This possibly connects to Jeunae Rogers’s recent writing, intertwined with reflections on the spiritual nature of what was perceived as a perilous social experiment—Cyclone Albert, supposedly bearing down on the coastline of Southeast Queensland.
SE QLD Raustralians, in response, have fortified themselves as if in a WWII-era German bunker, with shops shuttered and streets emptied, as if drawn inward by an undeniable pull—to retreat into the cave, away from daylight and into the inner light (if that's not misunderstood), into the very heart of what we call a flower, or a rose.
And there look: Nuit, in her divine form, stretched her presence across the sky, greeting the long-anticipated Albert. She beckoned him forward, inviting him to move deeper, closer—to the very core of the ritual flower. And there, she consumed him.
Albert spoke: "She took me. She welcomed me. She kissed my hand. She took me. She led me to the centre. To the centre of the flower. To the centre. To the centre of the flower. And there, she devoured me. In the centre. In the centre of the flower. That is where she took me. That is where she devoured me."
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Titled: The Hidden Face of Nuit: Entering the Sacred Rose
To the series: hashem a la carte | shalom einz zwei drei
So I stood, out there, observing light transversing across the globes of galaxy. And there she was, adoring Albert's hand. Just a few regular days of the highest anticipation of a disaster bring down no one else than: Nuit! Nuit!
#actsofthecentre #actsofdisobedience