On this mound I surrender you, one whom I'm ordained to love, to hold... to caress...
Fear not him who hears that which others cannot, for he aďŹƒrms himself onto the world through God.
See, little one... everything to the horizon has befallen from God. The soil, the scents, the mother... He is father to all and the universe motioned by his will. We are all sheep, guided by the shepherd.
My hands and you mother's womb bore you from his will, and now I must return you, give you back to the heart that blessed us. Fleeting are things under God, for we no longer reside in the Kingdom of Eden.
I wish no greater fate upon you than to be a vessel of the Lord's will and voice. Unto yourself I have only wished God, in aďŹƒrmation, in complete self. I speak to you now my only one:
Let not the Devil befall you in this moment your greatest aďŹƒrmation. Open your eyes and welcome it, embrace it, for as his vessel you embrace hisself. You are of him as I am of His-Self.
See not this dagger child, fear not the Fates, for I, Abraham, son of God, oer your esh unto Him.
Be still, son of God, for I bore thee my own, and as my own, command thee 'Be still'. The world hath not known faith till hands of Abraham did to bear Isaah.
Arise, son Abraham, for today thine worth, tis my own.
Lord, what words spoken do I hear. I prostrate myself, in angst and awe, unto your merciful heart; a blessing upon blessings; a miracle upon miracles.
My arms may once again embrace my son, my senses smell his hair, my eyes rest upon his body. Nothing dearer has even been given...
... and yet...
...nothing dearer taken.
Lord... What have you taken from me? If I am the becoming of your will and once again nothing more than as you speak; then am I not a murderer?
Lord... What have you taken from me? If I am the becoming of your will and once again nothing more than as you speak; then am I not a murderer?
Where have you taken myself from me? What of Abraham is there, if by one hand the Lord gives and by the other he takes?
My fates mercy...
is that of a tyrant's.
Oh great one I stand here before you as nothing, no-man, no-body, no-will I stand in wanting... Where is Abraham?
To contain, the vessel must have form, and in form, will, and in will, the God-Self.
Before you Lord this very moment, I forgoe yourself in abandon to the search for myself. If I am given by your will, and commanded by your words; then there is only the vessel left. It can only touch itself.
It must become empty unto itself.
Oh, great one, I have found a greater yet, a higher leap, one that surpasses faith itself. In this genesis I become the aďŹƒrmation of myself.
Through senses I become mine will in thought, mine will in deed, mine will; the vessel
Here, upon the mound of Moriah, the vessel touches itself.
I am aďŹƒrmed,
and with this dagger...
drown in the Deluge of myself.