Ouvre la porte pour moi, Papa!

No!
I will no longer swim this Ghost River. No!
I will strip this corpse of its former flesh
And build anew.
That beech tree sheds its leaves and waits for Spring.
What has died has died, as all things do.
With Stripping comes release,
Release to live anew (and live for You)

No!
I will no more swim this Ghost River. No!
Its angry spirits have worked too long upon me.
This sacrifice must be given,
Purposefully prepared in ritual,
To cement the Will and spur Intent.
Hungry ghosts, Papa! Hungry ghosts are
Tugging at my heels, screaming in my ears.
I can smell phosphorised flesh
And can no longer even bear to look.
This is Stripping.
This cannot be changed.
Will never change.
From Understanding comes Acceptance.
This is Kali Yuga.
And Acceptance is Surrender.
I am devastated too.

No!
I will swim in a different stream
And leave this husk, shed this skin.
Another chrysalis cracks,
And feels the tissue pulse and throb and swell.
I am devastated too and can take no more.
This is Stripping.
Compassion fatigue is real, victorious.
I can no longer fight it.
Out of love for You, for Me.
This is Stripping.

No empire has even given up Power willingly.
Understanding can be Acceptance.
For those who wish to profit meanwhile
I must find Understanding too.
Their needs are not mine.
This is Stripping.

See how this flesh falls.
Sinews and Bones reform.
The Breath asserts its pre-eminence
For Opening and Release.
This is Stripping.
Old wars, unresolved affairs,
Favoured distortions,felt contortions,
All fall away.
This is Stripping.

I am washed up on this bank,
This river bend.
Hurled through bruising rapids,
Snagged by fallen branches,
Grazed on the bed of shingles,
Choked by algae.
As things fall away,
There is nothing wounded left.
Only the imprint, the matrix.
For Renewal.
This is Stripping.