Warning: there are allusions to a very sacred story in the poem you are about to read... I am not suffering delusions of holiness, I just really adore how the story parallels a transformation in my life... I intended no blasphemy, but it might have snuck in... also, it follows no known or recognizeable poetic form, but it's not really a legit prose piece, so, let's call it 'art.'

Long ago, I once sat in celebration of this glorious Existence;
My best friends, my family, all of us at a mystical Supper,
As several of us understood that I was soon to be tortured and sacrificed.

Dear Lambs, I feel that I gave myself over for you, so you can go forth with the others. They need you now, speak of me. I will persist. I will come back for you.

We sat blissfully, oldest of companions: familiar Faith, sweet Hope, careful Remembrance, sly Temperance, solid Strength, tenuous Fear, durable Will, brave Constance, shrewd Jealousy, worthy Honor, insightful Knowledge, and my very dearest Devotion.

On that night I was betrayed.

And, shortly after, I was slain.

And then, a miracle.

I returned from a dark place so that we may now rejoice and more fittingly honor this Glorious and Unique Existence for the significance of its begetting You, Me, and We.

Darling, I long to wash our feet of this arduous journey. I long for us to confess our transgressions to one another, and offer them as pure sacrifice to a stable and reconciled more powerful We.

You and She are not We.

She and Me are not We.

You are not We alone; nor am I.

Those to share in this shall be carefully chosen, for whoever should partake, if unworthy, is guilty of audacious sacrilege: "Give not that which is holy to the dogs."

At supper, now and always, know that we are substantially present: I, food; You, drink; and the vast universe can find everlong nourishment and health from our loving bond.

It is not a symbol. I know that I have changed the physical substance of myself into that of a larger, more wonderful being; much like a pail of water is changed into a brightly blooming morning glory – yet philosophically retains all the accidental trappings of a pail of water.

On that night, I was betrayed.

And, shortly after, I was slain.

And then, a miracle.

Now, every single day, and every single night, I break my body for you, and you shall render fluid. I have given thanks for it, and I share it, and as we take this, please do this in remembrance of We…

And then, more miracles to come.

And then…