The wondrous beautiful of the cosmos
The verdant blush of life’s variagated paths
branching into infinity
diving beneath gaseous masses of heartbreak
climbing into azure clouds billowing
With sensuality
Soaring passion feeds flames of eternity
Blooming in brilliant bursts of crimson and vermillion
Such is the blessing of life
The realization of divinity
Aloft upon wings of consciousness
Momentous and burdgeoning
With the power of love
Given god’s dependence upon the turn of the moon,
the cast of stars set too soon:
as true to Truth as any tale can be,
fate and fortune eased in upon the wind, transcended sin,
sending thrumming chords drumming across astral coasts.
Judges coalesce; shimmering ghosts progress into Being,
gathering in the Between
scenes from a life’s full stream…
we Sankofa birds fly free of human need.
Omni-dimensional dreams bless unreflective lives,
counter all guesses and unruly messes
with Truth,
reproof at wasted opportunities and willful
delusion, the fusion of broken illusions
crumble Soul’s pride;
afraid of goals set beyond the highest heights.
Ego slides by on red tides bearing ravenous death
breath, by poisonous breath.
Blessed moments crest in orchestral harmony,
timpani’s boom, life’s promise of doom
surpassed
by joyous occasion,
the harmonic accompaniment of heaven-sent Souls
present fated journeys past all impossible goals.
Dark mountains, treeless plains and dusty city streets
mark space, reveal traces of karmic debt
just in time to collect the bet regarding the outcome of
the Revolution,
the Final Solution
and, or, as the case may be,
the Alpha and Omega Resolution.
The stakes of pre-life agreements
countered by imps and demons well aware of the plan,
willing ever and always to lend helping hands
to a stumbling, bumbling and weak-minded man
held aloft by Souls mate in Salvation;
timely arrival, mutual survival, a synchronistic revival
against the night, benighted frights and unholy delights;
the Divine resolution, the sublime and humble solution
of countless lifetimes
together, forever
entwined.
Heart screams.
Tormented, torturous trials and tribulations,
the Stations of the Cross bear stark witness
to the relief of godly bliss promised in the afterlife;
after all this pain and strife there better damn well be a prize.
Souls realize that in god’s eyes the willful sty is life-spans wide and
dimensions in height,
all the while Omniscient sighs preside over terrific times,
soothing silence within precedes the arrival of the Divine.
Pentecostal Spirits sing songs awakening god within,
the twin to ego’s excess, the Omnipotent eternal,
the diurnal wanderer bears witness against
myself…
weighing deeds and intentions,
life’s companion bows down to
the beautiful and wondrous crown of Omnipresent renown.
Tones resounding joy pierce
hearts, rending agony
as Soul diffuses in subatomic resolution
regarding the metronomic dilution of a lifetime’s pride
cosmically-encoded and rendered obsolete.
Life-mode ends, Spirit sends for us
without fail,
true tales end with nothing resolved;
no agreement or dispute of content need become
involved.
Each Soul’s path to Light,
our personal and spirit-centered Calls
and Passions mask the similarity of task.
And yet, the shared sense of destiny and Becoming became and
all our stories are, were and will always be,
the same.
battles fought above and below
all there is to life
is loving slow
and living without sin
from alpha to the end
only then shall we begin to fly
upon eagles wings
astral minstrels cry
while crooning soulful lullabies
to the moon and angels up on high
Ephemeral chariots
cross emerald skies by day
like judas escariot’s sire
was betrayed in every way
by base desire and the denial
of a liar who walked with feet of clay
my soul has grown deep
like a river
langston said
ethiopia cried out
we must give unto the dead
not with a whisper but with a shout
without doubt
ancestral souls fine-tune genetic goals
while double dutch b-girls
skip lifetimes in one trip
commit high crimes tight-lipped
demonic phonics rap like stetsasonic
bombastical fantastical beats freak
like mystikal out on the street
feral crackheads lie
in search of the next high
flying by on bat-wings
drenched by the stench of corruption
lynched by the mention of destruction
lust and pride take a dusty ride
through death valley
and dark urban alleys
a baby’s wail signals travails
wafting upon the night’s breeze like
seeds of death and disease that
freeze the leaves of skeletal trees
stilling breath and
slumber’s ease
on the other side of light
wonder marks the sight of
brighter days and mighty waves
in a towering fury of utter purity
all-encompassing love
accompanies the dove
rising ever above heaven’s gate
tupac told us it was too late
to try to change the hand of fate
no slate is clean of mortal sins
nor are we free of thoughtless friends
the heart senses trends
we can’t begin to hear or see
nor can we pretend that we are free
little things matter most
but like embittered ghosts we
refuse to toast life
the sweet moments without strife
the sight of a child’s
wide-eyed smile
the delight of living without denial
trials and tribulations
face our nations
stationed on the brink of disaster
the master calls and faster we ride
through torturous hell we slide
losing sight of the real so
precious moments we must steal
from alpha to the end
only with ourselves must we contend
medium to light brown
sable red
blue-black or ivory-toned
vermillion-skinned beauties
slender and fey short-statured and tall
thickness on display
round curves and wispy hips undulating
with the rhythm of nature’s blessings
gazelle-like gracefulness captures this
man’s fancy
ebony raven shades of
brunette and ash blonde
kinky wavy or straight
short and long haired sirens wail seductively
rotund breasts fecund in their bounty
or perky perturbations
taut aureoles with nipple-thrust visible
through sheer cloth
is like broth to a sick man’s soul
high-cheeked wide browed Women
with almond shaped eyes
green blue brown and black
inviting sensual delights
so pleasing to my sight
smooth skin soft and so sensitive to the touch
passion’s heat whispered with the
oooohs and aaaaaaahs
of Love’s breath
all Women are mysterious
with the capacity to make men delirious
beauty so sublime both in body and in mind
the penchant for today’s society to underestimate
the depth of Woman’s wisdom is sinful
the style of a young Girl’s wiles
the elegance of a Woman’s statements
the earthiness of a Mother’s worthiness
the reality of a Sista’s mentality
all i can do is write the truth
these words fall far beyond reproof
witness to the fear that men retain
the distaste they relate to a Woman’s brain
multiple conversations held simultaneously
meaning gained stored and synthesized
new threads broken from original thoughts
returning intact to create a tapestry of interaction
far beyond the ability of most men to grasp
the birth process
holy invocation of Sun Moon and Stars
gentle thrumming of life’s first gasp
within the womb
growing coalescing in mysterious harmony
feeding and molding the Feminine Principle
into mood-shifting paradigms of depression delight and anger
lust/love-filled and ravenous for sustenance
willing to kill or be killed to fulfill her biological imperative
ecstatic multiplications of orgasms
astound the single/double/triple-shoted stud
thrusting ably into soothing wetness and warmth
mind alight with visions of baseball games
and statistical problems
intent upon prolonging the moment while realizing
that his ability to perform is entirely dependent
upon the Woman
beneath/over/beside him
coaxing and cajoling his sperm
calculating his endurance
cooing and cawing her approval or disdain
imperious to his overwhelming need for
success
thrice-born vixens
Goddesses in conception and form
Women hold the key to eternity within them
protected by magical spells and ancient invocations
passed down through centuries of persecution
awaiting the dawning of the New Spiritual Revolution
men sense this truth with trepidation decrying the soulful
desire for completion in favor of the material need for
subordination
Beauty defined lies in the eyes
the Perception of Perfection is subjected to the mind
neither form nor feature creates the spiritual mold
broken after each cast
with infinite variations of ear and nose lips and mouths
breasts thighs and soulful eyes
body types abound
each perfected upon the shining wheel of the Divine Potter
intent upon her art she casts poetic clay far and wide
in her conception of Eternity
through these fields of Beauty i wander
my artists eye capturing the essence of purity and wantoness
evident in glances held too long
appreciative smiles coming on too strong
hips swaying seductively in tune
pronouncing the inevitability of my Sexual Doom
to continuously fall in Lust is an invitation of damnation
a destructive occasion to any relationship’s foundation
a denigration of God’s purpose
a remonstration against lack of focus
the veneration of Woman’s perfection
can be achieved through the acknowledgement
that She is Heaven-sent
meant for man to worship in the form of Divinity
the Holy Trinity of father Mother and child
a representation here on Earth of an eternal principle
that knows no boundaries despite the prognostications
of patriarchial elders long passed to dust and infamy
Aquarius rises in her eyes
the delight of inner sight reveals what is oh so plain to see
that all are worthy of Divinity
that Beauty is the sum of all that’s in me
that i apply to you in lieu of objectivity
i see flames of understanding dawning
on the horizon of man’s rule
as inevitability becomes reality
and true relationships transcend
the structures of meta-narrational fractures
that have divided Humanity for too long
sight unseen we ascend
attendant upon the fruitful Tree
of the Goddess of Perfection and Peace
and though the rotation of Universes never cease
i shall acknowledge Woman’s Beauty
until we are Free
As I left the house, I felt a an exhilarating sense of expectation, as if something special was about to occur. It was a beautiful, sunny day, about 65 degrees Fahrenheit, not a cloud in the sky. I bundled up my son, Jaedyn, ever wide-eyed and curious, settled him into his stroller and started off down Main Rd toward the Community Center and the trails crisscrossing a small Wilderness Area bordering the Lake of Two Mountains.
These have been the trails that Siräyah and I have been walking since we’ve been living here in Hudson, Quebec. We find nature to be good for the soul. Getting out and experiencing the ambiance of the natural environment is invigorating and mood-enhancing. While the area possesses a relatively limited walking space compared to the kilometers of biking and walking trails that bordered the Saint Lawrence River in Cornwall that we used to walk in the days and evenings – watching the skies and the waters while exploring life and that which lies beyond during our time in that city – it does have a certain character and spirit that we find particularly engaging.
A stream now finishing with the torrents of snow melt and settling into the Spring’s flow as the grass, flowers and leaves spring forth in preparation and the weather titillates like a shy girl, flush and vibrant with beauty. The crisp cool of the air embraced us as the boy and I strolled along the sidewalk, observing the bustling little town of Hudson engaged in the morning rituals of Canadian-style civilization.
We walked by the bakery and the art salon; a young man with his 2 year old son in a wagon pulled off to the side of the walkway to let us pass. I laughed and told him, “Ah, and see, I was going to make way for you!”
He smiled and gestured us past with a grand sweep of his arm and I nodded, pleased by his theatrics.
We continued on past the community center where an older french man was speaking to his young daughter in a pedantic tone while she answered shortly and querelously.
Turning the corner and walking back toward the railroad tracks and the forest, we passed through the parking lot of the center. An elderly gentleman moved slowly in our direction, nodding curmudgeon-like and muttering a short, “Morning,” as he passed, intent upon the community center and whatever activities he engaged in within.
I responded in kind, accompanying my chipper “Morning!” with a nod of my own and an up-quirked lip.
The center was a generally busy space. We’d visited a few times and spoken with the receptionist as well as looked around. There was art for sale on the walls, open space for auctions, parties and miscellaneous gatherings, chairs and tables for bingo and other group activities and a few curling lanes. It was a nicely built and well-attended public area that we hoped to utilize ourselves someday.
I could feel the cool of the forest even in the general briskness of the day as the concrete parking lot turned to road. The beauty of the Hardwood Forest sub-zone of western-Quebec is beyond question. The region we live in, on the banks of the lower Ottawa River and the local widening of that river known to the natives and euro-Canadians alike as the Lake of Two Mountains, is in the sugar maple/bitternut hickory domain of the sub-zone and this forest extension was representative of the region. Cork elms, swamp white oaks, shagbark hickory, black and sugar maples, pitch pine, fir and spruce trees are abundant in this diverse realm on the very edge of two northern climate zones and we appreciated the diversity, energetic aspects and natural beauty greatly.
The boy and I continued our funky expedition. We bumped over the railroad tracks onto the gravel road leading back into the forests and I looked at the main path leading in, through the bars of an old, rusted, cast iron gate. I could see the leaf-strewn brownness of the path leading between the chapeled trees, most still browned and bare but beginning to display the pale greens and deeper hues of the onrushing spring.
I always walk down that path whenever I enter the forest from this direction, as it is a straight shot from the main street but today, for some reason, the thought of the alternate path – just 20 feet distant – leading along the banks of the stream toward the bridge from further down the gravel road, came to mind. A couple days before I’d noticed it as I hadn’t walked down it since last Fall, when Siräyah and I used to jog in the forests. But on this day I felt an irresistable urge to walk it even though it was just a bit further to get to it and it led to the same destination.
As soon as we entered the woods, I felt it. The trees were greening, small leaves budding and the smell of pines and vibrant growth filled my nostrils with a heady scent. As I inhaled, my heart – already open, warm and receptive – filled with what can only be described as an onrushing cascade of love. I was immersed within it, my out-breath and Tonglen training immediately and almost automatically sending that love multiplied back in response, out into the trees, the stream, the underbrush and whatever life dwelt therein, present in that moment, communing with us. I basked in the feeling, looking around me in amazement because this could be nothing less than the forest welcoming me. I laughed thickly, still breathing in that energy, that love and breathing it back out as the colors grew more vibrant, the scene around me imprinting upon my memory in all of its natural beauty and intensity.
I stood there for a few minutes engaged in rapturous communication with the forest. It seemed as if we were speaking at the deepest level, beyond words, beyond concepts, beyond ideas, at the level of existence itself. Never distant from tears in the best of times they now flowed freely as did my low and amazed laughter as I basked in the joy of existence, sharing it with my ethereal and material friends of the natural world.
I walked in front of the stroller to look down at the boy. He was staring out into the distance, but when I moved into his field of vision he looked at me with his typical deadpan seriousness. I laughed, because it looked for all the world like he was thinking, Ok Pops, it’s a forest already. This is how they talk. What, you forgot? Come on, let’s go.
I chuckled and shook my head, my entire body pleasantly tingling with the remnants of the energy exchange between the forest and I. We crossed the bridge over the stream and greeted another couple with a dog. They smiled and spoke and continued on down another trail as we took the path they had just vacated deeper into the marsh area heading toward the lake. As we neared an overlook I began to hear a deep, groaning chorus of croaks and warbles that quieted when we stepped onto the wooden platform that served as an observation area.
In that particular part of the forest the winter runoff had caused an overflow of water during the past few weeks as the weather warmed that had left the seasonally dry terrain overflowing the banks of the meandering stream channels. A large pond had formed as a result. A pond that had dwindled as the winter snow melt completed and the streams of the area returned to their normal confines.
A few days before I’d learned that there were beavers in the area when speaking to a native of the region and observed a small one working industriously a bit further down the stream bed. Considering its size, its parents must have been responsible for the building of the dam that had resulted in the formation of this pond, which I was searching curiously for some sign of the creatures who were singing such a singular song.
As I stood there watching, the song resumed in its previous intensity, our presence noted and dismissed, apparently deemed insignificant. The chorus alternated in surround-sound from both sides in a call-and-response patterning that felt to me like flirting. I smiled, realizing that it was indeed Spring and mating season had once again arrived. I looked down at the boy, taking note of his heavy lids and generally somnolent behavior. The forest was like a narcotic to him, he always fell asleep whenever we spent time there. We continued our trek, leaving the strange creatures – probably toads or frogs of some sort although I saw neither hide nor wart of one – to their private conversations.
The forest felt magical. My body continued to tingle from the earlier energetic exchange with the forest and I was now being bombarded on all sides by new stimuli. A bird here, a rustle in the bushes, there. My senses were afire and everything glowed with a luminescence I attribute to an altered state of consciousness brought about by my sudden welcoming into the Congregation of the Natural World. The day itself was brilliant and the slight breeze flowed around us, whispering secrets just beyond the range of hearing. The Now moment was prescient and pregnant with potentiality and all else receded as we turned parallel to the river following the path toward the sandy beach.
As we approached the beach, I noticed a few crows in the trees. We stopped by a particular tree, a pitch pine that I’d passed many times before. I remembered just a few days earlier I’d noticed it and felt drawn to it for some reason. I chuckled to myself, as I’d actually hugged the tree after looking around to make sure I was alone. The next time I’d passed it I met Glenn and we’d had a wonderful conversation. As I stood there looking at it I remembered that I’d felt a bit peeved at the time, as I wanted to spend time with the tree and here was this guy showing up right at the moment I was walking by it. The synchronicity was not lost on me and I wondered if the tree had planned the whole thing.
The pervasive joy coursing through me had settled into a steady vibratory resonance of peace and I moved to the tree, examining it, particularly it’s roots. It was large, over 100 years old and the root system was extensive. To the rear of the tree, closest to the water, the soil had been washed away by the natural action of the lake as it rose and fell yearly with the melting and runoff of the winter seasons, so that the roots were exposed.
It’s beautiful, I realized. Sit. Meditate. The thought came to me suddenly and it seemed like the only possibility in that moment. The boy was sleeping peacfully, his face serene in the morning sunlight. I turned his stroller so that he was facing me and I then sat among the roots, finding a perfect position that left me grounded and steady. It felt as if the location had been waiting for me and I thanked the tree silently as I settled in.
A crow sounded above with a danger call. Three caws. Another answered, about twenty meters distant with three of its own. I noticed, but paid little mind as I looked around, relaxing, looking into the forest, still totally in the Now moment, my senses alert. The crow sounded again with a rally call. Four caws. I contemplated the crows and the meanings of their caws for a moment before a snapped branch and a sense of presence alerted me to a woman and her dog, approaching from the direction of the crows, and the sandy beach. As she passed, she looked at me curiously and smiled. “Hello.”
“Hello,” I replied, smiling back. Her dog huffed shortly and I said, “Hello to you too!”
She looked at me and said, “Excuse me?”
I replied, “Oh, your dog said hello also, I was speaking to him.”
The woman laughed and looked at the dog, still walking past, “Oh, she talks all the time.”
I laughed in return and watched them for a moment as they continued on and then returned my attention to the forest. It soon stilled, the only sounds the gentle wave action of the lake behind us and the ambient rustling of the forest, interspersed with the harsh croaking of crows, the one closest to me still sending out updates every few minutes, others in distant trees responding.
My breath evened and I entered Samatha meditation, my eyes unfocused, gazing down at the ground, alternating between dirt and twigs, my mind stilling, the thoughts slowing. I concentrated on the breath for a while, steadying my seat, feeling the connection to the ground in that space, the earth, this forest and the tree. Resonant energy seemed to emanate from the very forest itself, a white, misty nothingness that twirled, twisted and undulated around the edges of my vision. The ground itself moved, also flowing, rising and falling with my breath, or like the lake and river beyond, unbound by the laws of the material world.
It felt only natural when I found myself engaging in Tonglen. With the in-breath I concentrated first upon the area, breathing in the energy of the forest, feeling it fill me, then with the out-breath, sending out love and peace. The air around me contracted with each taking, expanded with each sending. I then moved to the city of Hudson, envisoning its people going about their business, breathing in and taking their pain, their heartache, seeing it as black, crusty oil surrounding my heart. With the outbreath the tar-like substance dissipated in a burst of light and love as I sent energy outwards, intentioning harmony and higher states of consciousness.
With each breath in and out I expanded my vision to the next town over, Saint Lazare; then Montreal, then all of Quebec, then Canada and North America, then the Americas and the world. I found my parents, my siblings, cousins, other loved ones, including them, taking and sending. With each breath, I felt the energy growing, burgeoning, filling me, the breathes lengthening, the crust surrounding my heart thickening and then exploding as the energy shone from my heart outwards, always enough, ever enough to dissipate any negativity, for myself, those around me and the world.
I continued on in this vein for about 15 minutes before halting, returning to breath meditation in order to come down. My body was resonating still from the energy expenditure, I could feel elation, peace, a real and steady connection to the forest, to the world. A sense of grounding and of presence that I hadn’t felt in a long time. After regaining my equilibrium and grounding myself, I relaxed into the meditation for another 10 minutes or so before ending it.
I looked around. Immediately, the crow above me cawed. Four caws. The rally cry again. Answered from a few trees away. Then again, a bit more distant. I stood, feeling a bit faint and out of it. I was a bit surprised, but realized that I’d spent a lot of energy in the last half an hour. I was not tired but a bit disconnected from my body, while still being utterly in tune with my surroundings.
We continued on to the beach area. Jaedyn was still asleep. The crow that had sat in the tree next to mine the entire time I’d been meditating took flight in the same direction I was walking, cawing ahead. Danger, danger. He was answered and I realized then that, ok, this was a really weird experience.
The path opened up into the beach area. The glacial till of this region of western Quebec was known for it’s sandy character and I remember my amazement to find better sand on the river beaches here in Canada than existed down on the Gulf of Mexico.
The crows were still cawing away, now there had to be four or five of them, still close to us in the trees above. I decided for some reason to push the boy’s stoller out onto the beach itself, leaving the relative stability of the forest ground, out closer to the water. I’d never even walked down this section of the beach before, but felt that I had to.
The caws had become a steady but jarring cacaphony above, but as we left the shelter of the trees and moved out onto the beach they took on a different character, became more punctuated, briefer, including growls and high-pitched screeches. They were engaging in the fight call. Something had changed. I stopped the stroller about halfway between the beach and the forest and looked up.
Directly above us were two red-tailed Hawks, circling majestically, each in the opposite direction to the other. Only 4 to 5 meters distant, I gaped up at the raptors in total amazement and felt an unexpected surge of love and gratitude which I, again, automatically sent outwards and upwards towards them. In return I received a jolt of acknowledgement accompanied by unmistakable impressions of mission and of purpose and of destiny. My heart opened wide and the tears once again coursed down my cheeks as the beauty and majesty of the experience washed over me.
The rightness of the moment and the perfection of the synchronicty was too obvious to mistake as the birds of prey circled above us exactly once, twice, three times. It felt like a sign. It was a sign that I was meant to notice and remark upon; something too direct, too purposeful, too intelligent to be coincidence on that fateful day.
After making their point, the raptors drifted away on the winds, to the west, slowly. I watched one tilt and glide lazily southwards while the other continued west, going their separate ways, both eventually disappearing over the trees. I noticed then that the crows were gone. Or being very quiet.
I stood there, breathing hard in the aftermath, as if I’d just finished a 26 mile marathon, my mind reeling with the implications of the succession of events I’d just experienced. As I wheeled the boy off the beach and we walked back through the forest, I wrestled with the memories, already casting them as a tale told and searching for meaning.
I stopped at the bridge again on the way out and built a small dolmen with three rocks, two round and one long, placing the structure precariously on a large boulder near the water. As we exited the forest I looked back, wondering if I would ever have such an experience again. The day seemed to grow brighter in response and the moment opened up, revealing, once more, the perfection and magic to be found right Now and in every Now following, from here unto Eternity.
Starfish fall from the sky
doomed to commit social suicide,
their limpid eyes alight with bubbly sighs,
their teary cries indicative of
pain-filled lies
spread by dolphins and whales
whispering dolorous tales
to sailors lost,
star-crossed by kraken-sent dreams,
tossed by waves of cerulean eyes
blinking at seahorses flying high
above, the songs of mermaids and mermen
undulating strong,
wavelengths of sin, the eternal rights of wrong,
blending harmonics cresting diatonic scales
crooning Niad love songs
whilest below,
the sharks and cuttlefish stew,
barnacles rumbling, tumbling through
electromagnetic currents
and whispering torrents,
cockles and mussels desirous of more, grumbling
and stumbling along the sea-shore,
staring fearfully at volcanic peaks
emitting steam, belching flames and
preening, no longer only dreaming of
hell on earth, but prepared to witness
the rebirth of catastrophic times,
humbolt squid and jellyfish dance,
prancing conga lines happy as clams
and oysters gleefully clapping
their halfshells as oxygen fails
and chemtrails line the sky,
the travails of humanity pass on by,
their toils only the minutest of boils
taxing Gaia’s skin, the timeline begins
and then ends without remark,
their egocentric tribulations purely a lark
embarked upon by signifying sea urchins and
lobsters, hurling insults and curses like mobsters
attempting to shatter eternity’s bones
but failing, sailing into oblivion
nailed to a butterfly’s cross,
transformation promised,
paradise lost.
Desperate days descend
ascending aspirations
vague impressions of stardust dreams
collect beneath egoic imaginations
Doing time in life sometimes is like
forgoing the daily grind in favor of an
extended holiday
Sensual play on beaches of sublime magnificence
The benificence of Saints awakens tantric streams
of chakra’d energy flows that blend magic and science
evoking Heaven Above on the Earth below
Fatal days cast adrift upon memory’s wispy waves
the night’s visions born amidst tribulations
and temptations beyond belief
Like a thief in the night life passes by
Moments accrue as the bill comes due and
we find ourselves standing before God and
the Book of Life
Remembering every moment of heartache and
egocentrically-driven strife
Finding the time to remember
The life path recollected
each moment respected
expected to reflect
convective invectives
Spit into the wind
sprayed splayed across pores and skin
tormented till the End
remembering
When
Life was young and
melatonic pubescence a distant gong
rang by Time’s remorseless clock
echoing skyward
reverbrating with thrumming strength
drumming cyclically
obliquely impassioned
Deep oceanic breathes
Leviathan awakened
a behemoth
Mammoth-like collectivity of consciousness
held at peak and trough
the world’s collection of moments continuing
to flow
Children screaming
lovers fighting
enemies hating
politicians misunderstanding
mothers loving
slaves working
aristocrats laughing
Desperation
exuded like perspiration
across the face of the world
Gaia’s visage
clear for the Multiverse to see
planetary contusions and
bruises accrued during
the Age of Man
Come to a close
A tear
a sniffle from Gaia’s nose
twinkle in Her eye
Aspirations applied
Desperation
denied
Even rocks have religions: of spring rain and moldering eons, sifting through layers of sedimentary deposit in search of soul’s salvation. The monumental girth of mountains, such stupendous avatars of a pebble’s truest aspiration, soaring heavenward, thrusting forth shards and stones of Gaia’s uttermost solidity, sharing the secrets of eternity’s whispered words in sublime syllables of synchronicitious portent.
The songs of willows, branches swaying gently, sighing, in the breeze of the wind’s soft and sensuous caress, calling out to the myriad species of tree, deciduous and coniferous alike, dryads locked within, beautiful, brown skin gnarly and wondrously intricate, chuckling and spinning tales of wonder and amusement as the moon and the stars look on from above.
Watery denizens inhabit the depths, oceanic or stream-bottoms strewn with the refuse of life’s open call, evoking Creation herself in waves and currents of cacaphonic complexity, swirling in confusion as anthropomorphic anomolies add ascerbic emanations to the stew of chemicals and molecular potions brewing magical concoctions beyond all perceived purpose, or even the most febrile of humanistic portents, doomed by specied miopia to organic obsolescence.
The airs and aethers converge, multi-dimensional existence exuding essence, permeating creation, space extended beyond material condition into spirituality beyond season, evoking dichotomous reasoning combined, resolved by resolution in the choir of Earth’s multitudinous denizens, singing praises to Heaven above.
All of God’s creatures rejoice in Creation Eternal, life manifest as conditional consciousness, urges and genetic predispositions crystalline in purpose, pure, apriori spirituality coalescing in momentous occasion, codified as religion surpassing intergenerational denominative descent in approximation of ascention, the goal of all life, all incarnation, all re-creation.
Life as manifestion upon the physical plane negates specied egocentricity, the grass, the seas, the sky and the trees, all possess the conscious ability to Be, all they are, truely, seeking elevation and solace beyond these shores. Freedom of choice, the knowledge of Good and Evil, black and white, yin and yang as the blessing – and curse – of humanity complicates reality, the mores and traditions passed down through the generations denied validity by the radical evolution of egocentricity, decrying the existence of spirituality, elevating the Cult of Me, mistaking subjectivity for objectivity, denying the connection between We…
…sublime simplicity, indeed. Close your eyes, open your hearts and feel the need, to connect and share, in both love and warfare we seek belief in something higher, better, truer. While deep inside we know that it is all so simple, to follow the example of the birds and the deer, the insects and plants, to grow and to live, secret destinies realized beyond the mind and its convolutive meanderings, realizing that even the rocks have religion and know neither Heaven nor Hell.
Third eye opens to darkness, roiling with potentiality. In the space above my head are dark bodies, insistent and gleaming with an inner light. Instead of words, there are feelings, and I get the sensation of shouting, of pleasure and pain, of deep conversations held at multiple levels of ethereal manifestation.
I feel a sensation at the region of the sacral plexus, and, in my astral form, look down to see a dark agglomeration, conscious and feeding, sucking at my essence, seeking to enter me at some specific point of weakness. As it burrows within me in a dark frenzy I consciously marshall my energies against its penetration, seeing it glow in frustration as its efforts are met by light, searing its astral flesh at the point of contact.
The darkness is rent by transmogrification.
Floating in a sea of whiteness, mind expanding, body diffused, points of consciousness existing, communicating at impossible distances, simultaneous creation, mind explicit, complicit with the very essence of existence. Open, wide, infinite senses bombarded by experience: love, hate, pain, pleasure, ecstasy and joy, an expansive, all-encompassing joy, sublime and infinite, caresses my consciousness like a suble lover.
Deeper motions, leviathan awakened by the nattering of plankton insistently scouring his flesh of an aeon’s worth of barnacles. Earthy consciousness, turgid and presicent, ironic core considerations of celestial movements electrical and magnetic in nature. Organic and mineral being, consciousness rent by relentless attack, cancer-like in nature, humanity at the crossroads as Gaia groans, the torment of her inevitable cleansing a stark promise written in the stars.
Awaken I, open I eyes, wide, 3rd orb vision of consciousness unflinching awareness in the face of the fantastic. Terrific visions of blood and warfare, of a sky rent by fire and massive missles of interplanetary proportions, Nibiru’s vast girth outshining the sun, the moon dwarfed in trembling awe as the celestical cohort trumpets the return of the King, all glory unbound.
Shifting beneath flimsy covering, the sunlight warms my eyelids and the birds outside sing of perfection and peace, secure. Awareness burgeons, nightly emanations recede into the dim recesses of consciousness and the morning’s routine begins.
Orbiting stately
in formal procession
around Sol with
her sisters
Gaia sings in tune
with my soul.
She steps daintily
dodging asteroids and
solar storms
Her magnetic corona
brilliant
The aura of her laughter
echoing ghost-like
in the wan light of
a polar sun.
Tropical depressions
spin clock-wise
Coriolis dreams
circle in search of purchase
tossed by fretful storms
and jet- stream airforms
that burdgeon with
the cries of spirits yearning
for love
lost to life swirling down
into a vortex of
undreamt possibility.
Hips spanning the Atlantic
her girth a sensual mound
of earthen expanse
her breasts suckled by
scions of air and light
the atmosphere itself
a fountain
of heavenly delight.
Eyes deep as oceans
brown as muddy waters
carried by the Nile
Amazon shores green
and filled with life flow
into the Blue Danube
beyond the sight
of humankind.
Earth Goddess she is
her soul split in
infinite reflection of
femininity
her eyes
her legs
her hips
her breasts
formed and reformed in
every shape
color and size
Venus quantified.
