These Spiritual Flows

I got these Flows, you know?
These beats inside that unseat deeply held beliefs. They cycle around in my mind, finding a space beyond time to query the metanarrational ideals representative of close encounters of the spiritual kind. So I conduct these drills, you know, diving deep into still waters to find the current rushing below. Again, I got that flow, you know?
But how best to express it in a way that doesn’t dress it in pretentious bullshit that shuts down understanding, that feels like someone prancing in ideological fields, flowering philosophies divorced from iconographies of force, pounding people into coarse miasmas of etheric plasma, divorced from the real, the material ordeal that binds hearts and minds in time and space, to a place of essential grace? But that might be way too abstract. Not enough facts, revealing a lack of grounding in the necessity of communicating with tact.
Words stack. One upon the next, phrases coalescing in stages building meaning, streaming intention through gleaming shards of light, information blasting edifices built upon blight, the detritus of institutions not quite visible as such, appearing instead as solutions to problems long sought, build here, not there, upon this rock. I’ve got the flow. I know.
More bullshit. More words, designed to placate the herd. To create hypnotic illusions of complacency, in lieu of a fundamental alignment to conceptions of decency. Perception creates more opportunity for deception. Misalignment with truth, logically bound arguments that demand external proof when the real answer is under your own roof. That’s a metaphor, for your head. Where your attention should be, instead of out among the walking dead, shambling zombies sporting Abercrombie and Fitch, complacent in their privilege, thinking their life plan is coming off without a hitch.
Ain’t that a bitch. Ask a witch, or Wiccan, to be politically correct, if language use is more important than context? If understanding is gained by using words laced with pain? Does it hit deeper? Does it find the flow? Awaken the sleeper from the dream, elicit anger and indignant steam? Are some conversations best held in the highest tones, strident accusations embracing convictions held to the bone? Call and response rhythms bracing emotional blows that shake bodies to the core, while the demands of belief ask for more and still more? What, still, is in store?
What is coming next? Can you see it? Feel it? Like a storm gathering on the horizon, rent by lightning and thunder, still faint in the distance as the sharks and squid plunder the depths of our collective despair. You can smell the ozone in the air. Feel the electricity tingling in your hair as it stands on end. That’s the thing. You can’t pretend. Angels with broken wings still feel the sting of God’s abandonment. The loss of that Flow.
That timeless coursing of love that comes from both above and below. That sense of being a part of something integral and eternal, infinite and both maternal and paternal. The yin-yang dichotomy of opposition where polarities unite and you realize that the fight itself is the illusion, the contusions mere bruises to ego and unfounded fear.
Silence is birthed in the place of an ever-present wall of sound and fury. The storm arrives with lurid intensity and raindrops begin to fall, tasting of sorrowful waste, tracing paths of contentment down my face. My heartbeat stretches into eternity, spiking reverberations looming imponderable and tall. From those dizzying heights, I then fall. Beyond all calls to internalize the need for redemption and false guilt. Pretention fails. Internal dissension is quelled. And I sail, outwards into skies of light, and into the Flow.
You know?
You know?

Conceptions of Self

Difficult days typify the ways
Of the soul
It is said the strongest spirits
Experience the greatest trials
Tribulations through time
The woes of Job
The death throes of conceptions of Self.

Troubles arise and fall
Arising from someplace beyond us all
A wall of sorts seems to exist
Separating our perception
By means of deception from some
Deeper font of Wisdom and Truth
The proof we ever seem to seek
Indicative of the futile ruminations of
The weak.

Seeking existence of the Divine
Ignoring the times in our lives
When strife has risen like a tide
Engulfing our entire conception of Self
And purpose
Conveniently forgetting our soul-felt
Prayers soon after
Returning to blissful ignorance
Pride and hubris the restored face
Despite the willfully ignored response
Of the Master.

Coincidence, we proclaim
As we continue the game of denial
Projecting ego through space
Blindly unaware of the blessings
That took us there
To that place of self-destruction
Of reticent self-deconstruction
The seduction of personality
Soothing fears
Whispering lies
In terrified ears.

There is a Way to Find Love

There is a way, to find, Love.

There is a way to find Love.

We face the demons in the night
We scream out loud then run in fright
Til we find the loving place
Illuminate and shine our light!

There is a way to find Love.

There’s nothing in between us
but the walls we put in place
We live our lives in search of dreams
and find ourselves in outer space.

There is a way to find Love.

There is a way to find Love.

Mystical magical wonderful beautiful we are full of light and love we’re bright our second sight shinin through dimensions pretensions of soul as psychos like pyros light fires of tires and buildings come crashing down they clown we don’t care we are flying higher and higher the fire burning planets like manic depressives we dip and dive flowin thru life livin like Ballas we follow synchronicity our paths shinin electricity climbin levels and levels ascension burnin skin yearnin we brighten and heighten third eye risin we out in space yeh the place of our birth this earth no hidin place we gone we out no doubt it’s on …

There is a way to find Love.
We face the demons in the night
We scream out loud then run in fright
Til we find the loving place
Illuminate and shine our light!

There is a way to find Love.

There’s nothing in between us
but the walls we put in place
We live our lives in search of dreams
and find ourselves in outer space.

There is a way to find Love.

There is a way to find Love.

There is a way to find Love.

There is a way to find Love.

There is a way, to find, Love.

Freedom of Thought

In every way, the psychosis of the day is apparent. Human dna in the food we eat, bird flu pandemics and extraterrestrial fleets; economic meltdowns and political gridlock, lone wolf gunmen toting nines and glocks. The stock market rising while unemployment falls, people’s lives capsizing while the real economy stalls.

Where’s the truth and what is the lie? Where’s the proof that we all even die?

Perception is all, the game is fixed. Believe what you’re told, get the truth from Netflix. Comedians do the News while Commentators take the stage, Bill Maher gets the boos while Katt Williams pays sin’s wage.

Orwell said that war is peace, freedom is slavery and ignorance is strength. The Powers that Be will go to any lengths to hide this reality, the banality of daily life serving to obscure what is clearly seen by most, yet unacknowledged out loud, all it would take is a peek through the cloud of willful and conscious ignorance, the strength of a population served by death-dealing psychopaths.

You do the math yourself and see what you find. While ostensibly at peace we are constantly at war, while formal slavery’s abolished the prison population soars. The more that you know, the less popular you will grow and all of these truths are right there under your nose.

Psychopaths rule the world, it was designed for their success. Unfeeling and violent leading sheep is what they do best. Wolves in human clothing we follow them to the slaughter, breathing our last breaths to the sound of their laughter.

While stock indexes rise, our neighbors struggle to survive, that minimum wage job is wage slavery, no lie. Working 40 hours a week barely meeting the bills, while cable TV is busy selling us pills for everything under the sun whether real illness or not, got an itch buy this one here, or, better yet, smoke some pot. Sit down and be still, shut your mouth and don’t moan, don’t whine or complain, you’re much better off stoned.

For freedom of mind leads to Freedom of Thought, the cure that’s most sought yet forbidden, never taught. The danger to lies is that truth always threatens, manumission from illusion leads to the diminution of confusion.

Morpheus told Neo it’s like a splinter in the mind, the knowing that threatens the Controllers and their kind, that life is about Freedom from boundaries and control and that all their holographic maneuvers are a trove of fool’s gold. Not every body houses a soul like your own, not every person has a psyche that’s fully grown. Psychosis is rife, in your town, in your home, choosing your life path can reveal you’re on your own.

What is your choice? Will you make it or will you not? How loud is your voice? Are you faking it or taking your shot?

Time is of the essence, every moment we live counts. Seek the highest goal, all your barriers, surmount.

The Circumvention of Fate

Desperation is in the air. Can you feel it?

It’s in that thousand yard stare you see sometimes, walking down the streets, gaze fixated mostly upon your own feet but looking up sometime, catching a glimpse of gazes, phases of mental gone medieval, often wild and feral, telescopic scopes above a cocked gun barrel, burning above tightened and frozen lips.

A sublime trip into the mind of the divine. You can see it in the eyes of many lost and bewildered members of the human tribe, hearts tendered upon alters of greed, frozen screaming, lost in the tribulations of their own half-unconscious but transcendent need. Almost everybody you pass is ass out, minds elsewhere, worrying about cash, about the job, about making ends meet. It’s that mad dash into the future we’re on, trying to appear strong while inside we’re quaking and outside we’re shaking, more or less, tested to the extreme, worry and regret struggling in the middle of life’s turbulent stream.

Time seems to be passing way too quickly, it’s sickly. Choices being made that we regret almost instantly, surrounded by temptation we forgo the mandatory oblations, giving in way too freely, it’s a mess. Really, it’s a damn shame, tested, like Cain, caught slaying brother Abel we swang, private parts in the wind, buffeted about by our own sins, looking around for someplace to hide, but we can’t pretend, there’s no solace from the wrath of God’s eyes, in the end.

But, we try. Finding those hidden corners in our minds, caught out, we gesticulate wildly, babbling like some kind of hideous street mime. Lies attempt to win the day as we play the game of life, causing strife, as if this is the only way to be, as if this is the only way to see through the illusions, trying not to fall, catching yet another contusion on the brain, half-lame we stumble through the mist of half-forgotten crimes, committed to do the time of life on earth, forgetting that we’re really here to experience a rebirth, of spirit, of soul, the goal almost beyond grasp, the sacred asp of the ancients the last gasp of mortality slipping from lips agape, awed by the utter immensity of Creation’s fell maw. A truly unenviable state.

And, by the way, maw means jaws for the uninitiated, open wide, our hearts pounding inside, words not accompanying intentions, our misguided actions necessitating the Circumvention of Fate, the intervention of a higher state of being, seeing beyond the mundane, the limited visual capacity of the temporarily insane. How inane is that? Doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result, all the while pretending to be an adult.

And so it goes. And so we grow, deep in the throes of potentiality, creating reality with every breath, evolving as spirits of light with every test, committed until death.

That desperation that you see? It’s really a call to action for you and me. We are indeed our brothers and sisters keepers, street-wise sweepers of the detritus of life, we clean up our acts to move higher. Going through the dark night of the soul, hearts catching afire, becoming the phoenix of the dark morning’s dawn, harbingers of spiritual desire, becoming the angel that lost souls count on. Exemplifying the higher aspects of consciousness, forgoing the prideful excesses of pompousness. Yes, that’s the answer to it all.

The answer to our fateful and often inevitable fall.

Choose differently. Live gently, being kind to yourself. Release the pain and gain the clarity of peace, find your center and witness the turbulence and drama cease.

It is indeed possible. A choice to be made like any other, the choice to overcome any obstacle, to find the solution in the soluble, that which dissipates in nature’s flow, synchronicitous instances of life’s journey that cause us all to grow.

So there you go.

Choose wisely, and slow your roll.


It’s a commonly accepted Truism in these the Last and most Fateful Days
that all Truths are Relative that nothing is Real except for what we
feel and think about the things we do and say this way is that of the
World of the Purveyors of Lust Unfurled of those who hate life enjoy
strife and the fight against all that is right who delight in the sight
of our pain their feverish games are played to win who is the Judge
those who possess the most sin or those whose ethical boundaries are
tossed upon the wind the Soulful Journey of Truth begins all Spirits
must rise and realize that tomorrow is unclear the Now is all that we
fear living in the Past the Future’s promise a deadly dream of steadily
eroding standards of life and increasingly prevalent panic and strife

I’ll break it down even further for those who don’t know casting stones
deals a fatal blow to any claim upon the Truth I know this having lived
most basic lesson a mundane blessing upon those with eyes to see and
ears to hear and the sense to keep those who truly love them near if
the cause is right then the fight is light released upon the darkness
of Death’s fell blight the plan is was and always will be to Conquer
and Divide I said to Conquer and Divide hide the Truth by sliding lies
and subtle misinterpretations within the Cipher of those who would be
Friends when spiritual power is witnessed by droves of eyes alight with
jealous hatred and subtle crimes of a zealous nature they dislike
the sight of Elevating Consciousness and do all within their power
including glowering upon flowering Souls shining with the Sublime
Divine I’d be remiss if I didn’t diss the spreaders of gossip and
untruths in the attempt to raise themselves but its Human Nature and
the lowest of emotions to brew that heady potion prepared for crabs in
a barrel clambering slandering and devouring one another when instead

it should be said that Elevation is the Key but those involved can’t
see that this is the Final Cause the belief that will set us free to
loose the chains upon our souls and cast our Truths to the furthest
shoals the pain and desperation within will wither and die without a
cry if we allow Relativity to rule the day it is not true what it
is they say those Philosophers Scientists and even the Novices that
play at social and political engineering they be steering visions
of equal pay in the Karmic Debt of cobwebs unswept in corners of
subconscious yearnings and desires that arise from the fire of
decisions made in the moment of passions awakening but all share the
burden of emotional hurdles no one being above the next the test
applied to us all we fall further into the Deep whilst awake and during
sleep our dreams disturbed by heavenly verbs and nouns that astound
wearing Ethereal Crowns like unto Ceremonial Mounds that gird our words
the fight is Now and here in the Real World or in Virtual Space we must
be True and realize our place beyond these games that people play the
Poet’s fate is to awaken the Day of Comprehension’s Dawning to know
that Truth is Eternal and all-encompassing that Nothing Is Relative

All is Real and you are responsible indeed for those sinful seeds that
you thought you’d left behind sown instead of blown by the Dead into
Headz without Dreadz but they will come back to haunt you and taunt
you with unrealized ambitions concerning the replacement of God with
worldly Perdition the defacement of Love in the placement of boundaries
meant to keep Souls from singing in syncopated harmony but all this too
shall pass as the last gasp of the Damned heralds Time’s forecast and
the Judgment of Relativity’s Reign will depend upon the pain suffering
and heartache caused to those True Souls who kept themselves pure and
immune to the lure of Babylon’s fatal call it’s difficult y’all to
write these words knowing that my fate may lie far from these shores
I implore those of Faith not to judge in broad swathes but to realize

that in time all of these things shall be known whether on the Day of
Death or the witnessing of God’s Breath total Translation from the
Physical Station in Contemplation of the Creation of a Poetic Nation
Equals the End of Relativity and the Birth of a New Earth on this Day I
Pray Amen-Ra.

Take that. And the beat goes on….and on…and on…on…on.

The Gateway of the Unholy Synod

Talking Heads,
yapping Dreadnoughts of Doom,
gloom and naysayers,
egoistic purveyors of pain,
the game remains the same,
but time gives way to change,
nobody ever gets out alive,
striving and diving through the depths,
steps taken forward
more words lead to bodies falling back,
the deck stacked by the Powers That Be,
or Were,
who knows the true order,
the first murder by Cain,
brother Abel was the same one that
curried favor with God,
the steps of the Pyramid the path
to the Gateway of the Unholy Synod,
material world wealth,
mass deception and genocide by stealth,
these are the days of underground caves,
of Reptilians and Greys,
of multidimensional ascension
versus those who choose to stay,
dreams of infinite existence,
nightmares of eternal penitence,
thoughts, words and deeds reveal our ways,
we’ve fought wars in need to heal and pray,
observing foul intentions on full
and complete display
the idiot box molds our minds as
darkest night turns into brightest day,
who is to say what is right and what is wrong,
who is to play the orchestral hymns,
the heavenly songs,
it’s not the ones with the loudest voices
or the ones with the most choices
they say the meek shall inherit the Earth
and bear witness to the rebirth
of the Cool,
mama ain’t raised no fool,
this right here is straight out of the Old Skool,
pay attention and listen to the voice
beyond the words,
beyond the herds of people,
beyond the masses of sheeple,
beyond the churches and steeples,
beyond the need to entertain greed
or bloviate by proxy, those Talking Heads
stealing your moxy,
toxic vermin gnawing souls to pieces,
rh negative blood types
rhesus monkey genes,
most of our birthrights,
people are people but some of us ain’t,
the taint of the tares,
the wheat rustling in the air,
pre-adamic monstrosities,
psychopaths and sociopaths running free,
ruling the world,
while we castin’ pearls before swine,
everyone is intertwined
ain’t no difference in the End,
Talking Heads, spittin’ spin,
but we see you, yes we do,
at least that much
will always be true.