Spring is approaching Harris Creek from the Southland. It is time to take action and leave behind the winter of our discontent; He is risen from his slumber. Every spring Mother Earth gives birth to him; birth is re-birth. He was not dead and gone, only sleeping. And this rising and falling goes on and on until the Day of Atonement, when the drama is re-gathered into "that ultimate pointlike unity, bindu: point, dot, zero, drop, germ, seed, semen. The primal oudad." Love's Body. 262. But equilibrium, or zero, is not a point.

Atonement is a fantasy, a wish, a possiblility that is never realized. Atonement is a pallic fantasy, the wish for one part to stand for the whole, like a pyramid rising from the desert floor, a permanent erection. But that is not how the play ends; no part is left standing. The play and all the players dissolve at once, at zero. At zero there is neither positive nor negative; no penis or vagina; no food or shit.

The path is not a Spiritual Path; there is no purification of the corporate body in Fire. This is a phallic wish; it gets me nowhere. Water, on the other hand, suggests certain possibilites.