On these days when in the abyss, know you are glorious. You are wondrous. You are deep. So, Yes! It’s true. When you fall, you Fall. Others warn you it’s a fool’s game. They don’t go this deep, they’ll tell you, or fall that far. And, for good reason. “You’ll find out why, boy! It’s a fool’s game.” But, you go. Deeper than others admit to going out of self-protection. You go to the abyss. Willingly. On these days, you go the sewer. The vile bowels where the soul is unveiled. All your falsities. You wrestle with demons. You come out battered, bruised. It beats you down, it belittles you. Dazed from the punches, It asks you – when it sees you’re coming psychically unglued, “You had enough?” And, you say, “That ain’t nothin’. You can do better than that.” It shakes its head at you – that look that says, “You poor, stupid boy,” and you know you’re in trouble now. And, it does do better than that. It wails you. You’re reeling. You’re split. Trapped on a train with clammy pale bodies suspended in air, wildly shrieking about you. Whatever it shows you, you don’t turn back for safe, surface land. And, It shakes its head again at you, this time admirably. You’re in deep, shallow far behind. You take it. You go through all incarnations of Hell for the sake of knocking some useless mode of ignorance out of you that another might keep and feel righteously smug over. Perhaps a handsome one dressed to the nines and smelling of whatever the Lord and Taylor cologne desk is selling. You’re dark, you stink, you swelter, bathed in stank. Your eyes are wild. The abyss will do that to you. You were warned to not fool with the abyss. “It’s a fool’s game.” But, you do. You say, “That all you got?” You want – you need – a life lived as deeply as her beauty goes, which means you must go deep. The full experience. While others half-notice the pretty watch face, you’re inside, up on it, hanging from a hand, gazing at the gears. What’s behind this? How deep does it go? You do it all with the vague remembrance that you will survive the Abyss, and smell of barbisol and lemons again. But in the line of men who all smell of Barbisol, one will have eyes that reach back deeper. She’ll know it. If she doesn’t choose him, She’ll see him. In a line of surface men, one has wrestled with dragons of the deep. Bottoms falling out of floors over and over is how you feel with her. And, falling means falling. You go deep. She knows you’ll never run. She grabs it! She gets it. It’s right there in your eyes! You will always be faithful. Always loyal. Always true. To Her. Always. You do the wrestling – the ugliness of it all – behind closed doors, and when she sees you looking your best-beautiful and smelling of barbisol and lemons, she’ll be wise. You visited monsters, meeting them on their own court, at their deepest doors, instead of waiting for them to visit yours. She’ll know every layer is there, and known within you, even the ones unseen. She’ll see the sun and the lush fields. But, she’ll know you went one deeper. The surface man who talks nicely, saying the right things, thinks the ground that meets his shoe is indeed all there is as far as depth goes. But, when the abyss makes itself known to him, even if only in little peeks, what will he do? On these days when you feel in the abyss, know you are in your deepest training. Exorcising yourself of invisible demons instead of smelling of Barbisol and dancing on shallow ground, singing, “Oh, what a good boy am I!” No. You’re wretched. You’re filthy. You’re fighting. Determined to cast off parts that won’t serve her. Determined to carve away all that doesn’t serve you. So that you might instead be cleared out; a conquered vessel. Echoing in glory as an open space! To love and serve her. She won’t need to ask. She’ll see it in your eyes. She knows you love her already. And, she’ll know you will always be loyal, always true. To her. If chosen. She’ll see it in your eyes. You danced with the devil, and lived to tell. And, in doing so, you found the devil was yourself. Your energies. Not the speck in your brother’s eye. But, the beam in your own. And going deep is how you do the plucking. It’s ugly. It’s filthy. It’s not pleasant. But, pleasant people are often the ones to fear. You’ve waged an utter inner war with all sorts of inner casualties. But, the spoils of victory is a large wondrous space, free of the things that don’t serve, all to be filled with love to serve her. It’s how you find God. It’s not about whether she ever chooses you, as a lover or a friend. The choice was made. It’s one or the other. You’re all or nothing. Even if the odds say it’s indeed nothing! You thrive. You soar. You’re a phoenix rising, kid! This dance with divinity! You’ll come out smelling like lemons, one way or another! Now, all you feel is gratitude and a deep sense of wonder. You had wanted to know if you would live the life of your dreams with her. Only to find you weren’t living at all until you saw her. ❤️ … She’s that beautiful.