Contemplation

Drama ensues.

The blues catch souls afoul of contusions
ephemeral illusions conceal goals of powerful
delusions that mislead the masses, sky-bound
impasses of glassed passages, flashes of brilliance
rippling across optical mazes, panopticon dreams,
phases of cognitive challenge, the balance pierced
by pinpointed lasers, managed by the anointed
sycophants of sin, intoning mantras of disjointed
harmonies, before the entire cycle begins again.

5 ages of Humanity.

When?

No man knows the day or the hour, the power
concentrated in towers of babylonic intensity,
showers of blood flood the megalopoli of men,
once again the story blends into cyclic tales open
to various interpretations, truth determined by the
proof of subjective knowledge, the soothsayers
amassed upon a ridge overlooking the people,
their fingers clasped in steeples, the foundation of
the church everlasting as dying souls lay gasping
upon the shoals of an ephemeral sea, while celestial
horns ring, beckoning you and me.

Silence deepens.

A ripple across the creative void, information masked
as light, the first flight of fancy, a current in the dream
of divinity, a stream in the river of the holy trinity, beyond
the creative intent of the limited capacities of men, friends
seeking the farthest ends, the farthest shores contemplated,
invisible doors revealed to the designated purveyors of
prophetic intent, it is all meant for common knowledge.

The akashic records abolished,

The open sky the guide to a better life, astride astral rides
we fly, hearts wide open we soar, the floor dropping away,
eternity revealing her face, beyond space, beyond
the rat race, beyond the face of everything we thought
we knew, we blew past dogma, met her mother destiny,
looking forward to truly being free, traveling across
the eternal sea, far beyond, singing our own personal songs,
blending in perfect harmony, strongly, right or wrongly,
we are here to be.

Perfection. Peace.

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A Referential Awakening of Mind

Awakening to the time I find myself in line. I look and see an infinite number ahead of me, a cue twisting through blue horizons of cloud banked doubt, stout and slender souls intertwined, shuffling forward, gray shades of mediocrity played by life’s strife.

I look behind, to find nobody behind me. Last in line I am, last in time I stand with all of history stretched out before, a panorama of blood, sweat tears and gore. Of joy and laughter, happiness and peace, the entire human drama displayed, my mind awake, my eternal thirst for knowledge, remaining unslaked.

In the halls of the infinite the eternal is unbound, the chorus of the heavens resounds, the music of the spheres reverberates, pools of dripping tears instigate a referential awakening of mind, sublime chatter of altered voices whisper doubts, from the mouth of innocent babes, pouting recriminations slide out.

Shattered by realization, I look about to find myself upon a cliff, the cue of tortured souls still wending forward, yet I hesitate, and light up a spliff. I inhale, felling quite swell and as the smoke twirls round my ethereal shade I think I’ve got it made, apart from the crowd, loud with banal proclamations proud of petty achievements and institutional documentations they crow, bray, low and stay mired in the minor victories of repressed miseries made manifest.

The test continues and I choose to stand still. Watch the other souls shuffle up an ethereal hill, rounding a corner they disappear and I find myself alone at last, with my tears. Joy rises from center as the infinite beckons me, welcomes me, the blue void deepens to purple tones, construed landscapes sharpen to reveal the massive bones of dragon gods and alien goddesses, the landscape becomes holy, crimped with pagodas, churches and temples, dilettante sycophants groan dirges that surge, quite visible as urges never acted upon, unimaginative desires that refused to release that inner fire, regrets about failed tests, sorrows about non-existent tomorrows.

I blink. Look around again to find myself still at the end of the line. But you know what? It’s fine. The first shall be the last and I am content to let the wind determine my intent, blown by fate and chance, I arrive here at the last dance. My stance, determined, joyous and boisterous, violet flames arising, blue glades of pain dissipating, deconstructing, dying…

No longer bound, I’m flying…

The Sum

You ever stop to think about the fact that every compounded moment beginning with the big bang deposition of matter from zero-point to quarks and atoms, quasars and nebulae, time dilation and wormholes has brought creation barreling up an evolutionary spiral culminating in every star, comet and planetary body including your body right here, right now.

That you are the result of untold infinities of potentialities manifest, that of all possible people in all possible worlds you are here, in this space, in this moment living a life connected to other beings on the same journey, coalesced in time from the dust of ancient stars, the bones of gaseous gods, the flesh of transcendent gnosis.

That you are the sum of all creation. That your spouse is. Your children. Your neighbor down the hall. The street. Your pastor. Your grocer, your secretary and your parol officer, your lover and your dog.

That all that is, is you, is me, is us, is all that is.

And that there is no contradiction in that.
That paradox is life. Is pain and joy, heartache and happiness. Good luck and bad, sunshine and rain. The dark and the light take turns running the world, running our lives, running creation manifest. The yin and yang of existence is a cosmic dance, same partner, same time, same place. Over and over we twirl across the space of stars skipping and pirouetting across galaxies and universes, doing the cosmic dance, leaping laughter bouncing, bounding like gas giants booming through dimensions echoing fractals of intention higher through the spirals of metaversal intersection.

I know it all sounds obscure and, perhaps, a bit fanciful. But think about it for a minute. The only reason for being is Being itself. The only reason for seeing is Sight. Senses reveal the co-creation to itself as we bear witness to life. Acknowledging existence with conscious presence, being the Creators eyes. Living and learning, guided through paradox in faltering fits and starts, failures and successes. The vale of tears, right? The forest of fears undreamt of terrors untapped of horrors unreleased to prey upon your dreams and lives, giving rise to the opportunity for rebirth.

You see, there is the key. The secret…not so much. Masks obscure clear vision, foment separation and suffering. Obliterate clarity, awaken insanity, otherwise known as the egoic delusion. Believing the mask is the face, deluded bags of flesh do the dance macabre, skeletons clacking across the dusty floors of a deserted saloon in the midst of nowhere, nowhen.

Take off your mask. Or not. The very act of hearing these words loosens it, just a bit. As attention is drawn to its tricks. The real boss lies beneath the franctic thoughts, the fearful lies. The silent awareness that you can just sense….there. Right there. Dispassionately observing that you you think you are in every second cascading you with you as you are bombarded with you and you see you in every you you see in your mind. You. Youyouyou.

There! Did you see it?

Me too.

Shamans and gurus can tell you all about it. Priests, pastors and prophets know what’s up. So do you. The stars and numbers do too. And that, my friends, brings us right back round again to the beginning. That big bang of becoming that became. All of it. Indescribable. Ineffable. Nameless. Boundless.

You see what I’m saying?

Just think about it.

The Multiverse’s Tool

 

What is it within you that pulls, ever pulls, inexorably guiding toward some inscrutable outcome, that sets heart afire, steers life among paths, branching infinitely yet brilliantly lit by one, shining destination? Who lit the fire that inspires, releasing aspirations of potentiality unbound branching heavenwards, lightning-tongued whips of flame questing high like birds, the byproduct of alpha-wave conditioning, on the verge of total neural-network de-partitioning, synthetic holism realized, third eye, shining bright.  

It seems obscene to dream of such things. Opposition in full disarray, the battle stalls on multidimensional fronts, legions of angels and demons pray while humans slay each other like cattle, the wars between the gods providing context and the stall for us all. Dreaming wanderers ponder the mystery of the ages but the bills need to be paid, the children’s way lightened, examples provided in a changing world of ceaseless instability, as destiny unfurls and the nobility of soul shine amidst the bones of humanity’s savagery. The ability of human kindness to outweigh the depredations of the day lies in heart resonation, peace and prosperity the evidence of an enlightened nation coming into it own fruition.

As Gaia herself groans beneath our weight, consumption ever on the plate, gluttony and greed are the seeds of utter destruction sown, grown to monstrous size, behemoths stalk the earth rending nations beneath their talons, stations of sanity flourish as humanity’s vanity salts the soil while the waters and the air boil. Ruminations continuously coursing, flourishing discourses of force, grumbling uprisings of seismic proportions rumble forth, then … rebirth.

The start of a new day. The deepest contemplative forces reveal the void.On the cusp of despair and joy death is deployed, scythe fixed in place, his thousand-yard-stare a glare of utter disdain, the harbinger of pain, darkness and light combined. Dark night of the Soul, fetal ruminations untold rise to the surface unfold as dreams and nightmares, personality patterning, spatterings of psychic detritus fly by us.

The bias of many heart-centered the horn of plenty resounds across clouds of bounty, shining stars of destiny’s unfoldment beam down. Frowns turn to smiles, night to day the interplay of chaos and order displayed as leviathan’s rage desolates the stage. 

Is there a better way? As many as the stars scattered afar, guiding forces of impenetrable inscrutability, infinite creations, universes, the mind of God beheld. The angels fell to hell to be like us, collectivities of consciousness, progressively higher dimensional equations of zero-point oblation.

How do you share this with others? What is this, burning down deep in the soul desire, no fire of questing intensity, this imperative to seek, to know, to throw fortune and future to the wind on a whim, the fool.

The Multiverse’s tool.

Forever young in spirit and soul, boldly facing demonic stations of the cross, tossed by fate and whimsy upon the wind as the world batters about and shouts of elation and fear portend the End.

Then the Beginning.

Infinite, eternal, spinning vortices of intentionality burble quantum fluctuations of potentiality into existence, pulling, insistent. Hypnotic spirals gone viral, the centers yawning down and up into the iris of God’s eye, paradox implied, truth undeniably pliant and presented to the societally-determined demented. The Awakened, those tasked upon levels of knowledge and understanding slaked. Coursing with a tide unquenched, forcing minds wide with wonder, the plunder of the Akashic realized.Third eye, shining bright. 

Song_of_Shambhala-

Canocanayestatetlo

Here comes, the rain.

Karst topographies part waters that flow through carboniferous daughters who long ago wooed husbands of flame, seeking the same seed that life breeds, the marriage of oppositions portending the same, hydrostatically charged masses of liquid immerse metamorphic birthings of outcroppings that drip stalactites across speleothemic forests the ancient lore confirmed by astronomical dates confirming the highest of fates. 

Bursting, rising, spiraling through flowering branchings of rock, limestone passages stocked with vibrant life, the building blocks of creation present abounding formations crowning haloed by whirling clouds of light, brightly speckled orbs of reflected sight cycling endlessly with the darkness of silent night.

River wild, joyous fountain of spirit burst free unconfined, refined through storied histories bubbling, frothing sprays of jubilant song quantum strong entangled quasars and quarks approach the fork in the road and carry their load both ways, subtly ethereal rays permeate the harmonious abode, God strode through brilliant hallways of light, benighted humanity a brooding thought, encompassing the totality of all that the multiverse taught.

Cascading bubbles of foam, the gloaming beckons souls home, crystalline clarity entwined molecules colliding polarity uniting, spiraling exciting bursts of freedom in light, sinuous might of a river enshrined by God’s sight chosen, sacred waters whirl, swirl with the intent of creation, water spirits demand oblations, claiming divine right decrying humanity’s plight.

Who is awakened, tonight? The river calls, her ponderous flow so slow, while banks grow, supplicants row over ancestors below, while crows scream recriminations regarding dreams of murdered nations, of college stations perched precariously atop remnants of a sacred sea through which ancient batholiths emerged, withstanding the surge of time sublime records of endless creation entombed in bone.

The earth mother grumbles, her irresistible urge to purge, turn inside out no doubts rising to compete her need to witness her seeds grown to fruition an intuition of alchemical fission, the perdition of human-centric conceptions of progress and growth, civilization and technology, hubris betrothed to rubrics of paradigmatic constriction masked as truth, the proffered proof prideful and aloof, ponderously remorseless revolutions of soul.

Sacred spirits of lyirical wonder, soaring above still waters the thunder of time refined through space, the falls of grace fill the lagoon of hope with all the tropes of spirit, aspirations and desires, afire with the burning need to be, of creation freed, eternal spirals gone viral in the cauldron of human greed and belief. 

Placid, her grace. Stately, her pace across space, chuckling to herself sublimie mysteries of life, her depthless void a sanctuary beyond strife, beyond pain. 

Here comes, the rain.

 Photo: Canocanayestatetlo NaPoWriMo 2/30 2014

Here comes, the rain.

Karst topographies part waters that flow through carboniferous daughters who long ago wooed husbands of flame, seeking the same seed that life breeds, the marriage of oppositions portending the same, hydrostatically charged masses of liquid immerse metamorphic birthings of outcroppings that drip stalactites across speleothemic forests the ancient lore confirmed by astronomical dates confirming the highest of fates. 

Bursting, rising, spiraling through flowering branchings of rock, limestone passages stocked with vibrant life, the building blocks of creation present abounding formations crowning haloed by whirling clouds of light, brightly speckled orbs of reflected sight cycling endlessly with the darkness of silent night.

River wild, joyous fountain of spirit burst free unconfined, refined through storied histories bubbling, frothing sprays of jubilant song quantum strong entangled quasars and quarks approach the fork in the road and carry their load both ways, subtly ethereal rays permeate the harmonious abode, God strode through brilliant hallways of light, benighted humanity a brooding thought, encompassing the totality of all that the multiverse taught.

Cascading bubbles of foam, the gloaming beckons souls home, crystalline clarity  entwined molecules colliding polarity uniting, spiraling exciting bursts of freedom in light, sinuous might of a river enshrined by God's sight chosen, sacred waters whirl, swirl with the intent of creation, water spirits demand oblations, claiming divine right decrying humanity's plight.

Who is awakened, tonight? The river calls, her ponderous flow so slow, while banks grow, supplicants row over ancestors below, while crows scream recriminations regarding dreams of murdered nations, of college stations perched precariously atop remnants of a sacred sea through which ancient batholiths emerged, withstanding the surge of time sublime records of endless creation entombed in bone.

The earth mother grumbles, her irresistible urge to purge, turn inside out no doubts rising to compete her need to witness her seeds grown to fruition an intuition of alchemical fission, the perdition of human-centric conceptions of progress and growth, civilization and technology, hubris betrothed to rubrics of paradigmatic constriction masked as truth, the proffered proof prideful and aloof, ponderously remorseless revolutions of soul.

 Sacred spirits of lyirical wonder, soaring above still waters the thunder of time refined through space, the falls of grace fill the lagoon of hope with all the tropes of spirit, aspirations and desires, afire with the burning need to be, of creation freed, eternal spirals gone viral in the cauldron of human greed and belief. 

Placid, her grace. Stately, her pace across space, chuckling to herself sublimie mysteries of life, her depthless void a sanctuary beyond strife, beyond pain. 

Here comes, the rain.

New Music!!!! Indigo, out on ITunes, Spotify, Google Music and More!

Rahkyt has released his brand new album, INDIGO, with Ditto Music under the OhmniSyntrex Records Label. INDIGO is a mixture of lyrical and spoken word flows, exploring topics as diverse as life and love, spirituality and the coming new Age.

The perspective of the INDIGO is one of synthesis and holism, based upon multiple lifetimes of experience or Starseed adventurism, the call of Service-to-Others and the desire to witness the birth of something new in the Multiverse.

INDIGO IS NOW AVAILABLE at the ITunes store, on Spotify, Google Music, AT&T Music Service, 7Digital, Amazon and Amazon on Demand, eMusic, Myspace Music, MediaNet, Tuneplay and 24/7 Entertainment, which means it’s available WORLDWIDE!

Sick and Tired: Decisions du jour

 

… a piece I wrote some years ago … no longer pertaining to me, but still relevant for somebody I’m sure. 

How sick of being tired of being sick and tired is it possible to be? At what point does you being sick of me being sick of you turn into something other than what we each continue to do? Namely, me being sick of you being tired of me being tired of you, not to mention you being sick of me too. 

I’m tired. 

And sick.  

And wondering why we picked this path, when we could have been living our lives relaxing on a beach somewhere, enjoying the sea air, sipping soft, summer drinks and laughing about pink elephants carousing on white sands, while Dexter the Bahamian takes your hands and I follow the Dancing Queen into dreams of ecstatic delight too nasty to recount in the bright light of public sight.

Who told us that it had to be this way, and why did we choose to take the stage to perform this passion play, when our choices were infinite from the start, when every decision we’ve made has led us to playing these parts, my McBeth to yourDesdemona, my perverted tropical king to your demented ice queen. 

And please, please don’t take this the wrong way. 

The crux of my argument is not that this is how we have to stay, that our options are only what they’ve been as our relationship has evolved from lovers to enemies, never friends, but that our choice always portends an end, and that time’s remorseless march always brings us back to the start no matter how many detours we impart with meaning, no matter how many decisions du jour we regard as being the sum total of our life’s goals. The opportunity arises for us to be bold and make a change, to forgo repressing the pain and engage in the same old same – running the same, tired game – retaining our ingrained prejudices and dislikes while we slip deeper and deeper into benighted flights of distorted fantasy, breathless and faint beneath the fetid waters of a sunless sea, you holding on to me, as I drag you deeper and deeper, the tears of my weeping a tribute to my stalled seeking, the heights an ever-diminishing reward, the nightly reality show a narcotic shot to the soul, anesthetizing us both till we’re far too old to truly know, bent and decripit beneath the bruising weight of life’s chaffing body blows.

Pointing out the obvious choice does not negate your voice nor does it obfuscate the shrill tenor of mine, building to a bone-vibrating and scintillating whine that you insist gets on your very last nerve, as if the verve of my gall has cast a pall on your vision, leaving your view of the world rent by a brief frisson of disquiet, your subsequent decision to pay more attention to my words rather than my meaning seeming to bring us to the same old place, which is really such a waste, since it’s never too late to change. 

Can we take a collective breath?

Put our situation to the test?

Try to figure out if what we’re experiencing is commiserate with the rest of humanity? Or whether, in our vanity, our problems are singular and unique, a death-defying leap into the singularity of singular experience, rent from the very fabric of time and space?

A race to the dark side of the room, an indication of heartache felt too soon?  Embraced like distaste, dripping like blood in a flood of pustulant droplets of gloom, prognostications of death, doom and deceit, to rise like a remorseless tide to cover our feet, knees and thighs, sucking out our souls like marrow from broken and desperate eyes. 

Please hold me in the dark while I rest, dab the tears from my cheek and give me relief from loving you, treat me like a thief who has stolen your belief in a higher source, a lover who has obscured your connection to the Force and like Obi Wan dissipating beneath Vader’s sword of light, my resistance evaporates like darkness in the night. 

My delight, like pain, a rain of soothing heartbreak on the rise. No longer weary but still leery of loving you, I think of how you do the things you do, and how you love me too, through the visceral reflection of lived experience you show and prove, the truth a shining avatar, a soothing interlude between lifetimes of disfunctional crimes against the spirit.

I hear it, in you, rising like conscious thought. 

You’ve been tired too, and ill, my sickness contagious like the flu. But a healing is coming, like Saints running down church aisles, feeling the spirit all the while trying to be in style. Rest now, tortured heart calmed by my touch. 

Sleep now, and let the day break in our sight. Weep now, and let our fears forever take flight.