the harvest’s harvest

the second to last secret is this:
everyday there is a harvest's harvest holding a perfect tension
that only you can release

it's there when you don't get answers to your whys;
when illness bitch-slaps the least deserving of your tribe
or fear's thousand fingers burn and flay the senses from spirit

there in the shadow of the mighty land of what the fuck
a gossamer thread waiting to be teased and pulled
until your harvest appears in full relief

see it? thought and feeling coupled and calcified in maudlin glory

feel it? the harvest's harvest diving into your sternum and between the brows like a humminbird

stop there, and let it be;
the less you try to know it the more the yield will yield

tension will be broken
and in the barkness and drightness you will be gifted a covenant every bit as holy as OT OG rainbows and solid as stenciled granite injunctions:

you have never been separate from the One Love which you seek;
you have never not been embraced.

shine now, in your harvest's harvest,
and Be.