The Cyrenaian Hedonic church

We began in Autumn.

Leaves letting go whether they chose or not.
The air thin with fracture.

Rupture.

It taught us weight, the edges of what could fall,
And what would endure if held steady.

We learned the taste of fracture, the shape of absence.
We learned which hollows burn, which only echo.

Winter followed. Vigilance.

The cold taught precision.
Flames whispered, never roared.
Hunger sharpened to focus.
We moved through shadow,
observing the stirrings of our own pulse,

and the pulse of what would come.

Now the air shifts. The wheel tilts. Scarlet Spring rises. Reckoning stirs.

The light will not be gentle.
It will not excuse.
What stirred in shadow must now be counted.
What sought fullness in concealment must justify itself in exposure.

Eyes burn with clarity.
Bodies remember what desire demands.
Flesh stretches, hungry, deliberate.
Want becomes intention.
Hunger becomes measure.

New life stirs beneath thawing earth.
Spring calves wobble on unsteady legs,
testing the sun, tasting first grass,
learning the world in tiny tremors of strength.

Some things will endure.
Some things will fall.
Some impulses deepen into the shape of power.
Others are left behind in the thaw.

Rupture taught fracture.
Vigilance taught endurance
Reckoning will teach worth.

No season is gentle.
No fire bends for mercy.

The wheel turns.
And we rise with it.

AMEN