Fallen Star

It is so easy to see what went wrong when you look up at the scar in the clouds that marks the place where you fell through. Laying on the cold colorless concrete, staring up at the gray and white plumes, the blue leaking out of your eyes into your brain, things are so still. Your wings, destroyed by the fall, are folded peacefully beneath you. What once made you light has become a weight tugging at your heart and soul, an anguishing reminder of what has been lost. Your ruddy lips part slightly as you suck the cold air in and automatically expel it so slowly that your chest barely heaves.
Now that it’s over you know what went wrong, but in the moment made quick by the life pulsing through you, it happened so rapidly that you could not see it coming. Like the blur of a hummingbird’s wings, your thoughts, your emotions, your actions, were all one hazy apparition that took shape through the deepest strongest habit available: the habit of losing control, of falling, of dying.
In the end what you understood about flight made no difference.
Knowing what would cause a fall made no difference.
As you drew nearer to the sun absolute and its radiations coursed through your body in waves of hot electrifying pulses, every molecule from the subtlest to the grossest responded. Under that intense solar gaze, they were brought to a frenzied boil, moving faster, extending outward like the participants of the old bacchanal, at last undone by the fever of grinding bodies and fermented fruit, exploding into the dark wilderness like animals. In that moment they flowed away from the fire, out of the cauldron and down the riverbed already laid deepest by constant repetition.
Your habits are the shape of you. Not your thoughts, not your intentions or aspirations.
The foundation was weak, like a pot made by unskilled hands, the flaw in you was developed in the first step of your work on self.
You must learn to crawl down the right course before you can fly it. You must crawl in the trench every day, like a soldier, down in the mud, sick to your stomach with exhaustion, until that trench, that way which you aspire to take, becomes automatic to you.
Then you will learn to walk it. You must walk it every day, widening it, deepening it with use so that it can bear the force of a deluge of fire. Each day it must be tread weightily and lengthily, the iron of your will spilling upon it, paving it layer by layer, day by day, so that a river of fire may flow through it without destroying it.
Then you will learn to fly it. You will soar to the heights of the flaming sun once again. You will come alive in the solar caress, dance upon the wind, lit like a neon sign throwing sparks as it is raised higher and higher towards the embrace of OUR LORD HIS SOVEREIGN ENDLESSNESS.
And when your incandescence becomes unbearable, you will not stop. Like an ancient loyal Spartan, you will flow through the trench you dug and first tested under blood and sweat. You will follow the way forged of your iron will .
When your thoughts, your emotions, your body, and your intentions are drowned in the molten blood of the sun's core, you will stay the course, because you have become the course. The course you have laid and nothing else will survive that fiery embrace.
When you have become the way, you will meet and know HIS LORD ENDLESSNESS. You will become him, your own true self. You will burn eternally as a star, the sun absolute, a central point from which new universes may arise.
Look up, Icarus, to that scar and prepare to bloody your knees. This is only the little death. Eternity awaits you.