ART-POCALYPSE
a Tarot+Poem by The Bootleg Bodhisattva
you make what you are.
this is the first truth, & this truth
you have never once ignored.
compelled by its beauty, by its terror,
compelled by duality itself,
capturing every vision in your brush.
in this truth you are complete.
in this truth you are satisfied.
your heart center shines back at you,
your brightest eagerness
spilling onto the canvas
with grace enough to make any lesser angel green,
nevermind how odd
that worth & envy & money & health
should all share one color with our common roots.
zest for clarity, lust for love’s sake,
but through your passion
calm inspiration eludes you.
in a world on fire,
pointlessness has an edge of severity.
in whirlwind of lost angels
powerless to stop the spread of the flames,
the spread of evil in the minds of men,
connection cuts deep & art feels hollow.
how can it be enough to capture the storm?
you watch as white wings are swept up
wind-tossed in an orange sky
brush in hand, trembling heart helpless,
sinking into shadow within the deep unknown.
when your reincarnating ego chose this life
you were hard-coded with your purpose,
the meaning of all of it in your paint & cards,
your holy mission present in your vision itself.
the angels sing for you as they sink into sea foam:
“yes yes little love, it is enough
to see & show what strength grows
in the hope of a beating heart.
know angels are like any other creature,
that we fear man much more than we are feared.”
one last whispering warning
from the depths of the still ocean
as white feathers turn to ash on the waves:
“let not cruelty make you cruel,
let not ignorance make you foolish.
your brush is the narrative of your true soul,
let everything else fall away.”
