The Vault

There is a vault within that most
hold dear,
the gestalt of sin, bound by a
chain of fear,
hidden, locked away from the sight
of brightest day,
unbidden, birds flock and spirits pray,
the power of gnosis found,
occasioning falling tears.

Without we seem to live
with no doubt,
while within we quail in terror,
the furor of internal conflict
the edict of self-condemnation,
remonstrations of failed creation,
stifled by trifles enlargened
and unbounded,
inside we flee screaming silent wails,
afraid of the tales of violent sound.

But this is the way of the earth,
the necessary culling in light of rebirth,
as the waters of the worlds wash sibilant
upon the shores of material innocence,
intransigent spirits spinning,
blending into the foliage, camouflaged
against the trumpet call of Divine Awakening,
slaking their thirst in the blood-filled wells
of the damned.

Man against man, woman against woman,
brother against sister against mother against
friend, and round it goes again,
a seemingly never-ending spiral, each iteration
a gyroscoping motion of devotion,
dedicated to pain, to repeating the same thing,
over and over again.

Is there a winning scenario?

Impresarios of pleasure wax eloquent, dependent
upon transcendent whims, denouncing friends,
family and strangers alike, gossiping,
dripping lies like sties from eyes awash with death,
steadily imbibing negativity until they take
their last breath.

This is the sinning scenario, the winning
being comprised of exactness and oppositional
proactivity, higher vibrational nativity born
within the crucible of spiritual knowledge,
the anvil of experiential college, the acceptance
of human frailty, of the failure of the will
to Be.

The vault within crumbles under the light
of awakened awareness,
the bareness of the opened soul the passage
through which spiritual light flows,
the space within which gnosis and transcendence

Take it slow, but steady, make sure to leap,
not step when ready, when that synchronicitous
event occurs, to do what is necessary
to fly, like the birds.


awakening redux

into the light i dream

of awakening
beyond cares
that sift through thought
like autumn leaves
leaving whispers
voices echoing
in corners of consciousness
dusty without love
awaiting tomorrow

questions of how
to live my life
when i am constantly
dreaming of the past
or future
how can i see clearly
when the compass of my thoughts
is spinning out of control
when my sight is blurred by
wistful fantasies of
what might have been
or what could be
if only things had gone
or do go
a different way

who is to tell
which vision to choose
of the myriad choices
that confront me
my emotions confound clarity
and a moment’s anger
becomes a day’s regret
and then it’s gone
and another has come
another chance to move
into the light
to release the darkness
that fell
when i chose to go down
the lesser path
knowing full well
where that road would lead me

words of wisdom
stumble across my tongue
tripping and falling in hopeless disarray
as i try to erase
the scribbled writings of a lifetime
try a new way of thinking
in place of the old

the past
must remain undeniably so
the future
must be left to fate and circumstance
what is now
must be cherished
and experienced to the fullest
what is love
must be loved with all of my heart

dreaming lucidly i awaken
to a new kind of living
and i see the world with new colors
and beautiful
beyond my wildest fantasy

the choice is mine
to leave behind the
shadow of myself
and carry forth
the essence of who i am
recreating myself anew
with each moment
of what is to come

the undreamt of shines
in light of truth
and a long and winding path of dismay
will end in joyous discovery
awakening every synapse to possibility
before i return to
the waking death
and dress myself in lesser garments
of muted clarity

tommorrow must be different
or it will not come
for it will then be a repetition of today
and of yesterday and
all the days past
the lessons that have battered my soul
without remorse

a daunting reminder that
what is done cannot be undone
but also a prescient recognition that
upon awakening
the world will be different

if only in light i dream


The Earth and the Sky

Many, many moons ago the Earth arose
from her bed to meet her lover, the Sky.

The occasion of their date followed the
auspicious rising of perfection in the
South; a congregation of starry scenarios,
in celebration of the upcoming celestial

Said scenario being the manifestation of
Venus rising, positioned between Mercury
and the Earth’s bed, scattered generously
with lilac leaves and subtle sprays of
ocean lily, dusted lightly by the tears
of the Angelic Hosts.

They agreed to rendezvous in the
constellation of Orion, where he promptly
presented her with a bouquet of
supernovas; three, frosted cumulonimbus
nebulae and a clutch of lightning bolts
to help alleviate her backaches.

The Earth reciprocated by smiling daintily,
opening an intimate chasm deep into
her interior and revealing her molten,
nickel iron core, the brilliance of which
lit the Sky with an eternity of
electromagnetic eminences.

Gold and silver highlights reflected her
smile upon his broad expanse, and he felt
the blue of his somber façade fading to
black, as evening fell.

Reinvigorated immeasurably, the Earth
returned to her garden, plying broad
swathes of fertile till with raw ores and
precious metals, intent upon sowing her
wild oats; thusly, she was reborn.

The Sky extended his girth across the
entirety of eternity, his febrile
imagination envisioning a perfection of
russets and golds: highlighted sunscapes
of lavender and the particulate remnants
of long-suffering volcanic outbursts,
representative of important decisions
made in haste.

That night was one of passionate
remembrances as the Sky and Earth
joined, remaking Creation from Beginning
to End: organic entities contemplated
conception, daring birth in search of
macroversal meaning.

The fruit of their union was Life, born to
bear witness to the perfection of Mother
Earth and Father Sky.


So I’m surfing Creation 
Carving waves and slashing pipelines 
Of the Divine 
Internalizing the sublime and 
Seeking something 
– I’m not sure what 
Exactly – 
But I find shades of it in people 
And personalities beyond 

It’s a similarity of Soul 
A singular sensation 
A simpatico Spirit in tune to 
Slightly otherworldly songs 
Living the quality of existence that brings 
Elevated Souls into close association 
Each also seeking something 
– Not sure of what 
Exactly – 
But Synchronicity silences 
Sense and sensitivity 

Synchronicity demands sensation and 
Soothingly smooth transitions 
In companionship 
Perhaps best expressed as the Test 
Of Truth sought in incongruity 
Of lives lived in perpetuity 
Loving someone 
– Not being sure of who 
Exactly – 
But knowing that they’ve been 
Seeking you too across Life 
And Time’s eternal 

Camaraderie opens Hearts and 
Souls to passion 
Reveals the Spiritual in material 
Form torn directly from the womb of 
Creation Herself weaving spells of 
An exotic nature demanding 
The Love of someone 
– Nobody is sure of who 
Exactly – 
But we’ve found each other 
Here in the depths of Hearts 
Where Love has been 
From the start 

So to finally see through the Illusion 
This contusion upon consciousness 
A creation of febrile mind-states 
Related to the inability to create 
A lack of humility and the 
Continuous desire for 
Something new 
Someone truly true 
– Who can really be sure of who 
Exactly – 
But here we find ourselves yet again 
Tending to Antimatter Realities 
Victims of Causality engaging in 
Seemingly random and unadulterated 

The Star of White Light

In the dead of the night
a curious sight
to my open third eye
did appear.

A star of white light
avatar of
second sight
burned so brightly
to banish all

My astral form
did then rise
into burning black
seeking gnosis
beyond which lay

Spirals of spirits
crowded round
my heart’s song
did resound
soaring high
soulful cries
final proof.

The dreamstate takes on a feeling of a slumbering life lived alongside the awakened life. Leaving the material world at night requires a preparation as of one going camping for an extended period of time, or leaving the country for more southern climes, seeking absolution for crimes against the soul. Tendering forgiveness does not last past the last gasp of consciousness when the soul takes over and Self is relegated to observer alone, participating in wierd scenarios like a spiritual impresario counting ducats while the play does proceed. Otherworldly loves and situations in relation to the purposes of destiny and fate, beyond the waking mind’s capacities to relate meaning to remain the proof of Divinity’s power play in our lives. The gift of forgetfulness is born on the wings of knowledge torn from our conscious awareness and perhaps that is often for the best, the test of life being the ability to relate otherworldly information to the state of the soul at each given point of consideration…a nation of Searchers wander the dreamscapes, sojourning amidst demons and demagogues, questing for the Holy Grail. The star of white light burns so brightly, obscuring sight from mortal eyes leaving truth clearly visible.

Wakening from the dream
nothing is as it seems
open lies masquarade as
the Truth.

Relating the stream
of spiritual knowledge gained
between states of consciousness
reveals the last proof.

Daily trials come to mind
leaving nightmares behind
answers arise
while in the skies
wormwood appears.

Souls then cry out to G-d
to come finish the job
bended knees worship
banishes all


twisting ,turning
through layers

of desire twisted,

visions of accusations
and need –

of desire perverted and
intentions misunderstood –

eyes wide shut
vertigo grips me
while images of she and she
and her
reverbrate in
memory and motion:

who are you to me


falling away,
drowning beneath leagues
of oceanic emotivity…

…deeper and deeper,
the light lost
layers sifting away
leaving me


up becomes down becomes
the other way around
deep becomes high
and i rise
as weight born of dwelling
patterns release their
as tears born of fears
dry up
as has been foretold
salt trails of misdirection and
denial evaporating with
the wind

my Ascension

as i continue to fall
into the light of my

An interesting side-effect of increased meditation is the cultivation of contemplation and dispassion; of compassion. Realizing what you need leaves me free not to take on your karmic debt and allow you to follow your path under your own steam, whilst I draw comfort in the dark, from light patterns seen when the blackness becomes the void and the glow born of inner-knowledge flames up in the interim.

Accepting your terminology for me, your idea of me becomes less and less attractive as I come closer to seeing for myself who I be,  as the truth of me clarifies and the focus of my life returns to where it was in the Beginning, within, which is without, which is you in me, we being the epitomy of the divine Trinity.

Falling becomes rising and the laughter becomes cries as the pain denies its source becoming bereft, left in the dust and detritus of the lies I used to tell myself to fit in, to be like everybody else, when nothing ever could have been further from the truth. Coming out of the closet and declaring my insanity, my extreme need to express the totality of my ideologies, my spirituality causes the box of your perceptive conditionalities to implode with the force of their non-applicability, while – displaying the utmost civility – the everythingness within comforts me, drawing our chosen sins like flowers draw bees, like water draws trees and prayer, silent devotees on bended knees.

The way down leads me all around the way, experience being what it is, I’ve seen the signs of the times during the night and the day, frightful imaginings preceding insightful tragedies that highlight the human experience in a manner that requires serious consideration, the repetition of  karmic patterns affected by Saturn’s ingress and egress as the test of the soul’s readiness to move on. Sometimes it takes a fall to end a stall, ask any predator or bird of prey that has spied its dinner along the way and had to circle back around, flying up or down to get past the currents and eddies of life in order to return back to that point of satiation, of realization that the moment is all there is, and those memories of pleasure we remember are gone, the treasure of lost moments fomenting years of dwelling and regret, until that point arrives when we can take no more, and all we have left is to stand up tall, or fall to the floor.

Call me
friend in need
in deed,

I’ll be there to comfort you
offer you affection and share
my joy

as we travel the path

the subtle vagaries of attraction
sublimated beneath the
ecstasy of spiritual

…possession and
depression fuse
like a Joker’s ruse,
fooling King and Queen
alike, while the Jack
takes a hike
down into the lower court,
complaining to the Ten
that, “ain’t nothin’ like it
was, and it all goes ’round
again and again an

A full house breaks
a flush
and the rush of sensations
awakens lifetimes of
information that compete for
ascendency in our lives,
we are moved by urges that
are near impossible to

and yet we continue to try
to fly

you and I and all of the others,
brothers and sisters,
enemies and lovers
all discombobulated and elated
by the storms of life
torn by the claws of strife
stabbed by passion’s
tender knife.

twisting ,turning
through layers

of desire manifest

we accomplish the goals
on these material shoals,

learning and living the test,
realizing that we don’t
have to be better than
all the rest
and that, in the end,
peace, joy and salvation of
the soul are, truly,

what is best.

The Space of my Contentedness

Using infrared images from NASA's Spitzer Spac...

Image via Wikipedia

The Space of my Contentedness blesses me.
Clarity of thought tests me.
Decisive Intent directs me.
Multifarious designs correct me.

Consciousness transcends. Being aware of choice makes life right. Right not opposed to wrong, just different; no better, no worse. Realizing that decisions made are thoughts manifest brings intent to the surface of a boiling cauldron of possibility.

One Earth, one life.
Entangled quanta streaming thru eternity to infinity.
Desperate emotions struggle.
Souls seared by life’s flames cry tears of hot mercury.

There is no love like a new love. Old loves languish. Making each moment new goads life into new paths, new decisions, renewed destiny. There is no love like an old love. New loves languish. Love exists. Eternal. Infinite.

There is nothing new under the sun. No words spoken in turn resist order divided by meaning squared. The sum of all equations equals everything and nothing both.

Collisions create anew, order birthed from chaos.
A gentle kiss is an affirmation of G-d.
Broken dreams defer judgment.
Art installed by soul’s desire soars.

Awaken wonder to life past desire. Subtle colorations of love meld seamlessly with hate. Dreams merge reality with fantasy, tandem lives superimposed, divided by night and day. Bringing joy into play, souls rise.

Happiness confirms pain’s necessity to me.

Silence echoes within me.
Lies of infinite sorrow pass through me.
Joy unbound unbinds me.