The Tenets of Their Intent

The time we spend upending our common humanity is one of the surest signs of our shared, global insanity. A song of wrong-minded intensity, a procession of notes leading directly to lower density. It is the purpose of the Elite to keep us divided, each group suborned and constantly incited to riot against each other. In our in-group conversations we rail against the Other, never mind the fact that he is our brother, that she is our sister, that humanity is the family bond. All the while, they abscond with Gaia’s wealth, relegate the masses to poverty by trickery and stealth.

We divide ourselves by choice. We speak individually, but it adds up to a collective voice. The thoughts we entertain that highlight difference are insane, determining a person’s worth by how they look, an inane response to initiatives passed down by genocidal scoundrels intent upon eugenics and death. These folks wear crowns and generally have the best houses and cars in town. They own the media and write the encyclopedias, they set the standards and create the jobs, they lay down the mandates and then direct the mobs.

By agreeing to the Tenets of Their Intent, we subscribe to their beliefs and goals, no matter what you thought you meant. Such systems are designed to keep the sheeple in line, to facilitate states of mind that go directly against the divine. It is the natural state of humanity to seek diversity, yes, there is comfort in sharing space with those who share your tastes, and those who may look like you, whether you are purple or green or blue.

On the really real? It’s all just a distraction, keeping people from realizing the deal while they continue to rob and steal. It’s all a form of control, meant to keep us in-fighting and not realizing what it was that they stole. It’s all a game, an illusion, created to cause mass confusion. By buying into the system of superiority you’re buying into a system of inferiority, attempting to gain seniority among those who are the real minority, the soulless minions of doom, currying favor in the opinion of the scions of gloom, forgoing your relation with the highest authority.

This has been said so many times and so many different ways. It doesn’t pay to hate. If you’re gonna enter the fray, be sure to do it on the side of the right. Choose the light. Not the darkness of separation, the false pride implicit in belonging to a certain nation. It’s a trap for the soul. It’s a map directly toward the lowest of goals and destinations. It’s fine to have pride and feel good inside because you love who you are, know that you are descended from stars. But to hate without cause to insinuate without pause is to inculcate a terrible fate and to be blinded and small-minded.

It’s time to end the insanity. To realize we’re all one rainbow tribe. Like the Hopi said, if we don’t realize it we’re all dead. And it starts with each of us. Change can’t happen if we don’t get on the bus. Trust, too many prophets have said the same thing. It’s time to take flight, to find our wings. To cultivate higher sight, and find greater songs to sing.


Pure Beingness

Lush dreams of verdant swaths of forested mysticism,
brilliant orbs of misty light waft upon breezes of starry night,
the darkness cloaks distance, a soft embrace soothing skin
burnt by the Sun, melanated bronzen against the black ether,
camoflauged against sight, embraced by the night …

Eyes dart upwards and then down, the soft carpet of cool grass
confiding in skin shimmering under the soft moonlight, steps
slow and purposeful as the forest sings, the chorus of natural
sounds uninterrupted by conscious thought crickets saw
cacaphonic songs in perfect harmony while the lightning bugs
dance, patterning intricate geometrical shapes in the soft air,
the breeze carrying intimations of water, faintly luscious,
caressing nostrils warm with life’s breath …

Heart beating in tune with Gaia, breath taken, released, a cloud
of love billowing forth, embracing Being, encapsulating consciousness,
melding with the respirations of the forest, Oneness manifest …

A burst of movement, black life fractally dispersing as bats take
flight, high notes of exhiliration greeting the night, leathered wings
flapping, their voices exciting movement as insects flee, life’s promise
broken in the instance of their consumption, the gift of sustenance
promised before Being became, the neverending tale of ebb and flow,
beginning and ending, life and death …

Where then does belonging cast an anchor of desire, within the web of existence all creatures find space to live, firing time through sublime presence divine, casting will and intent into the void without promise, without pact, each moment a completed dare, a leap into the unknown, bold existence the challenge taken up, transcendent evolution the goal.

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.

Cybotycycstyk Schisms

1 who b we? we b the cyber-denizens of the net: those who go forth proclaiming n flaming, emoticonning the digimasses, engaging n macro-enhanced keystroking at the speed of electronic might, parsing gigabytes by the light of the midnight sun, surfing the net n search of n outlet. b we real or b we memorexical repeticons of archetypes long gone – matrices of sentience, cybotyk nomads – born of form n chaos reconceived, nanocyte n picobyte leaves on the conceptual eaves of a graphically-interfaced wildwood built of silicon n silt, carbon n steel n a realm of technological disutopian damnation. b we infinidimensional, digitally delineated representations of finidimensional life forms losing focus n clarity with each enunciation n e-proclamation of self n purpose?

2 b we user-name alone – attributes inscribed n stone – bones cloned by vitronome? ego complexes n sexes that circumscribe tribes with deceptive ways n days out of phase? or the forces of mind that find time 2 mine the chatrooms n forums 4 blue moons n quorums? b we lurkers consuming content our thoughts bent n resent, exporting dross until holy crosses r embossed?

3 a schism exists, betwixt here n there, i n we, u n me. a fracture of stature n infinite dimensions.

flaming swords of righteousness
thunder heavenward
renting conceptual sky n earth alike
n electronic quakes of spite
spewing vitriolic lakes
reality dolomited — sans the soulless n the blighted

4 hear me
fight the power
c we
electronically glower b-boy stance uncowered
b free
cybotycysm relieved

5 inanely quiescent calm
dead space
race laced with traces of spin
reflects the sin of the heartless human
of content reiteration
define a nation as slave 2 unspent aggression
wallowing n spacious formlessness

6 samizdat released
west-east ideopolitico-shell-game ceased
collective zeitgeist appeased

7 hype vs. reality sequels
equal n opposite dichotomies

8 me u n god
we b

9 discourse defines the moment of knowing, of internal logic cum external postulations; n the equation of 1 the containment of all resides. access 2 the mentifacts of self require objectification: the modeling of subjectivity on n infinite level of aggregation, egress n entrance regulated by the physically-sated. sociofacts of the collective employ the artifacts of technogogic wizardry 2 sublime effect presaging the realization that higher thought is tantamount 2 godliness n the context of human expression. i, self equals god.

10 the cybotyk imperative is the compulsion of creation; of original knowledge; original sin; a return 2 the garden of the edomites.

11 deus ex machina incarnates, dancing ghostly quadrilles while decrying xenophobic self-immolation n favor of cyborg dreams n streams of energetic cream. smart cards – n reality personality shards – tossed across cyber-space; traces of ascetic interfaces, diligent wanderers ponder frightmares of self-hatred loosed from their subconscious vaults n cages. lurking, lurking beyond the pale shade of hades replayed over n over again on the webpages of sages: they b lost, tossed by seas of need but freed by decree, their manifest destiny subsumed 2 the technological imperative of their creation.

12 no one knows the trouble i’ve seen. swing low n blow droves of cloves through hallucinogenic treasure troves n emote 2 free us all. postmodern faith n godless alliances n 4gotten sciences inform the dialectical narrative of the net, encompassing all belief systems, philosophical schools n religious dogma. mentative gurus of the technogogic imperative abound, framing their illogical discourses n shades of i am n we b, thereby speaking 2 me, n u 2. self-definition implies a contradiction n terms since self is intuitively unknowable 2 the cyber-bound, who re4mat themselves 4 use with different media; exemplified by the lack of strict boundaries; possessing a fluid n ever-changing form; evolving beyond the moment n2 future conceptions of perception; switching identities, user names 2 manifest multitudinous aspects of the individuated ego complex; becoming what we wish 2 b n what we c.

13 heralds trumpet the death of the self: the birth of the infinidimensional traveler. the cybot: she who holds the key 2 eternity n his pantone-hued grasp n strides across vast n wondrous vistas of imagination n vision realized.

14 2 the east, blackwards, the clan stands firm, staves of steel n hand, divine wills chilled on demand. united, we stand. 2 the west, dressed n white n shining might, death follows love 2night. divided, we fall. the cybotycystyk schism is real, y’all. split n twain 4 monetary gain n soulless trains of thought. who b we? we b the denizens of the cybernetic wildwood. we b the cybots of thought. we b those who c. we b. we.


Imperfectly harmonic
Solar flares erupt
Spewing soulsonic force

Helios unbound

Rings of differential rotation
Cube fusion in convective waves

Photospheric segregation
Magnifies chromospheric tensions
Subtly sanctifying sunspots
Etheric emanations


Solar winds sing softly
Through dimensional rifts
Superstring melodies magnify
Spheres of silence

The aurora borealis
Births dreams of the soul’s slumber
Slipstreams reveal infinite panoramas
Timelessness that stains the sky


Crux ansata
Template of copper and gold
Binding kundalini in melanated flows
Energy exudes empathic resonations

Sunlit joy
Exuberantly celebrating existence
Soothingly cellular memories

Nature flows

As above so below
Source of life

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


I Am Knowledgeable of Joyfulness

Sat (I Am) Chit (Aware) Anand (Bliss)

I am Knowledgable of Joyfulness

Inner journeys
revolutions past the Infinite

Pure joy rising
Stillness born in the darkness
of the Soul’s

Knowledge born
in search of Self
inner voice awakened by
coursing waves of

Who am I?

What am I?

Buddhist image-Peace to all BeingsSilence beckons by
star light

Thrumming odes of
pleasure gently strumming
super-strings of Sitar song
humming chords  of
Eternal Love


bliss full
in nature’s sublime