It was mid afternoon
when the “Give me God or I die”
came on me again.
It was very strong.
Stronger than usual.
My chest was tight.
My heart straining.
The energy in my head gripped it strongly.
Squeezing it.
Like a big hand squeezing a sponge.
Squeeze and let go.
Squeeze and let go.
I was on edge.

I moved to darken the room
and lay in bed,
working to ease the feeling with breathing.
An hour and it eased a bit.
Only a bit.

It started again
and I recognised it —
what I called possession
by this kundalini energy.
I gave myself up to.
I yielded to it and stayed another hour,
letting it wreak its havoc on me.
This energy like a fire,
cutting its path through me.
My head started to feel warm.
I knew I had no temperature.
I did not.

Why this energy of feeling wounded?
Like a mortal wound.
Pierced by a sword
yet one I do not see.
When St. John of the Cross wrote about it,
it was mystical and beautiful.
To experience it,
you go into the same lamentations.

Why, God, do you wound me
with this lance of the fire of love.
And having wounded me,
left me dying
with no way to satiate this heat.
And all I could do was hang on,
looking at you.
Inner eyes, soul looking at you,
asking why, even as I trust,
as the inner fire ravages me
yet bathed me in its love.