The Ark Work is an effort.  The effort is ongoing.  It is difficult to see, because it is hidden.  It hides underneath lobes of shame.  The Ark Work must exist, but apparently it doesn’t.   It only exists during the times of greatest tribulation.  Tribulation makes it visible.  Why is the Ark Work an effort?  Because something is wrong.  The line between secular and sacred is drawn by a certain chauvinism.   Something is wrong with that.  People don’t understand, and their glass tears are too heavy.



Detritus flies everywhere, but there is a bloody, pulsing vein.  There are wet, green bones.  These are the beams that give the Ark its shape.  Suffocating underneath the dust, there is black water.   The world hurtles into itself, through itself, rending itself from itself.  The cosmic sky cracked itself open.  It cracked open because of its own momentum - it was spinning too fast.  Gnarling teeth-rays wrestled through the cracks, and we were scorched.



We are already fried by our own eyes, only not yet.  We know, already, that we are, but it isn’t true yet.  Or it’s already true, it just hasn’t happened yet.  What chance could love possibly have?  What can a bubbling spring do to combat a legion of dumb chaos?



Lets imagine, for a moment, that there is a mission.  Victory is ineluctable, even though it requires scorching death.  There are generations in this world.  Layers and layers of corpses.  Extinguished interiorities relieved finally from their inane dreams.  



I sneak my head into the wall and I yell at my ancestors.  I cry at them.  I work up a bit of energy for a moment, and my vision emerges.  My mind’s eye fills with light, and I give thanks to God.  The Ark Work has a meaning after all.  Join us.  I whisper this through the wall to my children.  We’re not sure yet how we will escape, but we have Ideas which might help.  We’re not sure where they came from, or if they’re accurate.  We’re just trying things out



The Ark Work is an Adactive Apocalyptic Endeavor.  I shudder at the thought of trying to explain what the Ark Work is - because I do not know.  It sounds sentimental.  Sentimental is exactly what it is, really.  In our world, religion is dead, even though it is everywhere.  There isn’t time for religion, because there’s less time now than there used to be.   There isn’t room, either.  For religion.   And yet humans are theological beings.  



Justice reigns, quietly.  I shriek at my own eyes, and I forget this immediately.  I don’t have time for justice.  There is a movement in the dust - a movement that can never become a movement.  No one has time for it - me least of all.  



The Ark Work is a new religion.  It is a revelation that dares not say its own name.  It has already failed.  All it can do is fail.  It fails, and it fails, and it fails. But - but?  But nothing.  It fails.  But not without grace.  There are enegetic currents at work.  They are hard to define, because words fail to designate them.  One can enter them, become them, and then one knows them - but even then only temporarily.  The Ark Work is gilded.  It is dripping with bronze, copper, silver, precious metals with no colloquial name.  It is tender.  It is a lamb with no wool and innocent eyes.  A pink lamb with skeleton and intestines, searching for its mother.



There are divine virtues.  These cannot be cultivated by a human being alone.  Their exercise and maintenance is only possible with the active, nurturing support of a divine, transcendent being.   Adaction, Apocalypse, Endeavor.  The world is full of reasons that seem to point to other, higher reasons, and to an ultimate highest reason.  The chain of reason fades beyond the visible, and the ultimate reason becomes hypothetical.  



What am I saying?  I was attempting to define the Ark Work.  Perhaps we should proceed negatively, like the pseudo-Dionysus.  The Ark Work is not politics.  The Ark Work is not art.  The Ark Work is not commerce.  The Ark Work is not religion, but this must be said only because we do not know what religion is.  The Ark Work is religion.  It is a religion that crowns politics, art, and commerce. It yokes them so that they are so many pistons in its engines.  It isn’t politics, art, commerce or religion because it truly is all of them, to a degree that we do not yet have the cognitive power or libidinal strength to see and bear.



The Ark Work progressively undermines every transcendental horizon.  It is a religion of transgression.  But its mode of transgression is not base. This is not the inane immoralism of the 19th century libertine, the mindless rage of the train-jumping crust punk or the calculated novelty of the professional artist.  The Ark Work is a noble, dignified tradition.  It kills meaning with the tender sincerity of a savage apologizing to his prey as he slits its throat.



There needs to be an Ark Work, but there is not.  Not yet.  There have only been fits and starts.  Why does the Ark Work always fail?  Because until now there has been no Perichoresis.  The Perichoresis is the fulfillment of The Ark Work.  



The Ark Work is a messianic religion that aims to transform humanity into music.  The desire for this transformation into music burns within every human heart.  There is no desire that is not desire to become music.  There must be an Ark Work, because its aim is the only thing that anyone desires: the union of cessation and expansion.  



The Ark Work is the continuation of the gospel beyond the death of God.   It is not Christian, not Muslim, not Jewish, not secular, and most certainly not post-secular.  It is not radical, and it is not ‘atheological’.  How could Nietzsche not have foreseen that a dead God would have to be resurrected?  We must pass through the metaphorical notions of faith, justice and equality so as to re-transcendentalize them, locating their source in a divine, all-loving being who is deeply troubled at the horrific spit, pus and bile that cascades across the earth, masquerading as commerce.  The only true commerce is the exchange between music and music - as Marx put it, M-M.