The lava song

Rasa Ravi, 2021

When your bones and spine are devoured by the lava pool,
and you have completely lost your structure from within,
your base, center, support and linchpin,
when the birthplace of your blood is demolished,
and your bloodline, shape and face are irredeemably gone,
then I alter your hard-to-wear hardware into My sheer tunic.

O Goddess,
You deprived me of my base.
What a pleasure,
my bones were ill-grounded in the air, floating.
Now, Your Love gives firm base to everything.

You deprived me of my center.
What a pleasure,
it was ill-situated far from the real midpoint.
Now, Your Love is the pivot, shining from within.

You deprived me of my support.
What a pleasure,
it was an ill structure, itself seeking true support.
Now, Your Love bridges all the parts.

You deprived me of my linchpin.
What a pleasure,
my spine was an ill trunk, badly eroded.
Now, Your Love greens the tree of life.

What more could one ask,
captured in the fever of devotion,
than these body parts as a tunic would touch You
sliding in the nearness of Your body’s warmth?

When your muscles and entrails are roasted to dusky red
in the hunger of the sacrificial offering to the lava pool,
when you cannot sit, cannot lie, cannot stand or move at all,
as the motion of the limbs and the motion of volition,
while savoring the execution of free will,
are consumed by the tongues of fire of the dread delight,
when none of your characteristics are left intact
and nobody recognizes you or your voice anymore,
then I make a blood tincture from your flesh-mash
to enhance the redness of My luscious lips.

O Goddess,
why would I need my limbs
when they cannot take me to You?
Why would I need my organs
when they don’t function for You?
Why would I need my volition
when it only distracts me from You?
Why would I need my free will
when it was never truly free from myself
and served only the ‘I’ to feel itself to be the king?
Why would I need to keep my individual characteristics
when they only push You back behind a foggy veil?
Why would I care that anybody recognizes me
when the only purport of my life is to praise You?
Why would I care that anybody recognizes my voice
when the only voice that matters is in exaltation of You?
I wish all my body parts to serve Your lava-hunger well.
May my flesh participate in the celebration of Your bloodthirsty lips.

When your skin has fallen apart in the lava pool
as your ameba-like crust is dissolved, annihilated,
the last resort keeping your mind-stuff inside a form,
when no vault, no strongbox for an ‘I’ can be secured
and no lifeline can help the consciousness and its army
to maintain their dominion, to maintain their tyranny,
then I reprogram your head-software into My sandals
fitting them to My silken soft skin, making them suit My tulle tunic.

O Goddess,
take my skin, this last bastion of the form of the ‘I,’
being the outer limits and shield of my consciousness.
Spread and strain it to the frame of the non-world,
stretch and fix it to the four corners of non-being.

Make from it a parchment and cut it for a book
illuminated by Your gilded vicious deeds.
May my petty shell lie beneath Your glorious acts.
Feel no pity for my ‘I,’ empty its crypt, slay its content.
May Your works of splendor lead me to Your kiss of death.

When your history is sentenced to extinction in the lava pool,
exhausted of life with no determination but worshipping Me,
when any wish of doing this or thinking that has vanished entirely,
when any construct, anything what was stable, is eaten up,
then I take the very purpose of your life to make My nails glitter.

O Goddess,
my palimpsest is heavily overwritten, having many punctures,
crammed with words, almost with no space for love and light,
although with lonely lines here and there falling deep to the depth,
beyond the margin, seeking for the meaning that cannot be written.

Heal my unholy holes of injustices created by my unsteady quill
unable to aid in taking flight because of the darkness of my wish.
Burn them down to the core, to the magma of my entirety,
where the ink of my life is evaporated, adoring Your kindness.

Decapitate my colophon so it cannot construct, think or wish,
unwish my purpose of life and take me to Your holy blade.
Claw apart my chronicle with Your glittering nails,
rip into me with no remorse to make me worship You.

When your heart beats no more after being locked in the embrace of lava,
and its drumming, stopped for life, but begun for My death,
when your breath has fallen out of rhythm, far away from the chest,
smothered by My inexorable lava-fumes to unlive your life,
then I take the ember of your breath to blacken My eyebrows,
then I wring out from your heart all the feelings and emotions
to make mascara for My eyelashes to be more appealing.

O Goddess,
free all the feelings and emotions from my heart,
so that Your eyelashes are more captivating.
Take the ember of my breath, fallen out of its rhythm,
so that Your eyebrows look more enticing.
May they attend Your eyes’ entourage, witnessing
their sparkles embellished with volcanic eruptions.

When your conscience can’t find refuge in the lava pool,
homeless, having no place to rest after its heart-home has gone,
when your brain chambers have collapsed like castles in the air
and the cerebrospinal river bed has dried out to say ‘good night’ for good,
when no haven is given to your conscience, no sanctuary,
not even in between the dimensions of electrons’ orbits,
then I swiftly replace it with the flame of My lava-command,
then I macerate your sincerity, honesty, candor and devoutness
to make a polish to cleanse My casual jewelry,
My necklace, My armlet, My anklet and My earrings.

O Goddess,
let my conscience be homeless, since I have You instead.
Extract from me all my pious faculties and qualities,
I am not deserving of them, they are but Your blessings,
their rightful place is Your domain, not this shallow heart.

How wonderous, how marvelous is Your lava-command,
that polish made of my incinerated piety
can make Your body’s jewelry even more shining,
so that countless stars approach them in humble admiration
to learn how to shine brightly, how to be ablaze with piercing life.

When your soul is thus completely exposed to the lava pool,
without the support of an existence, without a ‘was, is, will be,’
without the possibility of being manifested as a being in any way,
entirely naked before My unsparing death-breath,
when all the safe bridges of going back, going forward,
and even remaining or transforming, are burnt up in the lava pool,
when your soul is captured within My fingers in a mudra,
then I grind it in a nano-mincer into millions of nothingnesses
to make an alluring perfume for My amusement,
to cheer Myself into a better mood after My lava-rage.

O Goddess,
may my soul be decomposed into a flowering fragrance for You,
making You glad and pleased for a blink of eternity’s eyes,
for a chance that it can mediate a vivid smile on You,
for a chance that Your smile can be meditated upon.
May my soul, being Your perfume, be inhaled by You
and settle in the depth of You, incessantly worshipping You.

When you are melted down in the shoreless lava pool,
in agony from pleasure for uncountable world-cycles,
when all your cells have been copulating for so long
that they don’t remember the days otherwise,
when after that long course of events, when species come and go
and promiscuous civilizations repeatedly indulge in new horizons,
when your cells’ uninterruptible intercourse has become so intense
that from their heat thousands of supernovas are born,
when their intercellular fluid is drained by the thirst of being closer,
when the embrace is so tight that their membranes burst
and they pour themselves into each other, intermingling in full scale,
when the mine and yours, the his and hers, disappear from the timeline,
then I make a shelter from this cell-soup to have a place to rest,
then I displace their nuclei and make from them a loincloth,
while replacing their destiny and implanting bonds that answer only to Me.

O Goddess,
all the cells pay homage to You, only to You.
You repurposed their fate, now serving solely You.
The body they constituted by creating a ‘me’ is gone.

What an enthralling end!
What an exciting death!
What a desirable fortune
to be reassembled as a shelter for You!

Because otherwise life would cease to exist
as the living cannot bear Your direct radiance.

What a thrilling end!
What an exit to death!
What a desired fortune
to be refabricated as Your loincloth!

Because otherwise star clusters and galaxies,
by catching mere sight of Your blooming yoni,
would be tempted to stop moving in space and time.

Because they would not be able to resist
relishing a gaze into Your inviting opening,
cherishing the miracle, the divine revelation,
letting thus the world be overrun by chaos.

There is the last offering you must do
before the inevitable, before the inescapable,
when there is neither an old you, nor a new you,
when your you now becomes Mine Me.
There is the last offering you cannot not do
because you have no volition, no purpose, no voice.

O Goddess,
before this last stray photon of Your worshipper
is caught and stops becoming not becoming,
let its flutter be deciphered to a voice; hear it out.

O Goddess,
Let me assemble all the birds
and teach them how to sing praise to You.
Let me catch all the clouds
and show them how to rain life for the living.
Let me gather all the plants
and direct them to Your radiance instead of the Sun.
Let me whisper the secret to the wind
of how to bring people together by its gentle touch.
Let me share the knowledge with the fire,
which is that that erupted from the lava pool.
Let me swim in all the waters
giving them instruction in solace for the thirsty.
Let me speak to the planet to remember,
it is not a small child anymore, and now has responsibility,
it must act for the sake of life’s offspring.

Meanwhile an enchanted chorus
—not realizing it has just been put on the prey-list—
desperately praying for the ultimate embrace,
bowing low, below the ground of sensual desire,
addresses the Goddess:

O remorseless Huntress of lonesome adventurers,
heroes not fitting in society, not belonging to the world,
O Seductress, to whom offering up one’s life is a privilege,
please come.

Cleanse Your face of makeup,
remove the varnish from Your nails,
put aside all Your jewelry,
take Your sandals off,
disrobe Your translucent tunic,
strip Your loincloth off.

O Goddess,
leave Your shelter,
come,
undrape Your beauty.