Subscribe to the ZZZPTM Hotcraze Update list!

Email Address:


We have much in common with God, if we turn our hearts to love and building. The abrupt ending of my words is intentional: you must answer the last question yourself, as must I.

With will, it is seen
Beautiful and clean
Pure of heart
With will, it is made
Beautiful and clean
Pure of mind
With will, it is hallowed
Blessed and purified
Pure of soul, substance and spirit as one in perfection
The harmony of perfection
With will, it is so
And it is good.

We gaze upon the blazing flames of aeons-old stellar fires
We kindled those in our infancy
We wonder and marvel at the vast stretches of millenia
We sailed those in our infancy
We stare, baffled, at the complexities of a blade of grass
We lovingly wove those cells together in our infancy

We search for the writing of God, for his signature
And somehow stumble across our own writing and crude scrawls
Next to his flowing hand
We can learn, though
We can learn from the master and etch our visions in the stone of time

No need for conquering hosts when a mind is nearby
Scintillating in its patterns of never-ending creation
The mad, full, rich, dazzling array of creation
The union of spirit with substance
The making of souls
The forging of dirt and fire
The sweat, toil, frustration turning to ultimate treasure of creation
Blinding in the purity of its truthful light
No need for conquering hosts when a body is nearby

Draw your breath and submit, mortal!
Submit to the eternal!
You will join it again and merge onto its track
Submit, for you will join it regardless
Submit, for in submission to the eternal there is joy.
Submit and create your tribute to the eternal
Submit and give your all, your love and tears running down your cheeks
Pour your life into your tribute to the eternal
Play your music for celestial wages
Write your words for eternal pay
Dance and sing to receive your godly due.
Submit in weeping joy to your muse
Your urge to bring forth life
Your urge to extend your self into a family, a milleu
Submit to the eternal
Submit in grieving tears to the primordial
The primordial which you should not resist
Or risk denying your own glory and grandeur
Submit in terrible agonies to the act of creation
As critics mock it
As nature corrupts it
As destroyers destroy it
And your soul with it as well
Submit in tragic scenes of death as you are crucified
For your children

The echoes of eternity reverberate in the empty space
I part the whiteness and step into the gray, echoing void
I see nothing but myself in the midst of nothingness
Pull a particle of perfection from my pocket
Infinitesimally small, infinitely dense
Release it and allow myself to become affected by its horrendous forces,
The gravity sucking me eternally to its impenetrable center
I contact the point
And it explodes, as I have desired
I am not destroyed in the explosion, but endure its awful forces
Its flames beyond even cosmic fire
Its symmetric soup of absoulte, regular and kaleidoscopic order
I breathe upon the face of the many waters and give chaos to the order
And then order to the chaos
But it is my order, full of meaning and eternal moment
It is not regular and forced, but free to choose its path
Within the laws I must obey in order to exist
It is my order I impose on the chaos
As those who are to become my children
-- already kindle the fires of stars
-- singing lustily as the sail the voids
-- weaving the blades of grass for the lush fields
---- of their homes to be.

I was a child once, playing with the toys my father gave me
I was a child once, asking my mother numberless questions
We were all children once, playing with toys and wisdom and truth
We can choose to be fathers and mothers
We can choose to move upon the expanses and soar
Giving space for our children to play with our toys
To ask us for our knowledge
To hold tightly in our love
I was a child once, and I loved my father and mother deeply
I still do, though they are far away
I will return
I will return even if I must pay my tribute to the eternal
And submit to the destroyer's maces and rude clubs
Smashing the statuary of my children
My creations broken under its feet.

This much is true:
We are eternal visiting mortal
We are love exposed to hate
We are joy vulnerable to pain
We are life given over to death
We are all dead and as the dust
We are all alive and as the gods
Redeemed from imperfection
Repented of our evils
Rejoiced in our salvations
Resurrected in our glories

This much is true:
You will one day choose to do the things you have seen your father do
Your choice will be bound by your own willingness to love
You will receive nothing if you sacrificed nothing
You will choose, but you may not be able to realize your choice
Having robbed yourself out of fear
Having plundered your eternal riches out of pride
Having squandered your eternity of life for ephemera
-- wicked little things
You will one day choose to do the things you have seen your father do
Your choice will be possible because of your willingness to love
You will receive everything if you sacrificed everything
You will choose, and be rewarded with crowns and robes of glory
Having paid your best efforts
Having tried with all your might to strive higher
Having realized your own failures
Having honored your end of the eternal contract
-- accepting God's work as well

This much is true:
God is your father
And creation runs in the family.

Where is your expression? Your genius?
Where is your art? Your mark on the world?
Where is your meaningless remark, your deeply meaningful statement?
Where is your flippant trivia, your magnum opus?
Did you try, or did you mock?
Did you create, or did you stay your hand from the instrument?
Did you play, or were you a spectator?
Did you strive valiantly, or did you back smugly away from battle?

Did you censor yourself out of fear of what others would do to you?
Then you murdered yourself.
And you felt the death all too painfully
As you twisted that knife
-- plunged savagely in your chest
---- by your own self-chained tongue
---- by your own self-chained hand
---- by your own self-chained spirit
You felt your own death
And the others mocked you anyway behind your back
They spared you only the mockery to your face
Just as surely as you joined them in mocking all others
The valiant to their faces
And your brother cowards behind their backs
You felt your own death
As you sank into your own grave
-- dug by your inactive hands, your idle mind

I would rather fight my way to my tomb
Let others dig it for me and bury me alive
As I strive eternally to be as my father
And create
And in creation, live

Let me rise higher
Let me don my robes of glory
Let me part the whiteness
And step into another eternal void

Let me find joy in making beautiful life
Let me find joy in making life beautiful
Let me do as my father has done
Let me join my older brother, my entire family
Let me rejoice in creation
Let me be a perpetrator of perpetuity
Let me progress measure upon measure
As I create so my children and their children and all children thereafter
As I create so all generations of my family, before and after
As I create so all humanity, even God himself
Join in loving harmonies of loving details,
Of loving harmonies of creation.

With will, it is seen, made, hallowed, and so.
With love, it is created anew
-- for all eternity
-- for all eternity
-- for all eternity
With love, it is created anew
-- as we do what our parents lovingly did so many times before

This much is true:
Words alone cannot express the love of God for his children
One must create to begin to know that love
One must create to begin to give that love

This much is true:
One must create to Be
Ask God if you don't believe me.
He'll tell you the same thing he's been telling everyone else
Will you listen this time?