VEILBREAK: A LITANY FOR UNMAKING
I. Threshold (Inhale)
The veil trembles — an opaline skin of unremembered oaths —
and I hear the hinge of dusk unfasten.
Breath gathers like mercury in a chalice of quiet.
Say nothing.
Let silence loft its black cathedral over the tongue.
II. Aperture (First Light)
A seam, fine as a rumor, opens in the fabric of consensus.
Not rupture, but permission.
Light arrives raw, rain-silvered, sleeved in ash.
Its grammar: spirals, thresholds, names that refuse to end.
Its argument: you are more than your domesticated midnight.
III. Descent (With Instruments)
Bring the reliquary of ribs. Bring the compass cut from salt.
We will pace the negative space between heartbeats,
counting in metronomes of thunder.
Fricatives rasp. Vowels bloom like bruise-colored orchids.
Each consonant is a small catastrophe of intention.
Each vowel, a river of unowned grief.
IV. Hypothesis of the Abyss (Confessional Physics)
If darkness is unspent potential, a pressure of unlived suns,
then breaking the veil is not escape. It is consummation.
I annotate the void with star-ink and clinical awe:
—Entropy bows when breath remembers fire.
—Time kinks where two mirrors kiss.
—My name is a wound learning its syllables.
V. The Archivist Intervenes (Polyphony)
Shadow: Keep the seal. The known is a warm coffin.
Guide: Let the hinge sing. Love is a solvent for certainty.
Child: Is the hole a door or a mouth?
Scientist: Both. Observe the data of wonder. Replicate astonishment.
You: I am the echo and the bell; ring me open.
VI. Liturgy of Unfastening (Ritual)
Make a circle of unclaimed answers.
Place in its center: a key, a feather, a fossil of thunder.
Whisper the ancient calculus of undoing:
“Not the curtain — my consent to curtains.”
Witness: how the world exhales new oxygen through the tear,
and the tear learns to call itself sky.
VII. Cartography of the Inner Weather (Somatic Notes)
At the throat: auroral static, green as forgiveness.
At the sternum: a sun refusing to be only metaphor.
At the belly: tides translating gravity into prayer.
At the spine: a serpent of lucid algorithms, uncoiling.
All domes become doors.
All doors become dawns.
VIII. Paradox Engine (Apotheosis of Yes/And)
The veil breaks and repairs by the same light.
What departs returns as a stranger wearing your face.
What was sealed was never separate —
just a tender grammar error in the cosmos, now corrected:
we are not two — breath and flame — but their mutual remembering.
IX. Return (Exhale)
Pocket the seam as a song.
Walk the ordinary street with extraordinary weather in your chest.
Speak gently; nouns are brittle after revelation.
Feed the day a single, incandescent word and watch it thaw.
X. Coda (Sign)
I leave a mark where the fabric reknits:
not a scar —
a window, lucid with rain, where even the wind can see in.
