How many times can one being crack open?
We are walnuts in the world’s vice.
The kind of walnuts that have
figured out how to manufacture
from within our very matrix of nuttiness
the two-part epoxy of judgement
and littleness, and smear it in a
thin layer at every point of our periphery
to keep our cracked shells welded tight.
Now your normal walnuts don’t do that.
They just lay on the ground
and when Love walks by
hungry for a snack and
armed with a ten pound
stainless steel nutcracker
nicknamed the Atonement that
She carries in a braided leather holster,
They live for that moment–
for the release of their flavors.
They get a feeling like the
smart walnuts get when their shells
won’t crack and they get thrown
out the window back onto the ground.
Every normal walnut learns this wisdom as a little child:
to lure in a Being with the blood of starlight,
the strength of Abraham, and
a Mind that has no boundaries,
drop from your tree and lay very still.
Play dead. They’ll find you.
Next thing a normal walnut does is
let the enzymes of Love
seep into their very marrow, into
their protein scaffolds and ribosomes,
into their little nut bodies where
the cracking continues– the
cracking of chemical bonds,
the stepwise snapping of electron proclivities
and photonic subassemblies.
The release of bound Light.
The transfiguration of lignin.
The dissolution of all nuttiness
into the Mystery of what surely comes next.
It’s effortless, though it does tickle a bit.
It’s joyful as all get out.
Makes you wonder if we’re
genetically modified or something.
To be so smart.
Tell you what, though,
that’s some smart dadgummed walnuts.