So, I had a revelation recently. I had seen some videos of the Lunar Wave and had done my share of digging on the Moon. Anyways, I am certain the Moon is an artificial satellite much like Saturn and…Continue
My eyes unsewn, at last I wake.
Born anew into a familiar place.
Crumbling walls within a hidden plane.
Yet still it seems I am further away.
Be loving and bold.
Yet flex graciously.
Like amorphous mold.
For it is upon the eternal stone.
That the ankh shapes the soul.
And that all we touch.
Will soon turn to gold.
Revering in my own shapelessness.
Admiring my very sense of aimlessness.
No different it seems then a game or test.
Imagining it all then manifest.
My unwavering eyes speak eternal truth.
Formlessly drawing from the fountain of youth.
Growth is the only means to be obtained.
Confronting sacred mirrors to then transmutate.
A knowledge of joy and pain.
From the empty abyss.
The angels pave the way.
Mirrored corridors for self-contemplation.
Black and white eternal transformation.
A marvelous construct in all its tempting appeal.
Humbled by its proportions I cannot help but kneel.
This sacred spiral.
This eternal pendulum.
Just knowing I was merely given the choice is all encompassing.
Just knowing, I am all-knowing is a gift in itself.
Now to observe…
In the silence.
Still in the silence.
I realize the clay is very much alive.
Megaliths seemingly intent to rise.
Again and again I watch it decay and die.
A symbiotic orgy for my weeping eyes.
And yet comfort…
A sense of peace in the waning noise.
Oh how precious the sanctity.
A stillness of black in the gaping void.
So very familiar and yet I could not fully see.
A scent I recall, so very dear to me.
So many years had passed.
My very dreams laid before me like shattered glass.
So oblivious to it all and asking why.
Yet all this time I had no clue it was in front of my eyes.
Innocence a time of unending yearn.
Echoes and laughter, free of concern.
Yet in the distance a presence stirs.
As visible the light, darkness is more pure.
You chose this.
You chose this.
You’re an old soul in an ancient game of cat and mouse.
The oldest trick in the book.
An eternal amnesiac.
A prisoner of your own machinations.
A victim of separation.
No recollection of before.
So very keen on your own deprivation.
The hourglass wanes.
The sand representing inevitable decay.
All too familiar.
Every forsaken reason to turn away.
Every god damn reason to feel ashamed.
Picking up the pieces.
Picking up the pieces.
We’re treading along the preordained.
Doesn’t matter which way you came.
The parasites have already dug your grave.
I look away…
And yet it’s calling me.
Beckoning me back to that other place.
I grasp dead soil in hopes of something solid.
Something known to me.
But my surroundings have fled any sense of rationality.
Is this a test?
Have you drawn me out of some dark recess so you could humble me?
The jagged jigsaws of my fractured memory?
Split apart at the seams.
Detached for the sake of my own sanity.
Oh if words could do it justice I would sing for you.
If a painting could show you the complexity within this void gaped dream.
I’d let you feel the shapeless clay of all that came to be.
I’d let you inhale the scent of decaying eternity.
But justice escapes me.
No one makes it out alive because they don’t want to be.
Matter is a manifestation of disparity.
It is absolutely meaningless that someone cared for me.
For I am complete.
Colossal and devoid I am a monstrosity.
I’ve walked among every dark and treacherous road you see.
I’ve tasted every last dying bit of flesh to know tragedy.
As jagged as the pieces that remain of me.
There is no salvation without mortality.
One day you too will know what it all means.
And don’t you dare turn away.
Confront your demons and know shame.
There is no good or evil just duality.
Now let go of me…
"Everything descends from heaven upon the earth, into the water, into the air: only fire is vivifying, because it tends upwards; that which tends downwards is subordinate to it. That which descends from above is generative; that which emanates and rises is nutritive. The earth, alone self-supported, is the receptacle of all things, and reconstructs the types which she receives. That Universal Being which contains all and which is all, puts into motion the soul and the world,…Continue
I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms,
hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.
No more sailing from harbor to harbor with this my weather-beaten boat.
The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves.
And now I am eager to die into the deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss
where swells up the music of toneless…