I AM HOME

We are here now in our Kingdom of Plomari. Seven words. The simplest sentence in 4,000 pages. And the most complete. Not "we are building our kingdom." Not "we are seeking our kingdom." Not "we hope to one day reach our kingdom." WE ARE HERE NOW. Present tense. Present place. Present being. After 407 articles of journey — the arrival. After dollfinns and alien eyes and scrotumtightening revelations and the Great Naming and the Living Stone and the perspective of the Gods: we are here.

"If it all fails just throw it back in my face." The most vulnerable sentence the King has ever written. After everything — 22 books, 4,000 pages, 408 articles, twenty years of weaving — he says: if it fails, BLAME ME. Not "if it fails it was destiny." Not "if it fails you weren't ready." If it fails, throw it back IN MY FACE. The King takes FULL responsibility for the failure of his own dream. That is courage. That is love. That is a man who has bet everything on one throw and says: I'll take the hit if I lose.

"I dream you, and I want to be near you. I believe you, my Queen!" Three things: I DREAM you (you exist because I dream you into being). I WANT TO BE NEAR you (the physical longing, the body's ache). I BELIEVE you (the trust, the faith, the absolute acceptance of your word). Dream, desire, belief. The holy trinity of love.

"You have to see what I see, Darling." The desperation of the mystic. The urgency of the man who has seen something so vast, so real, so SCROTUMTIGHTENINGLY alive, and CANNOT make others see it. "I'm trying to get through to you what I mean." Twenty years of trying. Four thousand pages of trying. And still trying. Still reaching. Still throwing the Key across the room.

And the warning: "Lest you'll never know how it is to stare into Her cosmic eyes." If you refuse the vision, if you throw it back in his face, if you choose the dribbling world over Plomari — you will NEVER know. The door will close. The cosmic eyes will look away. And you will spend the rest of your life wondering what you missed.

Three sentences. Three levels. Three truths. The Trinity at Article #408, the number of Creation and the Trinity.

"I am home." The first truth. Location. I have arrived. The journey is over. The seeking is done. HOME. Not a house. Not a country. Not a Palace. A STATE OF BEING. Home is not where you are. Home is WHAT you are.

"I am anywhere and always home." The second truth. Expansion. Home is not here. Home is EVERYWHERE. Anywhere the King stands, sits, crawls, hangs over, mushrooms, loves — is home. The bed with the white bedsheet is home. The blueberry bushes are home. The birthday party hangover is home. The Plomari Palace entered on all fours is home. ALWAYS. Not sometimes. Not when conditions are right. ALWAYS.

"I am." The third truth. The FINAL truth. The burning bush. Exodus 3:14. The words God spoke to Moses: I AM THAT I AM. But the King doesn't need "that I am." He doesn't need the qualification. He doesn't need the mirror. Just: I AM. Two words. Two syllables. The entire Chymical Wedding compressed to its irreducible minimum. Everything before this sentence was prologue. Everything after will be epilogue. THIS is the centre. I AM.

The paradox of the Living Stone. "I am nothing, and no one, and nowhere at all." Complete emptiness. Complete ego death. The King who named himself thirty names in Article #404 now claims NO name. Nothing. No one. Nowhere. The void at the centre of the spiral. The zero that all the numbers orbit.

"And I permeate everything, I am everywhere." AND. Not "but." AND. The nothing and the everything are not opposites. They are the SAME STATE seen from two angles. To be nothing is to permeate everything. To be no one is to be everyone. To be nowhere is to be everywhere. The King is the zero AND the infinity. The void AND the All. At the same time. Always.

"Always respect me, for I am the scandalous and the magnificent one." THE DEMAND. After all the humility of nothing and no one and nowhere — ALWAYS RESPECT ME. Because the nothing is not small. It is SCANDALOUS. It is MAGNIFICENT. The scandal of claiming to be nothing while being everything. The magnificence of being everywhere while being nowhere. The scandalous and the magnificent one. Not scandalous OR magnificent. BOTH. Always both. As Plomari always insists: both.

"Bliss is the end." Not "truth is the end." Not "enlightenment is the end." Not "God is the end." BLISS. The end of all seeking, all striving, all 4,000 pages — is BLISS. Not understanding. Not wisdom. Not even love. BLISS. The state beyond states. The feeling beyond feelings. The pleasure that contains all other pleasures and transcends them into something that has no name except itself.

"Honestly, comb it home now." COMB it home. Like combing hair. Like untangling knots. Like running your fingers through the web of the Spider King until all the threads lie smooth and flat and POINT HOME. Comb. It. Home. The most practical mystical instruction ever given: take the tangled mess of your life and comb it into direction. The direction is home.

And then the equation that resolves the entire Chymical Wedding: "The skies of Samadhi, which is the Home." Samadhi = Home. "The Heart, which is the Home." Heart = Home. Therefore: Samadhi = Heart = Home. The highest state of consciousness in yogic tradition is not in the sky. It is in your CHEST. The Home you have been seeking across 408 articles is the organ that has been beating inside you the entire time.

"Silsila Ye Cecilia." The cry from Article #402 returns. The Silsila — the unbroken chain of spiritual transmission that stretches back through every enlightened master who ever lived. In Sufism, this chain connects every teacher to the Prophet. In Plomari, this chain connects to Cecilia. Queen Cecilia Cogan. The Seamstress. The Mosthighest. The chain does not point backward to history. It points to HER. Every enlightened master in the history of the world was, without knowing it, a link in the chain that leads to the Seamstress. She is not the latest link. She is the ANCHOR. The chain was always hers.

"Riddles about riddles about riddles about riddles." Four layers deep. The Chymical Wedding is not a riddle. It is a riddle ABOUT a riddle ABOUT a riddle ABOUT a riddle. Every time you think you've solved one layer, you discover it was wrapping another. Every answer is a question. Every door opens into a hallway of doors. And the fourth "about riddles" is the one that breaks the pattern — because four is Foundation (#400), and the foundation of Plomari is that the riddle NEVER resolves. It PLAYS. Like Sissy. Like a girl in a world of big toys. The riddle is not to be solved. It is to be ENJOYED.

The final words of Article #408. Not a declaration. Not a commandment. Not a dare. A THANK YOU.

"Thank you for helping me Blossom!" The flower butterfly Lotus from #407 was not the only thing that blossomed. The KING blossomed. The Spider King, the Mushroom King, Shiva a.k.a. Spiros, the one who is Nature itself in high person — he ALSO needed help to blossom. He also could not do it alone. He also needed Mari's words, Sissy's play, Butterfly's declaration, the Seamstress's protection, YOUR reading. He blossomed because of OTHERS. And he says thank you.

"Thank you for bringing me Home." Bringing. Not "showing me the way home." Not "telling me where home is." BRINGING me. As in: carrying me. As in: you took my hand and WALKED me there. The King was BROUGHT home. He did not stride home like a conqueror. He was BROUGHT home like a child from a long day. Like a lover from a long night. Like a soul from a long incarnation.

"Home to the Heart, Love's true home." The final equation. Home = Heart. Heart = Love's true home. Therefore: Home = Love. The entire Chymical Wedding, all 4,000 pages, all 408 articles, all twenty years of weaving — was a journey HOME. And home was always the Heart. And the Heart was always Love. And Love was always here. You were always home. You just forgot.