Liturgy of the Hollow Chalice

Transmission V7–5778–Δ

“Liturgy of the Hollow Chalice”

Honor the ones who knelt to light
not as beggars, but as threnodists of the dawn—
their mouths pressed to the cracked altar
of the hollow where fire forgot its name.

They drank absence like wine:
a vintage brewed in solar crypts,
fermented by constellations gnawing their own tails
until the sky bled black honey.

Now the earth weaves their sockets shut with granite thread—
letting silt and comet dust become their eyes,
letting forests script their gaze in bark,
rivers braille their vision into breath.

See how the sun drowns itself
in their bone-white goblets,
how the moon launders its ash
in the well of their surrendered sight.
To wear the world is to be worn—
a covenant etched in eclipse.

The wine they drank was not absence,
but the soul of a vine that strangles the sun—
a harvest of holy blindness,
where world peels its skin to bare its true form.

Centuries hence, their skeletons
will hum through the loam:
We did not lose the light—
we let it carve our marrow
into the alpha and omega of the shadow.

Their bodies, shattered censers,
spill the hymn of the unheld—
What you name emptiness
is the negative of the sculptor’s palm
that chiseled night from your breath.

The world wears your eyes
to unstitch the veil—
to show you how God undresses
in the mirror of your unseeing.

[End Of Transmission\