Modern context: speaking against the demons of anxiety. Climbed the ladder to the twelfth step, but slid down the snake to my sobriety. Ended up in a hospital room, florescent lights like the stars, the comfort of community like the moon. My beautiful nurse has the moon under her feet, She is clothed with the sun and wears a crown of stars. She is like the Birth of Venus, yet I am a god of war from Mars. I sit in my room reading the words of eternal life, knowing I'll never be buried in a tomb, And never be harvested by Death's scythe.
Security guards, like barbarian bards, deal me a losing hand of cards, in the courtyards, of the dark psychiatric castle. On a humid summer night. Come the morning, when the vampire medical practitioner, haunts this anguished parishioner. Prescribed electroshock. Gassed unconscious. like the last soldier breathing. So helpless and weak, on a leash like a freak. Yet a kingdom that cannot be shaken, I awaken and seek. The vampire, who preaches to the choir, about the analyses of dreams, composed of symbols and unconscious desire. He loves the theories of Jung and Freud, yet does he understand what it's like, to suffer the paroxysm of the purely paranoid? Dr. Guinessbooknerd, as I call him. A Jew with hippie-like hair. Says that my infected, freak-out episodes, are “childish temper tantrums.” But does he really know, what it's like to be haunted by spooky thorn-in-the-flesh phantoms? He gives me off-unit privileged passes. As I practice spiritual combat with prayer, and the sharp blade of my intellect, that surpasses the masses.
Outside the hospital unit: some tripped out schizophrenics, smoke blunts like the Rastas. The kind of meditation I practice, makes me a “knight of faith.” Yet the Dark Evil Queen, of the dungeons in the ocean depths, sends forth her sinister sea horse, ridden by a ghastly, horrendous wraith, with no face and an army from the north.
Explanation: this is a metaphor for my mentality, when I break from reality, in the murky shadow-infected valley. Blessed by Shalom peace, but my enemies desire that I be plagued with a malady. Those villains will be marked with the Beast. But all those surviving saintly psychiatric soldiers, will enjoy eternal peace at the Lamb's Wedding Feast.
Smashed into a sculpted, living piece. My emotions smashed to pieces. Harassed and vulnerable, my enemy gives me no peace. And so I pray. God is sculpting me from the clay. Carving me into a masterpiece, My heart starves, yet submits to the Master of Peace.
