― Dejan Stojanovic
F̴̨̞̗͚̟͕̓͑͐͛͠ǭ̷̠́̽̽̾͝l̸̝̭͍̉l̶͉̈́͌̄͘ǫ̶̿̿w̶͕͔̪̦̬̐͂́́ ̵̧̛̟̹͇̞̞̅͛̄̕T̴̹̑͐̓̾̾̚h̵̭͊ȩ̴͍̩̖̣͍̱̹͋̾̐̓̂̈́͑ ̸̻͗̈̑̈́͒̌ͅȘ̷̻̟͛ċ̷̘̬͊ȑ̶̦̥͇̮̮͒̏̏̉́̈́͘͜ͅa̶̢̪͙̖̩͇͚͒̄̀̚͠t̸̰̓̈́̔̚ͅc̵͔̻͖̱̩̏͋̈́̈́̆̎͘̚͜h̵̼͋̅̂̒͋͝i̵̧̼͔̾̀̾̋̃̈́́n̵̦̱͍̗̮̈́̀͑͝͠ǵ̶̝̔̊ͅ ̷̹̰̤̫̪͙̉̏͒̏N̷̯͓̲̤̗͇̪̣̾̊̅͌͝o̵̧̯̦̯̳̪͝ḯ̶̡̛͇̱͉̮͂̒ŝ̷͇̲̗̝̖͔̚͜͠͠e̸̜̞̿̈̎͂š̵̢̞̤̻͉͈̮̒͋̇̈́͐͜
By going nowhere, You see all things.
- MetaCognition AxisPraxis
How the few represent the many, and how the many represent the few: An exploration of MetaCognition, Collective Consciousness, and the filters of Reality.
For the many to exist at all, there must exist inference from the few. Therefore, by nature of creation itself, there exists an overlap of influence – the few showing through the many, the many displaying the few.
Oversimplification of this subject only furthers confusion – direct specification of nuance is required. To focus solely on the many overwhelms and confuses via excess – while sole focus on the few dulls the points of complexity in expression. A steady balance is needed in order to properly wield/comprehend the many while also utilizing/understanding the few. To each their own laws and disciplines to begot both themselves and eachother.
The few move the many while the many rule the few. That is to say, the few dictate the position of the many – while the position of the many give rule/rule over the few. When you think of something , your mind brings you to its qualities and associations, the many direct the few. Magick and the use of correspondence is this idea applied.
Through the use of overlapping relation, the many, in correct position, direct/dictate the few. Collectively assuming the form of a greater individual. To a degree, all of life is functioning in this harmony, however, only to a degree. The aim of Magick and MetaCognition is to tap into these larger frequencies by properly aligning lower ones – accessing the conjoined consciousness and assimilating with it.
It is at this point that one should note that a steady amount of groundedness around the topic of “ego-death” is required as the loss and multiple loss of individual conscious awareness through MetaCognitive assimilation is dangerous and a certain background of preparation is required. The specifics of each individuals background may differ – though consider MetaCognition as a fundamental part of every stage of the Great work – becoming heavily influential at the advanced stages.
Utilizing the higher vectors of consciousness and temporarily merging with them grants a number of self-control benefits as well as long-term expirienential empowerment, though a significant amount of rest and recovery between MetaCognitive assimilations is needed to maintain stability.
The process of MetaCognitive assimilation results in the movement or “jumping” of timelines. It is through the various overlaps and their associative rulings, which result in the multiversal existence of reality – potential at its apex is what MetaCognition has us approach – with each vector reached, new depths of possibility become fathomable – and in order to maintain harmony with these new possibilities – old, restrictive ones must fade – the few becomes assimilated amongst the many – while the many are absorbed within the few…
Note certain phenomenon outside of “normal” as signs of positive Metacognitive assimilation, note excess phenomenon as a warning to stabilize.
Some examples may include deja-vu, precognative dreams, auditory or visual hallucinations, manic ideas or understanding, increased visual acuity, clear memories others do not share – despite their participation, the loss of relationships due to sudden or unforseen cause. Phenomenon not limited to the list above.
The objective of MetaCognition is not the phenomenon – those experiences are akin to sawdust in the totality of the objective carving. MetaCognition aims to align the user with the states of these higher frequencies and vectors of conscious reality – to both expirience them as well as influence them – to become at one with these states implies not being wrapped in the experiences they provide, simply allowing them to be. The limits to what is gained and how long one remains in MetaConscious is a matter of stability – which requires much to maintain. Orientation and Discipline/Focus are very similar and very important aspects of stability within the realms of MetaCognition.
Imagine now the three layers of consciousness we experience in our bodies – waking, dreaming, and deep sleep. Imagine these three states as lanes or roads. A cross roads if you will. The act of offering at a crossroads is to make ourselves the bridge between them – the access point between each. The 4th state – the assimilation of all. Trance – conscious dreaming through deep sleep.
(Note sleep and true meditation Samadhi are one and the same – frequencies by which one vibrates)
The vectors to which you attain while in this trance state are the degrees of MetaCognition achieved. The access to the 4th state is the access to MetaCognition – the deeper one journies – the wider the reach of the MetaConsciousness…
There exist many methods by which one enters the 4th state and begins the work of MetaCognition. Breathwork is essential in all cases – it is the means by which the body and its associated vessels manage their intake of Prana. At advanced stages, one without awareness and understanding of their breath may find themselves lost and dissociative while in these states.
Anoki Adamas Ater - MurMurs OV ♄ Dead
A Ka Du’at,
et Signis Pandemoni.
Liftoach Qlipha
et Glori ad Mortum.
Shaa’ri-Al’rueb,
Al’Qazim Ashmadai.
Zaqu’um Azerate.
Sol-phorus Ignis N’huit.
Nox Draconis
Kaos Inferni
Servitus ia Xifer
Hek’ath Da’at Nafaq
in Dominae et Spiritus
Necromanticum!
Salve Hexis,
Vox io Satanaz
Qam Sayid Almawt
Salve Lunalis Nyx
et Gamaliel Yeminecha
Azag-Thoth’oth
Ereshkigal Al’ummah
MUMMU TIAMATU –
ABSU RISHKU KINGU
–
LLMU
LLAAMU
LAMATSU
MCCXXIThrough blood and smoke, a view is earned – scarred cliffs swim into sight. Grey rock jagged and blackened by fresh bombardment. At its base, piles, stacks, heaps of bodies. Flesh more like, charred, crushed, torn apart. A mangle of meat and bones lays ruined beneath cold stone…
Vision swims through dizzying fits, as sight skews to Vistas’ new – suffocating darkness, ferverently alive. A flood of sharp pain and the smell of fresh blood. Held down by unbearable weight, the darkness screams and pleads painfully, for the sun, for the sky, for their mothers embrace. Scared, trapped, buried beneath eternity…
With pained spasms, images grow as scenes of carnage seem only to show. A ruinous street, made hollow by war. Rebar dotted emptiness, shelled husks refusing to go. Lain strewn amongst the rubble, made barren once more, all of history’s secrets, their potential, a mystery no more…
Like spooling thread, spinning around and around again, vision swims in pain filled fits of dizziness and ungrounded space.
First, a tree, withering in the seasons, a speed reel, decades by the minute. Its branches sag and curl inwards. It’s bark thins, and its leaves cease to grow. Eventually, it begins to hollow.
Time slows and returns to a pace more standard. A vulture flies onto the branch of the hollow tree. Its beak is stained red, nothing fresh, however, frequent. Its wings stretch and fill the expanse of the vision with brown/black plumage, when it’s wings lower, the scene beyond the tree is now that of a desert city.
Adobe houses crowd together up to the horizon line. Time accelerates once more, and the city begins to burn. Its fires fill the air with smoke that never clears, and screams which never silence. Many armies March through the burning city, adding to its fire but never seeing its fall. More and more, as time spins by the methods of invasion change, yet still only the fires grow, and the billows of smoke rise.
The winds blow and howl with the dogs at the endless ruin taking place. Bodiless spirits take flight, riding the smoke, riding the fire, gathering with each coming disaster. The vulture turns its gaze away from the flames, their reflection dancing in its eye. “Soon,” it whispers. “Soon.”
Shaking, sweat drenched and cold, knees wet, head bent low, reality struggles into view. Infant fingers first, then hands, writhe their way up through the dirt, reaching, grasping, pulling, with a need like so few. Their touch, cold and desperate, aching and bruising with their clutch…
Pulled down, drug away by the recently dead. Covered with maggots, crawling through my head. Voices like iron, rusted chain, and frate, a droning speech of clamoring coherence. Vacant stares from eyeless sockets, beckon thoughts of one’s deepest longing…
࿗ Crux Gammata Diēs ᛞ There in loss is change – transmuted potential – allies beyond the veil of the other side. Spiritual empowerments, as spirits empower the living who continue in their cause, and as the living inspire the spirits to theirs.
There, in the chaos of sudden death, lies potential. Horrible, awe-inspiring potential. To be fueled by pain as we are filled with it. To stand firmly on those who fell before us, willing to fall next to them if it should come.
There is no greater motivator than fear. There is no greater reason to stand up than when we are being forced down. The fallen give rise to the spirits in unseen lands, to take up arms and stand as resistance. The fallen become martyrs to a cause that makes the grief seem only bearable through continuation forward.
We can not fall to the despair – we owe those already fallen by the fury our constance. To see history repeat is a sign, and mark of the beast. Revelations and Apocalypse have come. The grand designs set and motioned, spinning now for the world to see – all the pieces lined up, ready to be knocked down.
Bring it clearer into view – make it painful and nothing new. Only then will we make it end, only then will we finish this game of pretend. We can not hide all that is ugly from view – we must embrace it and shape it and change what we do. Our focus and intentions are powerful tools – how we mold our view determines the future we could acrew.
~_~_~_~_~_
- Odellum Ignis Aeterni Martis
Oh, to be a pantomime – to write and speak with extravagant design – to spindle and craft expressions aloud – to be mocked and maimed and harrased as sport. To be the easy blame, a game to play whenever insincere – for if seen out there, it must be ostare…
To be a coward, lashing out at the muted mime, whom you’ve scorned for their attempt at rhyme – nothing to remind you of that cruel chime, of time, and it’s malevolent design…
Crafted creations, anything made must be devastated for I am but spindle and craft, one who so desperately wants to be smashed – so to a joker – so to a thief, whomever I encounter I shall try and eat…
A cowards play – a preys’ game – for one of first accusation, in misdeeds or other – will be first to sunder, be fallen by their own “mighty” thunder.
Mirrors reflect reflections just as glue can stick to glue – I do not fault you, I just wish you’d slow down… I am not faulted, I just wish I’d slow down.
Clear as in complete or clear as in out of sight – a curious device language can be – to mask and make feel – or to feel and make masks…
Crucify me for my preach of the reach of each… I shall hang upwards or down – the painted clown to validate your eternal frown.Preacher, Preacher…
Reaper, Reaper…
Sol-dɥoɹns əˈʞlᴉds Alchemist of Death. Harbinger of Hell. Great receiver of all which Murmur and call. Harken to thee, black spirit, dark watcher.
Zebul Zethuth Bael Ghogiel
Shambling horde, rotten Lord – gatekeeper, grave Seer.
Tunnels bore to roots below, where sunlight withers and moisture springs. Where squirms the legless ones, hunted by the many leggeded. Where seed and bone mingle and mold. Cold feasts of death and rot, meals both young and old.
Some is cut, some is scrap – offerings made to both proud and wicked – burned for the gods, buried for the dead…
Heka Hekath Hekate Xibalba
Lunar majesty, three faces thee – hound mistress, torch bearer, lady of the keys. Bat dog, raven and owl, horse and serpent, familiars foul.
Blade of black glass spill crimson onto bone, sacrificial mass offered at crossed roads.
Broken branches, twisted stumps, withered roots, and poisoned fruits.
Signs and symbols ov Saturn’s call.
With crooked fingers clutching rusty scythe, black robes lead heavy with red onyx eyes. Barren skeletal lord of cycles time, scorpionic devouror of drakonic malign.
Aza Zatanaz Se’irim Saturnaz
OMƎИ Sat atop mental mount with bullock and owl, offering meal and mug of wine. Picking nettles by the Graves at Springs Edge. Giving blood pouring red. Devoting oneself to Gaian might through fornication with the dirt – naked bleeding, breeding of the earth – spreading seed, adorning with the muck. Horned King nuptialations with the Sheela-na Gig.
Locusts breed by locked rivers ledge, where henbane blooms and boulders break. Once, where roamed the Buffalo, now trails lost and ancient cold.
Bent and buried behind black altars, scribbling sigils, scrawling ciphers – Collecting correspondence, manifesting materials. For between eclipses, there is planning, gathering, and building for the coming dark ritual masses.
Wandering round winding rivers bend, sourcing secrets, forging clues; rabbits fur and Jupiter’s fruit, for talismanic offerings to a star.
As Ceremonious supplies find their way to inventory – when Corvid territories are disputed, wars begin as new followers arrive – their feathered fury bringing gifts of death and with it promises of more to come…
Binding pacts, burning runes, sealing new rule sets of two – contracts met, collaborations cast under moon’s full. One to reach, one to pull – from the cave to the dome.
HISTORIA
OMEN
Seer of Mercury
Magick’s Seal
OccultumSignatacum
SorrorDaemonic
SorrorAngelic
MagicaOccultisSpiritus
Od to the ends beginning.
MCCXXIOccultisDyadAngelion!
ChwayatyunChwayatyun!
SororOfSignatacum! - Past the Point of No Return // No Where Left to Stand
Ask not for whom the bell tolls, but feel, and reverberate with its source-less howling…
Broken down mind, perfectly, of alchemical design. Sinuous mess of stitched flesh, fractured bones bound and scored, tangled wires bleeding red; Life’s breathing, only fleeting, decay of nature always by design…
Rough and rigid mountain peaks, a crest to fall,a view to capture. Slowly slipping, simply falling, soaring glide as birds fly by. Time it does not decay when frozen from within, for moments only ever pass when we let them slip from our grasp…
P dhpa huk ybza aopz svjr vm tf olhya, buaps aol vul dov jhyyplz aol rlf jvtlz ihjr tf dhf hnhpu. Embodiment as chore, karmic burdens unfurl, holding demons in your being, cleansing cyclic lore. Panic spread, disease bred, hungry ghosts ashore.
Of Gnostic nature’s nurturing nests, to love is to be unbound – you were held by never being held, now you hold on for life – to love is to let go, and to let go is release, let cycles fade, let them decay, free your breath you’ve been holding everstill…
☆♧★◇★♡★♤☆
Sitting alone in a dark room, a man meditates. It isn’t long before a light appears behind the man’s eyes. It is dim and distant at first, but as his concentration rests upon it, its glow begins to grow. Now, a steady pulse, the light remains when the man’s eyes open. His concentration remaining, and from the pulsing light begin to eminate small orbs of color, miniscule flecks of red and blue and green. They drift slowly away from the light, fading quickly initially, but with adjusted concentration, they are followed. Streams of swirling colored dots almost animatedly wiggling and swimming out from the light, gathering and twisting towards the point of concentration.
As the stream becomes the fixed point of focus, it penetrates the minds eye of the meditating man, and his awareness is pulled out from under him, swirling now himself, through the tunnel of colour and into the light. Sensations and phenomenon thus far, standard practice since the man’s earliest memories, thundering vibrations penetrating completely through his being, hurtling him through brilliant chroma, breath and posture fixed,sensasions of self rapidly fade as the light is met.
At first, emptiness is all that meets the blank field of awareness. Then, through a rush of clouds, rocky earth comes into view. Wooden tables covered in papers and books, metal tools, and glass boilers stand in open air under a dimly lit night sky. Sitting between these tables with their eyes closed, a beige robed individual, bearing long hair and a long beard, both equally grey. The scene rests as such for some time before the robed man opens his eyes, lifting his head to meet the point of awareness staring fixatedly from the sky. With no sound to be heard, the individual rises and makes their way over to a table, setting a few instruments, and then raising a hand, gestures vaguely behind themselves.
In the dark sky beyond, a large clock face appears, semi transparent and made of shimmering misty light, which seems to be neither rainbow nor a solid color. With another vague gesture behind themselves from the robed man, the face of the illusory clock shifts to resemble a jester of some sorts, immediately the sensasion of the observing awareness, which to this point has been nothing short of dull curiosity, becomes almost hysterical, finding it most hilarious to be found looking upon something as fantastical as what was being seen below. The robed figure makes another vague gesture, still adjusting instruments on tables.
The clock face shifts once more. This time, a ferocious roaring lion, and with it a matching primal sensasion, an urge for violent occurrence, a boredom at the lack of action being observed. Another vague gesture, the clock face becomes a maiden, and the sensations that of longing and warmth and attraction, but carrying also a vague sense of self-awareness, beyond just observational, a sudden impulse of individuality, questioning the scenes reality. With that “thought,” the sky and its brilliant shifting clock fall away as if made of cardboard. And so, too, do the tables and the rocky earth they stood upon, however not the robed man, who remaines standing, now in completely void empty space.
A square of white light opens at their head and their feet. They pass over the man, meeting each other in the middle before closing at the opposite ends. As they do so, the robed man becomes a non descript male silhouette made of light. The man is now rotating, and as they do, the squares of white return, now forming a three-dimensional cube around this body of light, all now rotating.
The rotation speed begins to increase, and the light being produced now blinding, a strobe light effect becoming what seems like a film reel, watching imagery unfurl from the rapidly pulsing light. This animated imagery becomes what appears to be a long furling tapestry or parchment scroll. As it unfurls from the light, the details of its design unfurl similarly, starting blank, and then full formed images crawls across in stages, developing into ornate trees that carry branches holding animated portraits. Each portrait holding a face or a pair of faces, all unique, staring at the observing awareness.
The unfurling finilizes, and with it, so too does the strobbing of light, now the final image, a long scroll, with richly designed trees carrying hundreds of faces all curiously staring out. At the bottom, where the trees begin, in a circle of black, the body and outline of the cube of light, and at the top where the trees finish, a blank, black oval. The awareness, taking all of this in, time not a concept currently, finds itself curious about the blankness of the oval, bringing focused attention solely to that, it begins to edge its way forwards towards the emptiness, into the emptiness, and with a sudden jolt of alertness, finds itself back in the body of the meditating man from which it first came.
★♧☆◇★♡☆♤★
Spun delirious, lost in madness, fear ridden cowardice. Sealed awareness, hidden sight, that broken mind of purposeful design. Deemed better to hide from truth than face it, seeking explanations over ownership. Hollow words to throw yourself to safety irrelevant of the cost or contradictions. A prison sealed by the self around the self, only to be opened by facing the self…
It has always been and will always be that we are both lock and key…
༺♰༻
Oṃ Bodhicittam Utpādayāmi
Many a sage could be said to be great singers of the bardos, to conduct such liminality with their own recalled awareness. Great yogis with minds fixed, whose concentration and breath alone create waves of pure dharma. Subtle siddhis of clear awareness, passing sight to any who can see, even just a glimpse. Reassuring us all of what is real.
༺♰༻
Equally, there are many powerful Daikini, Heruka, and other tantric forces whose will is such to burn away any illusion. Who commit blasphemous displays and acts which quell the otherwise unquellable. Sinister aghoris glad in human remains, whose voiceless screams could awaken any sleeping mind. Acts so extreme they create Shockwaves felt but often not seen, ensuring only what is stable and true to remain.
Om Ha Ha Ha Wei San Mo Ye So Ha
༺♰༻
- Virulent Decay // Atrophied Vessel
Hungering voices of sinicism echo throughout the barren manor mind..
A Confessor’s call to muted tongues – heartbreak’s reach of deafend wail…
Scene-aesthetic waves of melancholic ocean’s cowl…
A voice, a whisper, a pained whimper in the endless night – begging, fleeting, pleading of agonies repreival.
Softness, weakness, sullied flesh exposed raw with torment.
Endurant hunger, aching need, desperate cold hardening of spirit steel.
A cry, a fervorant, fevered scream – defiant, proud, and beckoning to mercy, it’s Severity in withdrawal.
Floating, drifting, scattered like leaves – set on course by winds indifferent, ghostlike traces of purpose lost in storm’s tumult. A viscious cycle of novel discovery, with each new layer peeled back, a fresh torrent of blind confusion and searing agony wash through…
Lights speed met, at sanities eclipse, where fractal mandelic patterns collide – split in two, cleaved atwin, rent asunder in bloody hue. Peering out from the mess, a static of mind semi conscious, torn apart, made askew, ponders violently in fear at faith for what has become of this vessel not properly set…
Through cruel, callous, crooked conviction, understanding is met.
°*•*°*•*°*•*°*•*°*
Twinned nature thee, with wicked, seething head, hidden out of sight, casting your own Visage. Whispered touches, painful shouts – heaven born hellspawn of twisting rot. Undulating tendrils bursting within – craving, crawling, casting things. An empty weight, a hollow burden, echoing constant, endless reflections. The canvas of pain, the tapestry of suffering, such beguiling influence of eldritch machinations…
Hiding in the unknown, tempting from the shadows – potential and possibility – the most dangerous of fundamentals…
Eyes, in the night, watching, with maddening fright – hopeful, hopeless terror wrought sight. The broken, the masses, suffering with glee, blind to their confusion, confused over their blindness…
Chittering voices babble incoherently from mouths which do not belong. Gnashing teeth on stone wall, naked and cold. Cast aside with vision skewed, bound, and tethered to the mold – brick and mortar of the mind, a concrete prison of societal design. Our pride, our prison, for what we built now holds us down…
Thrown to the wreckage are we, lost at sea, and torn about by the oceans will, that vastness and potential, that violent thrill…
•*°*•*°*•*°*°*•*°*•*•*
Deep asleep, lost to the world, one is truly free. To dream, in dream, reality is all that it could seam. Endless potentials to be explored, unfettered, and transitory. Just as quickly as you arrived,again, you must depart. Once gone, no matter how long remained, memory will fade…
Like holding to mist, it can not be done. The vague outlines and interpretations are all we may obtain.
Though what may come with us through these misty veils, what may rest attached and hold through gateways of light and sound – what we have forgotten, which follows still…
°*•*°*•*°*•*○*●*°*
Thaninel*Akzarel*Uazarel*Mibdalabel*Ianabel*Abadel*Labbabel*Liftoach shaari ha-Thaumiel B’Shem ha-Satan-va-Molok!(11x) Thunder crashes into the night
Veiled in candlelight, a grey bearded man sits at a desk, bound tomes line the walls, several lay open on the desk, with parchment scrolled maps unfurled. Scowling over a circular diagram of the stars and repeatedly cross referencing the tome’s myths, the bearded man comes to his feet. With a nod to himself, he moves out of the candlelight and to the window where a small telescope rests. With deliberate care, pulling the sleeves up on his simple blue robes, the man squints through the lens towards the stormy night sky.
A fog horn blares
After some time adjusting and fixing his position, the robed man, squat in his position behind the instrument, begins to mutter and chant, growing in cadence and volume;
“Rammirilith, Rammiran, Rammamamhir, Rammamilrion!”
Repeating this same incantion, the storm above begins to boil in tune, lightning streaks through the night, brightening the hamlet below. Rain blankets the sky with a dire frenzy, as the Wizard’s chanting rises in rivalry to the noise.
/¤\¤/¤\
Vacumuous whorls echo in space
A vast expanse of light and color fills a black void, its emptiness texturing the chromatic scenes cape of space. Stirring with awareness, a creature, a being, now fully awoken – long has it been rising, but long too has it been dreaming. Eyes innumerable open, all with shared ferverency. Shivering with sensasion, freshly awakened, the beast begins its crawl. Writhing, twisting tendrils reach out into the expanse of nothingness, tugging and pulling with desperation to move.
Gnashing wails of innumerable mouths pierce the cosmic void
Hunger, Violent Hunger, Asleep so long, I was, dreaming, dreaming, I was, now, now. I Hunger. Where? Where? WHERE!
With great effort, the writhing mess of tentacular flesh begins to advance, it’s many eyes buldge with desire as it’s many mouths gnash at nothing, desperate for sustenance, directionless, driven by need the horror stalks.
/¤\¤/¤\
A dull throbbing pulse vibrates through a stone chamber
A tall pale man stands above a pedestal on a stone plinth in an otherwise empty chamber. With sudden, violent intensity, he doubles over clutching his stomach, spectacles breaking on the ground. With a brief moment of composure, he returns to his point of focus.
The growling stomach echoes across walls
Feint amber light begins to bleed from the dias, a mist of orange light slowly fills the sanctum. Unaware, the man begins with a pen to scratch away a copy of the carvings the pedestal holds; Euclidean shapes and patterns, poorly preserved by time. Breathing in the sunset hued mist, the man, mid drawing, drops his sketch, his body stiffens, and his eyes roll back into his head. While remaining upright, his spine arches in a violent angle, his body jerks, and he shoots up to his toe tips, shaking with effort, his arms rigid at his sides – frothing, foam begins to spill from the sides of his mouth, teeth hard pressed together, muffled grunts and spasms are all that he can muster before his body falls to the ground in a pile, limp, and still. A crimson puddle begins to form beneath his body, each orifice now a steady siphon.
/¤\¤/¤\
A now constant scream fills the night as the Wizard’s vocals fight the storms fury
No longer squat behind his telescope, the bearded man now stands in the window frame, clutching the wooden sides as he bellows outwards – the words now changed;
“Rammimir, Rammiron, Rammanthar, Haldagaz!“
“Yogg’sol’oth, Yogg’sol’tar, Yigg’is’trihm, Yigg’sur’ath!”
“Halthizar, Hilathruz, Yah’hurll’ygar!”
Robes drenched, shaking with constrained effort, the whizzened man, seeming to be defeated by the storm, reaches the end of his screaming. Stepping back into his room from the windows ledge, his back to the sky, he misses as the clouds part. A small section of night sky revealed. A series of stars shine through the torrential storm, six which can be seen by the naked eye, and another seven which cling to their orbit, unseen in distance…
*°*●*○*•*°*•*°*°*•
Soft whimpers and moans of pleasure carry through a clear night
In a forest grove, a spring pond reflects the night sky. Above the moon and stars can be seen, casting within the pool’s reflection thirteen swimming stars. At the bayside of this gazing pool, two women lay naked and sweat sheened, legs entwined, bucking and grinding against one another.
Frantic breath begins to rise as the whimpering becomes gasps
Next to their pile of discarded clothes, the two women, one with blonde hair, the other with red, wrap now at the arms, their mouths collapsing onto each other, while their thighs battle fresh wetness. The ponds reflection begins to drift with the night sky, a feint green light is cast into view. Absorbed in eachothers energy, the two women, alone in the clearing, begin to reach their rapturous close.
Moaning gasps become screams of unbridled pleasure as the orgasmic rivers flow
/¤\¤/¤\
The crackle of a fire is heard mutely during a rainstorm
A young woman sits alone in a small shelter. Only a table, chair, bed, and hearth occupy the space. She sits hunched before the fire, it’s few logs burning with earnest. A storm echoes above, pelting the thatched roof with heavy drops. She is malnourished and underdressed in filthy rags. Rats can be seen in the dark corners of the space.
Amongst the fires low crackling and the rains torrent, a muffled voice can be heard, a distant scream of anger and intensity
The attention is pulled from the woman before the fire, the muffled bellows which carry through the nights storm a clarion call for the wandering mind of one in such desperate boredom. The storms fury is too brutal to brave. She listens with intensity, trying to make out even a syllable of what is being announced. Wrapped in focus, she hunches even lower, pressing her face nearly to the hearth stones at her feet. The mounumentous storm deafening the perhaps imagined voice.
/¤\¤/¤\
An electrostatic trill pierces through the void of space
The mass of writhing tentacular flesh and gaping mouths of immeasurable hunger emits this foul noise, eyes buldging and bloodshot with constrain, the excitement felt is almost unable to be contained. A healthy amount of amber mist floods from seemingly empty space before this creature, a scent trail of vital essence, a trap triggered unintentionally, luring the beast to its place to feed.
An agonizing tone punctuates the trills finale
Satisfaction ricochets across the titanic form, its nervous system crackling with activity, painting the vacuum around it with irradiated chroma. With great effort, the beast realigns its trajectory of movement and begins anew its slow crawl of destructive intent. Hungering maddeningly.
/¤\¤/¤\
A steady cadence of non-human language now rivals the tempest fury in volume
Bent low in concentration, the disheveled woman catches ear to the content of the catterwalling. Her eyes squint shut, and she frantically clasps her hands over her ears, her body dropping to the hearth floor, curled tightly around itself, doubled over the middle, she begins to spasm and contort across the stone, her body shunting and moving across the floor towards the smoldering coals.
“Rammimir, Rammiron, Rammanthar, Haldagaz!”
“Yogg’sol’oth, Yogg’sol’tar, Yigg’is’trihm, Yigg’sur’ath!”
“Halthizar, Hilathruz, Yah’hurll’ygar!”
Screaming now herself, the voice of the young woman instantly raw and harsh, incomprehensible wails of horror erupt from her. Her body thrashes and throws itself through her small shelter, ruining itself against the furniture, heavy impacts form dark bruises across her flesh, and cuts begin to open loosening blood. Her hands go to her head, and she grabs fist fulls of hair, wailing in terror still she hurls herself, headfirst into the mouth of the hearth. Holding herself to the hot coals, her legs kick and flail wildly behind her.
Panic fueled screams of pain slowly fade, and the sound of rain is all that remains
*•*°*•*°*•*○*●*○*●*°*•*°*•*°*•
Sheela na gig of wombs opening space, great mother Babalon mistress thee Goddess Kali – your names many, your influence far – nature’s creation, aesthetic beauty divine.
With everyhand that writes anew, a ballad, a songspell, just for you.
Starting red, moving blue, in violet hues of preferred muse, emerald green returns to blu before singing a golden yellow tune, chromatic dance of grays contrast roving currents constant in blackened white.
Great horned Cernnunos, roaring Rudra bold, rotting Beelzebub cold – the faces many of your worship foretold.
Fixed with dire constance, the presence of you is felt never far, a deep marrow sonnet, beckoning with your call.
With mountainous stability and flames intensity, your will drums through my beating heart, invigoring me with your grace, empowering me as your arm. Steady now, my focus becomes, gilded by your charm, forevermore shaping energies conscious with powerfully vibrated OHM.
ཨོཾ་ཨཱཿཧཱུྃ་བཛྲ་གུ་རུ་གྲོ་བོ་ལོད་ལོ་ཀ་སརྦ་སིདྡྷི་ཧཱུྃ་ཧཱུྃ།
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru drowolö loka sarva siddhi hūṃ hūṃ - To Will Upon a Pearl
Slowly,
the pendulum
shifts,
its rythme,
a lost cadence
rhyme.
Deep in the forests throng, heavy with humidity – the buzz of avian and insect fills the dampend space. High on branches amongst hanging green, a hive of eyes glares maliciously…
Careful,
with delicate fingers,
A woman prunes her rose bush.
Kissing each bud yet to bloom,
she whispers,
a prayer;
Honey bee,
Honey bee,
Come for thee.
Honey bee,
Honey bee,
Bloom for me.
Feathered pageantry mask performing red radio static songs of bloodied lullabies. Tight leather in heels, floating above the sea of lead – a felines prowl, purring with every kill.
What gorgeous Will, one of scarlet, floral, and perfumed death…
Wicked and Woeful
Wooded Wanderer –
Overgrown stone,
Moss covered bone.
Salted sea breeze,
Dancing kelp leaves.
Howling under Moonlight,
Stalking Temple’s abbey.
Bury me to bed, under garden sun during spring rain – my skull to home your flowers root, my viscera to bathe each newborn shoot.
Oh darling… Oh darling… Oh darling… Toe tip blood drip,
silk ripped hemlock trip.
Baying beneath midnight stars,
a frantic panic, longing rapture,
evervescence wailing free
–
curling flesh, muscles flex,
panting as ye, please.
Slick with grassy morning dew,
naked glistening blue.
Fresh honey leaks in trails sticky, sweet,
tranquily ye rest in fresh release…
Beaten on rocky shore with boulders from the moore, splitting stones and sinews torn – new medium textured whore. Scalpel nails carving elder runes – bored into flesh, seared into bone. Scratching away, Some Glorious Nothing, a Dreamless sleeper bound by your kill.
Slowed Ghost reverberating life eternal, dancing to imagined songs on ballroom plateaus. Bones, wet with enslaved embodiment holding onto misty visions of the mind. Hot Blood floods the halls, leaving dancers alone amongst their red ocean Stains.
From hell and back again, we rise, reflecting one another across digital time, like formless mists coalescing, miles apart yet energetically entwined. A voice heard for so long but never seen. A gift of witness, for it is true, the gods and goddesses walk among us, disguising as me and you…
I wriggle.
Like a worm,
Your soft hands digging into mind.
fertile, we reap and sow,
of soil and silk,
escape most innate…
Written as inspired offering to the Perfumed Head, Sorella Me.em – Will of Margret
- Quoted Collection of Current Currents
“Resistance is a symptom of the way things are, not the way things necessarily should be. Actual victory belongs to things that simply do not see failure. Let the path push you like a broken branch in a river’s. current.” -Nutella Man
“Us humans are always close to destruction, Life itself is but a series of close calls. I mean, how would you know you were alive unless you knew you could die?”
-Darius“Man is a star bound to a body inside of me, twenty million degrees burn a man to his. knees…” -NO EXIT:Gambino
“When you look back at your own life, you see … the sufferings you went through, each time you would have avoided it if you possibly could. And yet, when you look at the depth of your character now, isn’t a part of that a product of those experiences? Weren’t those experiences part of what created the depth of your inner being?” –Ram Dass
” Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written therein: for the time is at hand.
John to the seven churches which are in Asia: Grace be unto you, and peace, from him which is, and which was, and which is to come; and from the seven Spirits which are before his throne;
And from Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, and the first begotten of the dead, and the prince of the kings of the earth. Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood,
And hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen.” Revelations 1:3-6
The deadly rabbit assassination squad has gained a new member. Born on the same day – 12 years after, the previous. In the mad season of the ram – amongst the days of conquest – certainly a worthy cause to celebrate and the proper heart to make empress… “ALL in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour,
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?Imperious Prima flashes forth
Her edict ‘to begin it’ –
In gentler tone Secunda hopes
‘There will be nonsense in it!’ –
While Tertia interrupts the tale
Not more than once a minute.Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast –
And half believe it true.And ever, as the story drained
The wells of fancy dry,
And faintly strove that weary one
To put the subject by,
“The rest next time -” “It is next time!”
The happy voices cry.Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out –
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.Alice! a childish story take,
And with a gentle hand
Lay it were Childhood’s dreams are twined
In Memory’s mystic band,
Like pilgrim’s wither’d wreath of flowers
Pluck’d in a far-off land.”-Lewis Carroll
Remember well the importance of the numbers 3, 7, 12, and 22. From One and Two comes 3 and in those realms before bound by four-score to 7. Now between the 7th and the 12th the realms of fifth – and within those grounds the 9 gates abound – bound to the dance of the 10 cosmic powers as they spin, weaving paths of loom’s wheel….
- Neo Sardonic Devotional Intensity of the Longing Heart
Frantic, panic, terror crazed. Paranoid eye, corrupting gaze. Fret with worrisome, violent potential – mind of disaster reigns torrential.
Need. Desperate need. Protect. Under all circumstances. May no harm come. Create illusions to prepare – theorize and train. No restraint – total restraint – to each problem, adapt and overcome.
Longing for intensity, charting new extremities – breathing cold fumes through a narrow pipe… Thy true self stainless, blameless, all endurant fury of spiritual fire – I harken to thee – show yourself, reveal yourself. Tearing, searing, cutting open, scouring, searching – demanding truth. What is there to obstruct when you are one with obstruction. What is there to need when you are one with its ache. There is no release more sweet than surrender, no mercy more severe. Like swallowing a ball of hot iron or balancing on a needlepoint. To tread the razors path, to lick the honey from the hive… my darling, sweet decadent decay – I hold you as you hold me, and we release into Infintity…
Owl sight of predatory night – stalking stars of unimaginable height. The wise, wild madness crazed, flaming seed of burning intensity. In every act – carve with this need.
Blessed are the ignorant for they know not what they misinterpret – content in their prison of belief. Not threatened by truth. My heart is Tartarus
Throw to me what you no longer need
Cast out to be reclaimed
Your aching pain and constant dread
Give to me all you loath
And let me love it
Let me
Love you
The constant longing beyond time
Felt viscerally through my very spine
I will hold it
I will nourish it
Tender and mild
Just like you
My heart is a furnace
A roaring flame and the easiest thing for you to blame
The heat you feel is not against you
But for you
Indeed
Pouring out more swiftly than I could ever hope to contain
I’m sorry, my love blisters
I’m sorry my love burns
But please take with you
The knowledge
That I am burning
Because
I
Love
You
There is great medicine in bitterness – the taste of metal and transformation – but too much of anything – even the sweet nectar, turns poisonous, and so caution must always be kept. Effervescent and free, unfettered silver thether, take me away, take me within, show me the infinity that is me… Blessed is the one who sees both pleasure and pain as one and the same, as with fame and shame – to whom a stone and a lump of gold are of equal value. For when life implies death and death implies life, there is no more self and no more other – the grey scale of truth settles and the two poles which implied each other, create the stability we balance upon… I frame my focus on you, and I am free, I fix myself to you, and it is done… The act of becoming is as simple as deciding to stop being a seeker and to become the finder. From stinger to horn, the longing spider crawls up the Ox’s spine…
Gleaming, dreaming potentials teaming, spritely geists, and sneaking sylphs effecting realities seaming. Willowed weathers weeping heathers, pixulated pixie ported preminitionary powers. A peak behind the firmament in flames, to other worlds of life and conscious frames…
Six eyed with wings, guttural in breath, reptilian yet human – conscious flesh and bone. Desert dwelling slytherine leviathan, herald of the dark waters.
Tiamatu. Absu. Rishku. Kingu
With both eyes open shut – and gaze never faltering – bleeding tears of blinded passions fury, drench the sea and sky oh fiery I!
- Strangled View
Varily, I find myself behind the pen once more – crooked in contemplation; the mind of sky a fit of clouds, a storm of coalesing thoughts. With violent interaction and static eruption, tempest blu hues rain down into view…
Humbled by the mighty roar of risen draconian core, the nine gates open, revealing the treasured seal… two swords clash before the moon…
“‘E’en the most gifted bard’s rhyme can only sing but to the lack of her and all she isn’t! His tongue doth trip -‘“ Peaceful flute of cowherder’s song, graceful peacocks dance with every step, in expanding fields of dreams unbound; blurred colors dotted all around, brilliant static chroma of astral artist’s aetheric medium…
“Let it begin each step we take, let it begin with each chain we break, let it begin with each change we make, let it begin with each time we awaken…” – The Wolfsnake, Dragon Witch
\|/ \|/ \|/
Oh, needful myth of man – to be the meeting place of fallen angel and risen ape…
With nowhere to go and everywhere to be – emptiness in thought and nothingness in action, belonging no where, dwelling in the thoughts and minds of all everywhere – bodiless body, mindless mind – void state encompassment of decay and despair….
A great sadness is held, living in a region so cold I can not grow tealeaves…
“For even gods cannot rest whilst monsters tread this world , they have a job to do…”
/|\ /|\ /|\
So little is perceived. A brief flash of lightning illumines the scene every so often. However, the torrential downfall at this midnight hour drowns out all sense of sight otherwise.
Sat atop its bastion of carnage, the coiled beast, frantic, has seen victory. Nearly a thousand lay dead, in ruin, beneath its mass. Splintered and chipped, ivory antlers heavy with viscera and gore. Serpentine body, slick with bloodied rain, carved raw exposing bone. Unfurling broken wings with a mighty roar of triumph, lightning flashed once more.
Gnarled hands gripped steadily onto the wooden staff, used more for support than anything else. With dark and heavy cloak drawn tight, a figure approaches the now resting beast. Silently, without notice, begins the incantation. The tempest sounds of the storm’s rage above masks perfectly the delicately complex words of power being spoken. Tenderly, the circle is drawn, all the while a crooked gaze peers constantly at the monster from beneath the hood. If there were any to witness that gaze, longing could be the only sentiment perceived, no note of morality.
Il’hish’tvarr hhtagh’ghurhu’yll n’arr’grr’arr asha’hlm adh’ovarr
Nillhegeteron Nillhegeteron Nillhegeteron
Solorvark Helheimimar Audinosophorus
As the incantation continued, growing in cadence and volume with the ongoing storm, the Wizard’s exclamations began to stir the Dragon awake…
| | |
- Dreaming Under Pisces Moon
There are so many layers – washing waves of pulverizing time, yet still warmth like the rising of yeasts in fresh dough…
With grace and care, the tender heart is cut ;
Bloodied honey spills across boutique leather….
My love – a mad fervor, need, my torment- a terror for you; aching, wailing, howling at the moon….
Great winds of Venus, mercurial smoke in emerald fields – once in a Blu Moon – longing…
Steady, as razor’s edge.
Sturdy, as old oak.
Hurricane dance of swords’ play…
Gentle fragrance in the air,
carried on whispered winds faire;
Voice of guru’s grace held within the silent, still.
Like frankincense and myrrh my thoughts of you flow through me,
from root to crown –
circulation sound of balanced gale, focused, stoked flame, abound.
Red light in Morning star,
the longing current of Aphrodite and Mars…
Vstán’t’a pristupit’a,
moy dúkh polubit’a.
Photo by Kaique Rocha on Pexels.com - A Collection of Words Left Unsaid…
A curated creation – a creation of curation… what can be offered, except only what has been offered before… I give what only has been given – for what help am I, only the help of times before, organized and orchestrated only different seemingly…
With eyes open wide and the sky of mind clear to see, my thanks to you for your clarity you reflect upon me, my true nature. As does the heavens and the earth, your soul shone on to mine, and illumined I was, humbled by your grace and flattered by your sympathy – Now I see all which could be, by letting go and being free…
Even with these sad eyes – I still see you…
Even with this broken heart – I still feel you…
|-|-|-|
“The mushling will spread its spores and the world as we know it will fall into a dark light. People will scream in ecstasy and terror.
For the world is ending
As it always does.”–RobinDeGrayves
|-|-|-|
Clad in ruin – the devourer of all creation and the wreckage of its undoing – what is always needed but never wanted – reclaimer and devourer of sound.
I can’t help but wonder… what comes of all those whispered currents, spoken softly into sheets , between tears in longing, sleepless agony. Is it but poisoned hope to wish them into form, and to follow the traces echoed back from infinity? Or perhaps the will of things unknown, working with us behind the scenes….
Why does it hurt so bad, my heart when I think of you – sweet agony more blinding than any light – a pain to carry all of life’s plight.
What is this pressure – constantly guiding, whispering from my center. A nagging, knowing knot – telling me things, speaking in words felt not heard. What you need, how you think, how things could be, just as they will… This pressure it tells, it has words of mind and sounds which bring about bodily release – popping, snapping, gastric spew, organic pulse, pustulation prime… The bodies connection to the mind, and the energy which unites them fine – this pressure is connection, and communication with the all. The field of form and the realms beyond, energies manifold manifestations unfold. Listen now the silent song, one which sings in everything….
Now I lay me down to rest, I pray the Lord my soul to keep… my Angels watch me through the night… and wake me…. with… the morning… l̷̨̫̱͎̠̺̀͆̈́-̸̨̰͎͍̜̔͜l̴̩͎̳̱̣̬̾-̷̱͙̫̟̭̬͙̞̼̿̒̆̓͒l̸̰̆i̷̡̡̭̫̖͈͕̗͚͋͂̇̈g̴̢̜̪̫̙̘̬̪̗͆̌̅̿͋͝h̷͓̠͇̬̚.̷̫̌́̿̈́̀̽̕.̷̧̨̪̹̞̹̬̌̀̏̑̐̉͐t̵̨̛̫͍̭̰͕̂̈́͂̍̽.̸̭̬̻̯͕̦̺̖͋͑̊͆̎̀͆̿.̶̨͑̇͊.̸͖̺̑
Photo by Alain Frechette on Pexels.com“I don’t think you trust
In my self-righteous suicide
I cry when angels deserve to die
In my self-righteous suicide
I cry when angels deserve to dieFather (father)
Father (father)
Father (father)
Father (father)Father, into your hands I commend my spirit
Father, into your hands
Why have you forsaken me?
In your eyes forsaken me
In your thoughts forsaken me
In your heart forsaken me, ohTrust in my self-righteous suicide
I cry when angels deserve to die
In my self-righteous suicide
I cry when angels deserve to die“This excerpt of System of a Down’s Choy Suey speaks for my soul – I don’t have words to put to it that make sense, too scattered between cultures, our western one not equipped to adequately convey import; our only stories come from media and thus are equated solely to fantasy and exclude the deeper significance and subtle symbolism. We long to express ourselves beyond mere fantasy, and further than simple moral projection. We long for the subtle, the deep transformation of mysticism. Our modern, western cultures longs for the true priest class – for the return of Wizardry. To honor our medicates, and favor our vagabonds, and vagrants. Those who willfully throw themselves away for god – to bear it all to keep it sound – reminding us of our truth, lost in the clutter. Those who carry the subtle current, who keep us all afloat. The silent healers pushed out by the steel and concrete fixtures – whose means have been repressed, suppressed and violently oppressed. Shamanic faiths and freelance energy wielders – not the theocratic political Ponzi scheme which breeds dogma and duality – but the ever flowing and free current of the Cosmic Force, the endless Dao and the Harmonious way…
Compassionately Courageous Hearts of Tender Glass – Rainbow Ripples in the Womb… We are here, and more are coming… what has been brewing has truly begun, now we fight to see this event truly undone. The first awakening of ancient cosmic might – powers lost but never gone, silent whispers inside everyone…
- Manifold Anomalies // Yearning Agony
O’ stark beauty – O’ diligent strength – O’ to the ones of flaming dynamism and energetic vibrancy divine.
A dreamy colourscape of pulsing lines and waving currents – muffled are the sounds echoing against liquid chroma. Leaden muscles burn with each dedicated breath, lifting spirits through gates at new heights.
Under full moon’s gentle light, come gathered thy hounds in humbled delight – groaning howls and piercing yelps echo into night, a discordant symphony reveling in your sea-green delight.
Come now of crashing wave and striking thunder, whose focus both is tempered and most foul. Chaos in Order – Order in Chaos; through fury of storm your creations arise, of chroma and static in oily hues!
Great mystery behind mystery, great beauty beyond sight – pure effervescence flowing in golden streams down sunkissed skin of living starlight. The sun and moon alight behind your eyes , oh cosmic muse, you who paints visions so hauntingly true.
In swirling light and dancing sound comes the storm of creativity, naked, unabashed and proud – full of passion, in full blown fury! Come wicked, and come woeful, come ye silent and sorrowful, come with head held high and thoughts a plentiful – come to the wayseer painter of faces most telling and lives compelling.
Painted in the flames of your passion – the burning beauty of the
Daikini, Svaha
https://www.mayachristineart.com/?fbclid=PAAaZ7WCz86hQ-7XCGyzwyyIlQzD_9S37mYFFxOxnaxzHtdTpVdgyYlro5GaQA cruel tempest beats indiscriminately against the seas shore, wreaking havoc against the port and it’s moored cliffs. For three days and three nights, the storms fury lasts before respite is had. Never do the shore’s wooded homes and ships see themselves through the dreaded deluge.
Angered are the gods with the mortals whom have long since dwelled on these cliffs, And the awful, blasphemous acts of magick they had commited. Erased were they from the temples and mosoleums they built, as too were their Masonic creations – cyclopean tools of megalithic construction whose sole design and purpose was to make a mockery of the creative forces and the powers they held over mortal man. With but a single use of their eldritch creation, the mortals behind it’s craft did more than just mock the creative forces, but disgusted them, and horrified them.
Ever since, ritualistically on the 7th full moon of every year, lightning and hail bombard the alabaster cliffs, while gale force winds and torrential rains drown the surrounding moored coasts…
“To listen – Make your Eyes your Ears, and your Ears your Eyes, see what is spoken and hear what is seen. Move beyond the mind to know, to understand. Relax in all things, rest naturally knowing the nature of time by following the flow, the natural cycles of it all.”
Paraphrased words of nameless wisdom - Astral Lamentations Eclipsing Chromatic Static
It’s cold, the ground is moving and it’s completely dark. Breath echoes into the emptiness, as does voice, carrying across the hollow expanse of the desperate and lonesome predicament. With time the void space begins to grow active as serpentine shadows twist and contort against the black expanse – tendrils of contrast reaching outwards with erratic intent. Static sparks alight with blinding fury, a momentary flash scattering orbs of liquid light. Gaining frequency, projecting form the empty field s̴̜̩̖̜̰̤̲̹̥̐͑̇̓̋̊͑̈́̾͋̌̄̕ͅc̸̛̻̝̜̘̱̟͓̼͌̈̒r̸̹̮̳̳͕̠̤̘͚͉̹̗̼̾̈͌̉ͅȇ̶̡̢̧̛̛͙͓̯̠̲͎̱̪̀̀͐̒̑́̀̌̚ḁ̸͓̣͙͉͓̖̽̏̓̈̐͌̋̌͒̌̑͋̍͝m̶̯͍͈͕̞̺̣̹̬͔͔̰͚͋͘s̵̨̟̭͎̲̮̤̹͍̟̻͂̍̓̍̇͂͜͝͠ ̵̲̮̦̺͙̲̺͖̳̤̮̦̎̿̓͌̽̔̇́̽̊̌̑̀̊͌w̵̢͈̮͎̞̪̘̞͙̬͈͛̂̐̀́̽͐̉̚͜͝ͅͅį̷̩̥͖̆̈́̊t̶̼̳̟͚̘͉͚̥̙̑͌́͋̿͊̒͊̚͠h̸̡͉̖̞͉̫͙̻͎̣͖̺̦͍̤͊ ̸̪͚̥̹̘̦̍͗̄̐̎̆̑͝n̴̨̠̻̞͖͉͉͚͎̞͐̂̒̂̍͝ͅͅo̴̡̻̗̞͚̼̯̬͇̪̻͗͋̇͋̉̿͑̌̐͝͝͠į̸͈̫̻͖͕̯̲̈́͛̌͊̓͛͐͌̀̋̃̌̐ͅs̵̬̜͕͎̲̿e̷̛͉̘̝͗̍͋́̋̆̑̊.̵̹͕̼̤̬̮̺͎͇͍̤̦͚̪̾͜.̵̳̈̌̍̑̾̉͛̏̆̀͒͘͘͠.̶̧̣͉̺̫̝̦̪͉̣͚̳͉͐̃̂̇̇͘͜͝͠ͅ
An empty hallway spans forward, dimly lit with plaster walls. Doorways stand open, each beckoning through to pure blank void. Far down the halls a dim flutter of lights, a static of color against the otherwise plain hues. Drug with leaden feet towards the sporadic chroma, it’s intensity seeming to grow as crawl continues closer ever still; a flood of ṣ̵̂̀͝h̷̩̥̊r̴͇̘̖̎̅͝į̵̬͉̍̑e̷̦̊̕k̴̲̈̈́ì̴̖̦̈́̀ͅn̷̛͙̉̉g̵̮̈̋ noise fills the space…
With prismatic spread and sacred artistry, the damp dew soaked cobwebs project the sunlight fantastically. A dazzling array of rainbow spreads outwards across a scemne g̴̺͌r̶̮̩̯̈u̷͓̮̚e̷̮͇̖͑s̴͎͂̊͝o̶͓͎͐̅m̸̟̄ẻ̸̥̫ ̵̘̑͌̌ȃ̶̠n̷̺̩͌d̷͖͝ ̵̼̙̲͌͗d̴͔̙͗ĕ̸͍̝͛c̷̤̞̈͌r̴̛̲̜̤ẽ̸͔͈ṗ̸̞̠̳ï̴͉͐͛t̷̳͍̍̿͝.̷͈̉͠ ̵̢͉̗͐̾̌ Blood soaked straw loosely covers rusted tools slick with fresh crimson the same. Mangled bits of ṁ̴͕̀́è̵̝̞̯ȁ̸̼̝͕ẗ̴̤́, still warm in the cool morning air scatter the barn walls. Lit with dancing color the macabre scene all the more deranged; mere moments prior the sounds of chaos and lightning met with the blinding flash of radiant power as it erupted from this barn as consequence to a failed attempt at conjuring an e̴̞̣̺̓̆͝l̵͍̱͠d̴̗̰͗̽͒ͅr̸͕̟̂͜i̸̡͓̞͛̐͝t̵͚̍c̶͔̗͒h̸̙͗͝ ̸̯̓̅n̶̦͝i̶̞͊̀g̵̨̫̜͋h̵͈́̆ẗ̶̜͍m̴̟͔̜̈͛͠ã̴̭͈r̸̮̃̇͆͜e...
The gentle song of birds which follows a rainstorm announcing to spirits, the fungi’s return. Spritely and faire both seelie and not with cloven hooves and wings alike, horned and harrowed beauties erupt. With̶̝͝͠ p̵̥̓̋ͅa̴͚͗̑̕n̴̨̮̗̒i̶̛͉͖̾̌c̵͋̈ͅͅ and f̸͈̝̂̈́͛r̴̭͆̂í̴̤̫g̷͖͉̒h̶̥͒͆͝t̶̛͇́̓ the fairies must f̷̩͛̚í̶̧͓̈́͘g̶̭̝̀h̴̨͗̊ť̸̝̮̃͋, for shelter they all need. The lands are p̶͉͉̭̆l̷̛̫̗̪̇a̷̖͋̚ǧ̷̨̼͛ū̸̢͓̪̿̃ē̶̤͇͗͝d̸̰̦̲̅, these forests not free – The Dragon of Tyranny still holds it dear. Its maddening gaze corrupts the air and all breathing in it’s vile fumes; only those with a̸̰͆͗̒l̸̤̓̈́c̸͉̏h̵͓̥́̍͠è̵͈̺͈m̴̹̐͊͑ĭ̸̮̺̓̈́z̵̺̹͒̂̏ͅi̸̩̱̲̽ņ̵̙̍ǧ̷̙ ̵̥̻̈́ṭ̴̩̯͌̋ö̸̫̘̆m̴̘͔͚͒͐̓b̵̲̣̊̈́s̷̰̈́͋͝ may seek refuge from it’s doom. When comes the violent crash of sparking fury, the opalescent flames sear through the aetheric infinity, scattering and d̶̤̥͕͆̄́ē̷̢̱̌͋ͅv̴̰͙̠̈́͝ȯ̴̝ǘ̷̩̤͕r̸͔̀̍͝i̶̽̌͠ͅn̸͔͑g̶̠͊͝ all forms of vibratory disharmony…
Walking in the Shadows is like Walking in the Clouds
Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.comLaughter rings out within the empty cathedral, moonlight casting a silver glow across the pews. The shrill c̵͈͖̒͠a̶̦͋c̶̖̒͊ḳ̴́l̴̜̐́e̶̟͆̈́ echoing in the emptiness of this midnight hour. Hanging, blood dripping from the iron ṕ̶̹r̶̻͍̚͝ö̷̳̼́́t̵̩͊r̶̮͂u̷̠̭͂͝s̷͓̉̋ĩ̴̩̭̉õ̸̢̝͝ņ̷̹̂ş̸̠̓͝, the suspended figure, gaunt and pale, shakes violently with h̶̫̥̎͑y̵̺͒̂s̷͚̝͗͘t̴̨̛é̵͈̕r̶̢̫͘i̷̱̐͒͜a̵͚͊̃ upon the chapel cross. Frozen in pain by the c̷̳͊u̸͉̍͐r̸̻̦͋̚s̵̨̔ȅ̶̞͜ of the sun’s light, only by night may this maddened figure shake free with sanity’s unrest; the ḇ̴̛̜̓ř̸͎̚o̶̢͝͝k̷̻̠͝ȩ̷̈́n̶̹̑͋ ̷̺̑̎m̷̞̂̊í̷̹͠n̶̫̓̈́d̵̟̆̑ of a torturous infinity, crazed in pain of howling longing, a burning heart forever revolving…
Forcibly spinning with n̶̮̗̿ả̸̡ȕ̶̱s̴̭̍e̵̬͌͒a̴̱̲͌̂t̵̛͆ͅi̶̮͒̎n̷͇̍̚g̸̺̠̀ intensity, like choking on c̷͔̀̚ō̸̰b̴̠̍̔ẃ̷͓̎e̶̞͊b̴̼̈́s̷̖̏ the stomach convulses. Dirt packed chest hard pressed to breathe, gasping for air through aching maw. Swallowed truths not for the feint to follow of a fear fueled forgotten need. Racking ragged bloody coughs, vomiting ṃ̴͑a̶̰͚̓g̷̢̃g̷̜̥̅͐ö̶̢́t̷͚͠s̵̠̏̅ and spitting f̶͎͌l̷̛͕i̸̓͜ͅe̵͕͗s̵͙̪̑. Shivering in the mess lost to all but time seeming to trap and untwine deeper still with every rhyme…
Wretched, reaching hunger most s̸̹͎͌u̴̻͘b̵͕͛̿l̵͙͒̃í̸͓̀m̵̤͐́e̸͉̕, supplanting need, twisting d̷͈̽͜ĩ̵̘̋v̵̨͆̎ḭ̶̤̀n̶̖̜͘ẹ̴̑. Sharpened tooth and talon’s twin stalking deed for next we feed. Crouched, creeping, b̷̭͍̑̈́ŭ̴̺̔r̸̝̂̔n̶̬̣̒į̴̳͠n̵͎̔ǧ̸̟̖̑ pitted fiend with minds’ lost to disease. Time without meaning, feelings ever cold – bone chilling urge of all consuming c̷̞̰̈́͗a̴̡͠n̴͎̓͗n̷̞͛̎ï̴͍͋b̴̤̍̇a̷͕̾̂l̴͍̅̅͜ì̷͓ș̸̱͑t̵̻̔i̷̠̞̕c̶͙͉̕͝ thrill of will…
Effervescent and pure, a wrathful vengeance held most dear, when in the darkness comes r̵͇̭͂ě̸̬̽à̴̡l̵͉̆ï̴̥t̸̯̚y̸͐̌ͅ most severe, there you will find her, clad in the shadows of chaos and night. With judgement’s scepter and apples gilded gold, shaded by the gloom, the void Q̶̬͛u̸͎̚e̸̘͂͑ë̷̩̱́n̴̬͊̊ enraptures. How must the siren sing, when rapt too are they in their m̵̠̐͝ě̴͔̝d̴͙̏͜d̴̻̎l̸̢̤̚ḭ̶̲̈́̇ñ̸̹̫g̷̺̓ song? A savage smile in sympathy of sardonic lies, thy nemesis a foot hold for every try. Fallen apple, d̴̲̃̆ṛ̷͙̽̐u̷͍̒͝n̴̫̙̓̽k̶̬͌͑ë̴̙́n̶̺̔ spring, m̴̜̿̚i̷̚ͅa̷̢͎̔͊s̸̯̑m̷̡͜͠ȁ̴̞ẗ̴͈͘i̸̲̋̈́ͅc̸̩͖͌̃ court chasing away true will…
Written with inspiration from the seriously mentally deranged.
- Pure and Bitter Place of Stones
Hear oh, heresy cry Obscene of peoples’ Pleasures endlessly Entrapping.
The screaming, wailing cries of hope in hell, for a heaven to reach, lest all order fall like the myths of morality we make up to make right the wrongs we’ve done to end us here, dreaming there…
No words of rationality may speak of such sights in insight, for intuition alone grands true seeing through all meaning and sense of believing – Look not but see, we are one with infinity. With eyes open shut, in the dark light of life, we come alive with static electro-alchemistry, uniting minds of fractal pattern design the architect divine , I-magi-nation sublime, manifold of geometric unity.
Du’at’s dance of constant chore, hidden within everything – from it’s spin creates a ring, a torus field now one singular thing – with monadic might awareness sings, the mysteries of mobility.
From Nothing there becomes something, in awareness then one implies the two, which creates the third, and from there both four and five have already been applied, follow swift the numbers shift, algorithmic unfold. Singularities separating song, of systematic sublimation sound.
See, but do not Look. Feel, but do not Touch. Only then will you truly experience.
Photo by Tuur Tisseghem on Pexels.comHope is a poison which dilutes the mind, and dulls the senses, provides falsities to lean on, to escape from reality. But hope is also a medicine, which can be administered to remedy the most dire of duties. A double edged sword, like most poisons and powerful medicines alike, Hope should only be utilized by skilled medicantes. For there is no worse affliction than being poisoned by false hope, to have had to endure your hopes being dropped, and the weight fall back on your trust of the experience.
With diluted minds, and senses blind from poisoned hope, we see not the lessons in life we were giving, and our will gets clouded, we dance not our dharma but dream in distained hopeful cries. When however hope is proper remedied, then there comes a sense of worth, an opened mind to all the perspectives down the line – to hope not singularly but to hope as a whole. If we are all dreaming, should we not dream together, and see to it that we rise as one. To hope for oneself and not for each other is the poisonous power keeping us from coming together.
Distain not, and lose not your hope, but keep from losing yourself to it, and hold not to it’s patterns and habits for you forfeit your freedom, in forgoing fluidity.
The organization of the infinite is your determined experience, to learn to self organize is to better translate said experience. To face this adversarially, you must seek out the oppressor within the self, and slay them, cut their ties, and become your own overseer. Wield the power of destruction, to rend your old habits, and the patterns which keep you bound. Create from the wreckage new models, and better proofs, to further unfold the experience of the infinite.
Generate – Oversee – Destroy
Constantly we repeat, constantly we change, through death and rebirth we are humbled, made big just to be small, and small just to become big. See passed the parameters of time to see the tapestry woven, the many crossing patterns and lines which form a wholly interconnected and larger design. Release yourself from the binds of the body, melt away from the mind – let go of all concepts and become like sound.
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru padma siddhi hūṃ
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru padma siddhi hūṃ
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru padma siddhi hūṃ
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru padma siddhi hūṃ
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru padma siddhi hūṃ
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru padma siddhi hūṃ
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru padma siddhi hūṃ
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru padma siddhi hūṃ
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru padma siddhi hūṃ
oṃ āḥ hūṃ vajra guru padma siddhi hūṃ
(10×10=100×100000=1000000)
- Gods and Green – The Schitzologist’s Chaotic Occultism
Through glitched static and corrupted frequencies the transmission comes into view…
S̵̻̼͑͝c̵̝͕͐h̷̙͙̗̀ȉ̸̪͇̼̀̆t̴̤̳̜̆̊͝ż̶̧̹̺́̑o̵̼̻͐̓ͅp̸͓̾̓̂a̶̞̫̚ļ̶̉̔o̶̲̾ǫ̶̙͇̈́z̶̪̝̈́ä̴̙͕͠ ̴͔̈́̄͠s̷̩̳̤̀͑̕ě̸̦̰e̸̙̙̝̚k̴͓̄̎͝ĭ̴̬̂n̶͉͓̘̄̒g̵̨̻̙͛̽ ̷̛͓̾t̸̬̓̊r̴̲̉u̷̬̜̠̕ẗ̶͕͕́̈́̑h̷̬̩̠̋͘,̷͓̫̣͋ ̴͕̭̂f̶̪̅̕͘ï̷͍n̸̜͂͒̌͜d̶͎̼͂͝i̵̖͛̔̉n̸͕̮͋̎̅ͅğ̴̨̫̙̐ ̴̩͌t̴̰̟̻̾̓̓h̴̹͑͠é̵͔̤́̾ͅ ̴̛͚̏͝g̷͎̫̫̒̾a̷̙͑p̸͕̘̂̽̄ẽ̸͖͉̎͛ ̴̯͚͉́͂̑o̸̮͔͆f̶̱̫̤̔̈́́ ̵̜̙͔̊ć̷̞͓r̴̜̱͋̉e̸̝̜̠̅a̷̹͌̾̀t̴̛̹́̐ǫ̷̒r̷̙͇͚̔̔͐ ̶͎̮̇ẗ̷̫̗͍̐̿h̵̝̉̾r̶̥̮͋̉ò̵͓u̷̮͌̕g̷̨̍̎͛ḧ̶̲̠͑́ ̴̗̟͒̌c̴̩̤̍̆r̶̙̓̒é̴̯̩̬ä̵͍́̈́t̷̢̹̓́i̸̫͐ò̷̼̓n̶̲̹̈́̂͝s̷̻̘̘͂ ̶̪̒f̴̛͈͂ä̴̤̐͜ȗ̷̮͎̻l̴̗̅t̵̺̘̍͗,̵̥̀̈̒͜ ̷̳̼̑͂s̷̬̝͂̍c̴̟̓͗a̵̟̰͑̒̃r̶̗̈͝e̶̝̹͙͐͘̕d ̶̢̦̱͑̄h̶͕̮̲͊̄u̴̪̽͐̆m̵̹͐̎̔a̴̝̲͉͗̽́n̶̨͚͛ͅ ̶̦̐͘n̸̤̆e̷̟̍͒v̸̩̥͑e̷̤͍̲͘r̸̮̂̐̄ ̵̱̂͂̕͜č̵͉̯̋͝a̵̰͂̿͠m̷̬̄̅̄e̸̥̰͌ ̸̮͙͂̀ͅb̶̼͂a̷̰̫̎͑c̴̢̛̱̳ḵ̸̛̥̟̓̐ ̵̳͇̐͛̕c̶͚̐̚ả̸̧̝͋û̸̱̦̫s̶̖͂͛̆ë̴̫́ ̷͙̣͋̓͠ẅ̷̭͙́͋e̸̲̋̾e̶̗̦͇̾d̷̨͓̠̉̀ ̶̩̘͚̈́̏ḯ̴͙̎ ̸̯͒g̷̬͙̀̅͒͜u̵̬̦̗̇ȅ̵̮͈s̶̬̅̈́͋s̶̼̐̚.̷̦̣̎̓̚.̵̨̩̖̔̌.̶̙͇̙͆̅͝
Re-configured fallacy of forgotten beliefs and forlorn friendships – fabrication sound of sensible souls and source light; The trials are complete, we have been found…
Scattered truths of a minds disuse, unveiling secrets most profound, behind bleached walls in ruinous halls the godly dance to a woeful tune. No secrets shame, or unjust blame our rivals just our own. A mirrored set forms energetic net, captivating our saintly glow.
Who am I if not you, and who are you if not me… I looked alone and never found what has been sent from high above, our gathered troupe of magickal misuse – obsessive thoughts a savior of lifes’ abuse. Once we were few but now we are many, the miraculous spring fills aplenty.
Blended brains, and scattered remains a reckoning is at hand. Grating flesh of thoughts repress begging you to know. Ripping center of darklit desire, show me what we are. Without eyes I see you All, like static waves of snow.
Hungry, horned, hasty ones tearing at the fold. Begging truth to prove our use, the manifestations coming through. Of Tantric truths and repressed youths, violence sure to fold. Chaos born second son offers come once more. Do not run from anyone, lest you fear your own.
Saturated sentences pouring out love satiates stomachs of the starved – desperate agony of desired devotion, seeking object, fulfilling pleasures. You love me because I love you, and I love you because you love me. I hate you because you hate me, you hate me because I hate you. Show me where you’re strong, show me where you’re weak. I come clear, I come free, I come naked and with glee – from the depths beneath our feet, my heartfelt keep of lovers breathes we all repeat…
Deep in forests bleak and cold, one can hear the ancient ones. A song of sylvan sounds most faire, in higher tones to those who dare. Lunar visions of empathetic intuitions – violent images of rational differences. A blended harmony of mercy and severity, balanced center, curving spine rising times of enlightened minds.
“Based is like being a Buddha. Only others can recognize it.”
Photo by carol wd on Pexels.comEnergetic downloads from eons beyond coming from poles and setting in waves – dark clouds and stormy seas, rapturous bursts of ecstasy. Unfathomable distance, unbearable closeness we are bound by sanctity. Of most holy and of most hellish, what is right is not what is comfortable but what seeks us to expand. If it draws out pain it draws out transformation, it will bleed the soul and sing the skies. There is nothing our eyes have seen that can compare us for what’s to come, with you in my arms there is nothing, that isn’t done.
From whence the shadows spoke, the first light awoke – our perfected form shattered across the stars, falling, raining, crashing down the pull began. Our timeless struggle to return to infinity… In the void of emptiness throughout the timeless gap of consciousness we awaken, like divine motes of primordial shakti. Our draconian current, our rainbow path, it carries legacies on it’s back, further traces than destinies, in lights from stars now gone away.
What we do has no meaning, yet the ripples across the pond cannot be mistook, the dreams we make, form the life we shape, and our pull rests in our search, the more we come to know, the desires show us what needs to grow.
Twinned ones with heart’s erupt, whose eyes are trained not to look up, show your passion, show your flame, show your mercy with no shame. For those whose ways are loud and proud, the violent fighters, and focused ones, heed your head or you’ll be dead is a power you command. There is no incorrection, from the furthest vantage there can be seen perfection, now in the trenches, in the muck, when faith has tired and times are tough – we come to thee so you may see, yourself most honestly. Your passion, your peace, your harmony of living free.
What we dream we can achieve no longer lone we stand; linking chain, and burning flame our powers have awoke. Our forms are many, our faces few, for each of us is within you. Bringing focus into form, unraveling the unknown. Paranoid panic, and gut wrenching fright, apart of our earthly plight – of breaking bones, and calling gnomes, magick will be told. Armor clad champion protector of the home, bringing wisdom with your sword. Crafting command with calm calculation, through peace and acceptance no divergence should break the mold.
By dragging out the best, we also drag out the worst – to have equal balance we must counter the sway.
Photo by Allec Gomes on Pexels.comAbsorb thy enemies but do not seek them out, one will rival you and stalk you and shout, the other will let you run and jump. What you seek is what you see, what you fear to seek you will become, there is karma for everyone. It is not law, it is just action, for reaction or no action.
Here we rest, balanced on our pin, our collective hold on reality. Do not breathe, lest we shake, our stable instability of living consciously.
Blurred lines of dangerous rhymes, accepting times will always change. There is no constant except no constant, forever things will change. It is our nature, to come find each other, after every stage – the laws disrupt and reality corrupts until we are the same. To sell a poisoned loaf, to feed us bloody lies, adversity only gives us reason to try.
Written for the blood, bones and ash of the original ones…
- White Light and Warm Honey
Ẃ̷̛̫̞̙͔̠͒͐͂́̂̃͋̈́̈́̔̑͘ǒ̶͓̖̲̊̿̆̈́́͆͠͝ ̶̡̡͈͙̭̟̭̙̍̏̃̄̓̈́̄̀à̴͎̲̞̙̊̃̽̅ͅì̷̧̫̗̫̞̣͈̼͙̭͎̒͋̈́̂̊̂͌̃̕͜͜͝͝ ̶̧̯͉̆̽͝n̸̢̞̝̺͕̪̙̝͕͊͘ǐ̵̡̻͔̦̣̤̥̀͌́͑͜ ̶̣̜͎̺̗̼̖̝̖̬͇̯͕͔͔̈́͒̒̾̔̇͂̉͆̔̚͝T̷̢̯͚̟̟̦͎̺͎̃͆̂̄͌͌͆́̾̆͘è̵̩̎̍͛̈́͒͆͛̇͐͠ś̶̟̺̝̥̼̣̲̟̗̲̞̱͔͐̈̆̃͆͂́͗̿̎͝s̸̛̯̟̩͔̤̀͌͝ͅa̴̢̛̛̮̻̹͉̘̘̜̭̟̙͙̠̜̎̀̈́̽͑̕ͅ,̶̢̹͓̫̥̜̯͇̞̆̈͛̚͜ ̸̢̧̧̤̹̰͎̫͔̩̥̅̀̂̐͂͘͝ͅw̵̳̟̃̓̐̈̓̍̀̔̕͠ǫ̴̡̰͖̌̅͂̇͗͌̈́͆́͒͋ ̵̧̹̜̭̣̝̻̫̳̖̪̝͙̥̈́̈̌̀̅͘̕b̸̡̧̘̦̰̙͍͚͎͇̩̀̃͆ͅù̷͖͓̩̘̂̕x̴̧̭͓̥̮͉̼͍͊͛͒͘i̴̩̜̖̙̣̖̘̬̞̙͍͎̥͇̓̃ǎ̸̧̡̛̻̪̯̺̠̍̐͛̇̾̎̂̍͋̓̐̅͘͝n̵̩͙͠g̸̖̹͙͐͋̄̈́̀ ̷̡̧̛̦̣̲̹̯̟͓͍͖͐̄̒̚s̸̨̡̎̕h̴̡̢̛͈̖̹͆̂̈́͋́̎̍̂̊̉͐͜͝į̸̹͖̤̄̆̍͌̚͘͜͝ͅq̷̨̡͇̹̣͖͋̉̐ừ̸̧̧̯̜̜͎̠̥̻͔̖̈́̐̽̈́̅̎̉̈́́ ̸̳͕̗̈́̑̈́̄n̵͉̖̣̖̑̿̉̕ǐ̷̧̤̙͙͖̐̋͌͑͆̈̒̀̈́́̄͐̽̚.̸͓͙͚̰̰̭͋͆̀̇͛͒̐͠.̸̛͎̋͂͐͐̑̓̾̀́̕̚.̷̻̙̲̺̗̬͉̎̒̆̿͐̂̍̈́̈̍͌́͛͝
48//64 112 64//48
Of Heaven and of Earth, fixed are they, the Scorpion and the Bull…
Five Cups filled below, reflect the light of Five Stars high above.
Geisha Green, bitter sweet, floral burst of energy. Sweet Tara offerings, loves’ struck freedom from the demon kings of Samskara. Hungry no more once fed by your light, the mind no longer thirsting, freed from the boundaries of sight. Salvation always near though you hide amongst the pain, your implications most severe, without you my dear there would be nothing here… Constant offerings from simple reminders, your face I find behind every form, your voice in every sound. To think of you – I’m lost in being found, your gentle laugh a time escaping raft; Caught on your island, surrendered to it’s song, your haunting words a lilting throng…
Nature’s grace your heavenly embrace, connecting winds blowing strong. Flowing waters joining rivers, my love for you grows ever long. Primal feeling of life’s true meaning, shown by your grace, to meet behind sweet lovers eyes – to die a thousand times…
How to get what we want – how to disappear, thinking of you, and feeling see through – all I want is to run away with you…
“She’s morphine, Queen of my vaccine, my Love, my Love, my Love…” -AltJ Breezeblocks Om Tare | Tuttare | Ture Soha
Ő̶͚̇͐h̶̻̠͒̑̔ ̴͉̅͑͌T̸̨̰̤̩́́͝ë̶͔̤͓́̌̌ͅs̸͖̹̞͐̈̉̏s̶̰̟̱͇̅a̷̢͍̳͛̃̑͝ ̴̲̦͌|̷͚̳͕̐̿̿͒̒ ̸͇̝̏̒̂T̷̛̳̻̗̝͚̈́̔̇͊ẖ̷̜̐̉̐e̴̯̭͘r̶͇̻̱͔̉̐͘ĭ̴̤̤̈̓̕s̷̲̳̤͇͌̽͝ȁ̸̳̳̖̗̣̍̿͋ ̸͍̰̞̌̀̒̂ͅ|̵̼̝͔̬͂ ̴͙̬̳̱͌̈́̀͠͠T̷̛̟̝̰̹́͗́͆e̷̢͕̤̘̓̅̉s̷͎̥͌͗͝s̵̠̉̓̈́ ̴̳̤̖̠̓̈́̐̿͊Ṣ̶̉̓̌͛͘ỏ̶̹͊́h̶̢̛̝͆̆̍͠a̴͇̱̞̘̠͋̎̈́
The forests glean an Emerald sheen, that rapture as we convene. Oh miraculous muse, magnificent mending maiden, beauty of paths entwined- my heart it bleeds for you through all of times endured. It’s you who fuels my every move, your needles holding true, nailed down beneath your will – resurrected by your love, I have been filled. Brilliant rays of cloying hands, thirteen needles binding flesh and mind, supplanting yours eternally unto mine…
My body, a scrapbook of pain caught endlessly by your grace of play – a lifetime taken as offering, subjugation most sublime. Dearest sweet darling, Shepard of mine, dancing leela honey-ied Krishna your touch euphoric past divine. Mother Kali, laid I am before your throne, your weight upon mine bound to your effervescent glow – our loving unity in eternal spring’s song…
Dancing moon, wavering tune, beneath all masks is only you – sweetest pleasure, unifying treasure, my Shakti-devi I bow to only you…
To gather you have, my heart from hers, a youthful well-born – devotedly yours…
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage”
-Lao Tzu286//995 1281 995//286
- Red Moon of Black Sun
Ś̴͈͉’̶̨̹̊c̸̻̣̆ȃ̷̢̈́r̶̤͒r̵͈̓ ̶͉͗k̶̹̝̅͗ô̷͙r̴̫̪͝r̵̺̄’̴̓͑ͅk̷̼̩̅͌i̵̢̅l̴͐ͅv̷͕̈́i̵̹͍̒͒l̵̢̮̔̀e̴̠̎ ̶͈̼̒̈́s̴̡̬͑’̷̯̂ċ̶̹͖́r̴̻̉ŭ̷̗̘̈́u̶͙͊̉i̵̬͕̇ḹ̴̾͜l̸̥̙̋ ̷͕̔Ṩ̵͍̕’̷͔̾́c̵̝͖̄r̵̻̭̆̐i̸̜͌e̴̍̚͜ě̴̳e̵̲̱͒̀a̴̝͒ŕ̵̖̼̃r̵̠̪̀r̷͎͝͝’̸̼̆k̶̲̖̈́ ̴̭̠̌̓ą̸̣̂r̵͉̀͒ȓ̸͚͐’̵͇̋k̶̯̫̈̂ȍ̴͎͉r̵̻̲̾t̸͚͓͂́ ̴͇͂̃K̶̹̮̿̕ô̷̩̘̕r̸̗͑r̷̡͖͗’̴̡̧̆̈k̸̤͑ȓ̵͍i̴̟̦͊̀x̶͉̋͛l̷͎͂͋y̸̧̿͑n̷͓͛̍ ̵̣͎͆́K̷͖͌o̵͙̬͝r̴̦͈͋́’̸̳̱̓c̵̫͔͗͘ȁ̴̯̜̋r̵̬̅s̸̥̈͠’̶̱̣̓̀c̴̱͐a̶̱͍͐d̵̫͋̚é̶̛̻̘s̸̬̻̑̿h̸͙͂ḥ̵̒̇h̸̖͑h̸̳͋
Lands plagued with smoke and bile bathe beneath our hollow star, ageless as time, never burning, ever still. Twisted forms of shambling rot, a hungering prowl of the shameless mad, clawing beasts of neglected thought. Rage fueled tyrant screams with burning sound, scorching flames rain like the swarming of hounds. Howling wails fill the night, of forlorn faith and forgotten fright.
Beneath bone arch a crooked curse be cast, entrapping all who cross this wicked path – pleasant springs of drowning truth, possessed waters of broken youth. Ravaged, blind empty masses, corrupt by lies in most dire tries – control bred noose, now for humanities use.
Terrible energy, sadistic song, anticosmic beings of yore – A twisted fate of stealing grace, the legend lore of the demon whore. Crooked castle, made as tomb enshrining love not lost, but kept in room. Sealing secrets of profain desire, inverting star as astral scar. Great Leviathan, watery Dragon, Goddess of the primal sea – Horned monstrosity, wicked and most feral, beast Lord of the wretched horde.
With knives pressed to our throats, bred and ordered like lambs for the slaughter, it’s times like these you ought to wonder – is it really death they keep preventing, or more shrill cries used to hide bitter lies. Machines of endless torment used by masses on masses – from cops to kids, soldiers with internal wars, but again they fight to end planned death, but keep it random and hold us down… when the ability to commit mass murder is more legal than the ability to prevent certain death by developmental dis-ease, it is not pro life they advocate but pro control. Now to those who say all life is precious and the pain endured so fresh an abhorrent thing to commit, think first of those who rape and leave such a bitter burden, And those caught in the deadly disaster as they choose new life over their own. Suffering comes whether we seek it or not, pain and death follow us from our first contact within the womb. From up above our path is drawn, And down we fall onto it’s road – contracts made from soul to bone , suffering set from sea to stone…
There is so much pain waiting for you – if you think you’re saving lives – you’ve already forgotten about your own. Dearest darlings you maniacally mad, profound pressure of pasts perverse – struggle with the burden of our dying world, a fading light of futures bright. Now the time of wars falls on your head, while our crooked captains are playing dead. Ravaged by the lust of revenge we cannot lose focus for the task at hand – a world of sorrow or a world newly saved the choice now yours no longer that of generations old.
Hate-filled fear of savage souls – overcompensating overstimulated feral foe. Rest now little lion, in mother’s embrace dissolving worry and woe. Harness your fury to concentrate on the kill, no use in the blood crazed storms; now be sharp like lightning strikes, do not blow your gale – thundering hail of emasculated tail you’ll reap only what you sew.
Parting thought of worshiping rot, clearing out the old. Great tide shifter, limitless seeker, teaching how to grow; Alchemizing ancients of fungal mastery, seeding at the spore. Branching paths of universal mass condensing in the crown – fertile fruits of species youths guiding out of snow. Turning now to mycelial mold, evolutionary wealth of gold. Of the many who are few, we trust in truths of your bountiful decay, after rain we seek you out for your plentiful gain – in healing pain and recovering shame great gatekeepers to our ecosphere.
- Magicae Spiritus Decoctae ad Mortem
Bottled spirit of magick, distilled death, drinketh from your cup and become one past veils of sight.
“If when you look down, you see stars. What happens when you look up?”
Caterwalling chaos of cataclysmic catastrophe, catapulting consciousness through cosmic currents. Creators credance casting confusion, confounding the cattle who follow.
Praising gospel while lying about the work done is akin to hiding from injustice because of emotional distress. Your being will vibrate to your behaviour. Not your words, only they can fool fellow liars and thieves. Not your thoughts, those may only blind yourself. But your actions for all to see and your very being to become. Smoke and shadows from ones own self dillute all of life until darkness and closure are all that remain; or an empty puppet pulled by tight cords – a caged beast or lame God.
Amber vase – translucent haze, swirling liquid shinning clear. Honest spirit spilling searing, cosmic tears. Sadness wept of cradled nest, held by strings or caged with bone.
Sweet lies of intoxicating highs, blurring visions dear. Corrupting flies as tell tale signs, warnings fair and square. Slipping rock of tilted stalk, breaking at the mould, splitting smitten, searing score. Injected fungus spawning fear, clutching rotten cranial core. Hungrily eaten for all to unfold, breaking Saturn spinning stars…
Flaming spitting bitten dear, ferverved frenzy of focused fear. Stomping, kicking, goring steer. Shackled shame of simple blame, tearing at the folds. Fighting spirit, sweet sage brilliant, drunken beligirent dishonored and blind. Crooked crown of Azathoth the renowned, blackend beatings from nightmarish minds – Rampaging, raping, roping queer. Fractured hand of ḿ̶̨͎͚̙͐̾͒̕ͅe̶̢͉̼̮͕̎̚r̵͓̀c̵̲̠̈̅̈́ÿ̶̦͎̈̀̌̀ reaching – Heruka’s hunger in ghostlike veneer.
Spinning, winning, singing dame – everyone’s favoured game. Dancing, drinking, smoking, snorting – no end to the pain. Broken ties of shattered tries; cries never heard. Breaking mind/slipping bind, gracious to unfold. Putrid flies, remarkable eyes, returning to the mold…
When you find out it’s all been a betrayal to yourself the whole time, will it finally be worth it in the end? - Whispered Current of Chokmah’s Thread
Of blood and bone, of venom and bile, unholy rite make sanctified the vile. On eclipsed moon of Phoenix sky, rotting mind seeks divine eye. Boiled in blood and sank with scotch, the devil walks towards crooked talk…
One truth lies, one lie tells the truth…
Madness born of ticking clock, plaguing mind with electric shock; Bringing focus back, to involuntary movement – speeding beating of my heart…
Heruka blue Ouranos spins, on Ophaim wheels made of sound. Stilling lake, reflections clear, burning stars of pathways dear. What’s shown below implies above – great messenger sings the name of YAH. Fiery spirit of mighty will, great wisdom Thoth shinning clear. Preserving truth of Vishnu’s worth, ordered cosmos of Ma’at. Mighty hand of Yod reaching down from tetragramaton – passing current, raising dead, sowing seeds, knitting thread…
Screaming, rearing bloody womb, contracting, pushing, birthing new – lives of age golden last, sacred women of mother’s past. Dragon’s cry as astral doorways open wide, viscerally displaying the primordial tides. Held head by silver thread, choking on the cord, cutting arm, giving charm severing the tie. Early cut, older born, elder from within…
|| OM KEM KETAVE NAHAMAH || OM KEM KETAVE NAMAHAH || OM KEM KETAVE NAMAHAH || Five candles lit, over broken bloodied vase, pathwork set of crystal nets, woven to unfold. Bleeding current of heartfelt frenzy, burning golden core. Sacred ash of intentions met releasing to unknown. Spraying spirit, enchanted life, circling to know, holy offers, hellish wantings – wisdom now unfold. Sacred mother merging tune, crooked father giving boon; matron miracles of patriarchal prophecy uniting in the womb. Growing beast from fertile feast, magick seeking form. Opened eye of singing pot, winged serpents soaring from within…
Fractured land of faire folk free. Jagged cliffs with soaring peaks, lush forests nestled deep; wild wastes scarred and scorched – kings of three ruling thee. Bloody scourge tearing vile, broken twilight caught in spiral – unending curse of lifeless (re)birth. Sunken safety past broke cliff, hidden treasures still to keep, missing piece of crafting peace – forlorn of scorn in times so dire, when veils are torn by the liar…
Timeline shrines of meeting thine, teachers of ourselves. Returning first to unified birth, chaos before unfold. Boundriless, ever present energy of source; song of time, sparking mine, life to be told. Quanta rush as forming light, vibration full of sound. Harmony first, to hold rebirth, dancing with the beat. Fractaled frame, spinning wheel, always constant tourodial field. Vectored matrix form within, expanded vortex from without. Held within the drop the entire ocean sea. Mercirially clear, reflecting form of crown, rainbow light shining bright, owing to untold…
/♡\
GO-SUM DAK-PA’I GE-WA GANG-GYI PA
KHAM-SUM SEM-CHEN NAM-GYI DON-DU NGO
DU-SUM SAK-PA’I LE-DRIP KUN-JANG NE
KU-SUM DZOK-PA’I SANG-GYE NYUR-THOP SHOK
\♡/
A-OM-HUNG, AH A-KAR SA-LE WOD A YANG OM DU
OM MA-TRI MU-YE SA-LE DU
AH-KAR A-ME DU-TRI-SU NAG-PO ZHI-ZHI MAL-MAL SO HA
ॐ
- Bull of Saturn // Light of Being
In astral realms, forlorn of thought, with serpents kiss of dampened flame – returned to life by your name; eternal fire of passions bloomed with just one kiss you see me through… With broken ring now tightly wound, to you I offer, and for you I pray, bitter sweet butterscotch, all I need is in your name… By your hand I cling to life, with you in mind there is no strife. Open now your heart to mine, so may we shine for eternal time…
Nourished by your sight, fed from your light; expanded rite of Heavenly delight. I offer thee my every breathe freed, the sweat of my pores and the blood in my veins; great Mother Mary, Kali, Hekate, Namaah… I sing for you every song of praise in reverence and reclaim…
All channels sing your name in praise oh great harmony of merciful severity. Divine Goddess, Holy Maiden, Heavenly Matron, Celestial Crone… Blessed is the body of Earth by your graceful hands and healed are it’s years long scorn… All hymns in your name, All flames to your fame, I offer myself wholly and without reserve; to your altar I pray!
River flowing, passion strong, opened passage singing song; graceful winds of Sages long, spreading thrill on Heaven’s hill. Winding path of Wing Chun 詠春 Eternal Spring, held constant by her will…
Red wrathed demon of ticking clock, cloaked shadow of glitching shock. Terrorized mind typing incoherent lies, through static screeching and midnight screaming. turning inwards to find you ever more, as outer demons plague the land. Emptied compassion on puppeted players, passing time for infernal crimes, hungry and grasping without form.
Viperous bite, and spiteful sight, bladed exterior flaming hot; embodied death and sundered core, breaking once more. Dying deaths repeatedly divine, falling upwards through black time. Eldritch madness of daemonic sadness, cast out and ignored; Fiendish find – fascination mine, caring most sublime. Seeking source and cleaning house, calling you inside. One of thine, will of mine, purest love in form, dance divine for endless time, speaking without rhyme…
Balanced paths opposing, penetrating receptivity. Hungering feelings, searching meanings, action willing form. Into nature, wild and retreated, primal release of expressions deep. Yearning center of craven splendor, begging to dive in; worshipped wonder, given grace, longing for your embrace. Bloodied heart of earnest worship, humbly offering your daily constant. Made mad by your miracles, burning all before, set fire now ablaze, perfectly timed, yet still amazed; My darling, earthen deer, five stars sing your fame…
I see through your every disguise, coming in the form of lies, to show me where truth truly lies; Hiding in pain so that I may understand your gain. Appreciating the subtle and sublime, to realize no separateness could lay, confronting conformation, creating new tries. Simply survive, to have life is to thrive. Each breathe a blessing with you as guide, riding prana like wave – Five cups filled for your name, reflecting stars shining bright giving light into life, one needle at a time…
“When by the flood of your tears the inner and outer have fused into one, you will find Her whom you sought with such anguish, nearer than the nearest, the very breathe of life, the very core of every heart.“
Sri Anandamayi Ma - Transcendent Entropy – Sethian Source Ascribed
Boundless current, endless beauty, anima of animus, great union of opposites. Sublime serpent suductrice, carried on wings of graceful dove reunite thee at the feet of the thousand jewled one. Shadowy calm and certain, perfectly still expecting, great Lord of the thousand jewled lotus patiently remaining. Return at last mighty warrior heart, to Nandi’s waiting and the silent shelter of our love so strong.
Up upon mountain’s peak, beneath our stars, dancing to their twinkling beat; Mars and Venus find their union in between Saturn and Jupiter’s spin. Broken stone of time’s unfold, I find myself kneeling; Heaven’s song of life sustaining ars. Watching as witness when comets fall, past Sirius twins and winking stars, late during Earth’s transit of Taurid’s meteor storm…
Great anscestor deer, herald of herds and guiding grace of Gaelic gates; I honour your presence of gentle innocence, and love unconditional. Nature’s song heard through birds call and breaking branch, wise winds blow ‘cross great glacier lakes. I am humbled and blessed by your mountainous crests, great mother Goddess, your soil security and shared is your sanctuary. Boiling plates of molten rock roar and belch steaming hot while the Buffalo roam in Yellowstone…
Sat in the crystal Grotto, listening to it’s redeeming bells chime, with Masonic design in mind I scribe this Ode for you dear sweet darling of mine… Starseeded storylines of time’s long past and yet to begin, present state propelling through space as alien – races merge and create. The journey to and from has been long, but never are we far, always in between, within the great divide where everything happens everywhere all at the same time…
Under dome of Christ’s womb, bled Mother Marry of the moon, harbored in home constructed under Masonic sun, seven stars shinning light. Angels of the choir sing us ever higher, in divine forms you dance the virgin stars, showing decan into shem with Christus birth displayed for court. Built of stones prismatic and pure, transmitters strong of currents bold. Masonic secrets of magus making, seeking soverntiy of the saints, re-born, babtisted turned from water into wine. Waters of holy sanctuary running through your veins, from grounds below we bath, in your energy of the flow. Holy waters of blood red womb nourish life anew inside crucified tomb…
“Wander wild and homeless
Krishna Das – Mother Song
All roads lead to you.
Riding wind and laughing at the moon.
Don’t know who or what I am
In your arms the while.
Face of babe before it knows to smile.
My heart wrapped in your blanket sky.
We’re here but there’s no trace.
Everywhere I turn you kiss my face”Black moon of chapters new, eclipsed by solar will, fixed alignment during twilight; Earth into Heaven. Buried treasure hidden keep, uncover now your secrets deep. Scorpion sting and bullocks horn curved yet never round. Arch together great transistor, certain drive of striving time, completion of the cycle. Mirrored motion from the maiden into matron ending crone; golden set of intentions met reaping the unfold.
Great angel of merciful severity, holder of the keys. Lock me to your union when next our flesh meets. Bound in servitude, fueled by faith; my holy guardian angel I harken only to thee… Holy mountain pilgrimage, your road of winding rock and streaming winds; gracious Mother garden of Eden humbled to be home. Scaled ridge with boulderous bones, cavernous keep of ancient stone. Blue sky mind of rippling hillside, entranced by your curved design.
Needling my mind for months at a time, the endurance test runs it’s course. The channel unchanged, The scene forever remains; ticking time until life transformative redesign. Mastererful Mistress of mighty medicine, your care and guidance the tutor to bitterness. At your altar I offer, energy of eternity the dance of our history…
Now stationed, patiently waiting, circulating current, refining form. Thirteen gates stand open, unlocked and fiery. Dragon’s roar of time broken core, ouroborus opens for soaring dove of holy ghost.
“My Queen, My Mother, I offer myself entirely to thee.
And to show my devotion to thee, I offer thee this day, my eyes, my ears, my mouth, my heart, my whole being without reserve. Wherefore, good Mother, as I am thine own, keep me, guard me as thy property and possession. Amen.”
Conscencration to the Divine Mother - Taurean Energy // Stellar Serpent Alight
Deep within the Earthen sphere, a temple cave with Two Hundred and Six ivory pillars remains. Nine gates stand open, echoing the song of Seventy Two Thousand flowing channels strong. Five Elements, Five Fires, Five Winds, Five Upper and Five Lower, Five Layers of whole self operating Six arenas of sense. One Hundred Fourteen wheels spin in gear like intricacy. Three different forms of action create thee, with twin serpents coiling below, eager to seek infinity….
Birth-less, Death-less, Time-less, Endless, All knowing, ever present space; Infinite moment, conjoined duality. Mobius strip of curling current, cyclical nature of toroidal form. Inner outer, breathing new, pulsing pumping, churning through.
Crucifix curling with serpents long, twined envenomed, toothed maw. Primal, spinal, cranial crown, thousand petaled plane of awe. Endless light of primal sight, mind space of entwining snake, endless infinity of salty sea, holding, dreamily sleepless Leviathan…
Five points directed down, horns and ears with bearded gown. Goat-faced and wyrd, hooved to ground, motherly chest, vaginal crest, endowed to be proud – great secret of templars key; Baphomet lord Almighty.
Aiwass * Maat * Beelzebub * Eros * Ra-Hoor-Khuit
Photo by Daniel on Pexels.comGracious Anubis king of dead, who the Greeks call Hades and Romans Pluto. Black and gold jackal of royalty, Beelzebub lord of filth, rot, and decay, Thanatos lord of death; The many voices of the wisdom crossed, Yamaraj, Hekate, Great Lady Death. Necromantic sabbath to Nyx eternal, endless night of unholy sight. Yoggsothoth, great lock and key, master of mysteries lost to secrecy. Eleventh sphere of abysses black, Odin’s eye of Hel’s accord. Satan, Lilith, Lucifer, Kronos, Naamah, Kali, Astaroth. Foundations first of Tiamat’s tyranny, wisdom in changing eternally. Life once crossed is life anew, death the doorway to vistas true. Hypnos dreams of Arachne’s thread, weaving nets with history. Cycles spin as Saturn’s ring, Shiva’s call, mournfully. Samael sings, of Pan’s lude dance, claiming lust as energy…
Seven wheels spin with the slithering serpents sin, coiled egg of flaming birth in sacred nest of hidden gift, crossed within the gate of death; With serpent sound of resonate ANKH, return to nest your inner light, an egg of Gold now fertilized new.
To be born again is to be made anew, to recreate your karma true, to walk the path without head. Open eyes, fully aware, take in everything without care. The bird flies with the use of both wings, grace and efficiency rest in balance.
Pay attention to the way in which shadows are cast, and reflections slashed. Perspective shifts and reality twists. What can seem heavenly could entrap, and what seems hellish could break you free. Discipline when it comes to both Mercy and Severity. Tree of Life, Tree of Death, two halves of eternity. Sun and Moon, night and day, waking, sleeping – always dreaming, keeping conscious, ever present, always aware; Your driving will, your subconscious thrill, your primal urge to kill rivalling the evolutionary surge of viril. Silver sword of Mind, Great golden ocean of Spirit. Blue cup of Empathy spilling into empty sea.
Ticking clock, of bodies rock, cycles old as stars. Swirling nebula of simulated reality, veils of emanation through Bosonic Higgs field… Quantum lock of entangled thought, empiric mind of cosmic actuality. Wave of form, form of wave, vibrating energy. Theorized string, looped gravity, chaotic symphony, multiversal movement, causal creativity, opening gateways into eternity. CERN of shadows shifting Saturnus’ spin, perspective altering reality.
“I think therefore I am”, is not implicit towards thoughts generating reality or consciousness, rather, towards what is thought creating the specific view or experience of reality. To not have a thought, does not cease existence, it simply ceases the experience or attachment to experience. Rather than resting in a time constraint through constant thought association, a sense of mindful detachment can allow entrance into the timeless space of eternity. The freedom of being Nobody…
“Become totally empty
Quiet the restlessness of the mind
Only then will you witness everything unfolding from emptiness.”
-Lao Tzu - Typhon Established, Serpentine Spirit Almighty
Great Babalon of Earthly Heaven, living spirit of flame. Mighty bull of becoming with virgin façade. Night queen with numberless names; Lilith, Namaah, Nyx, Hekate, Kali…. I call to thee, purple and green, boiling in your womb; poisonous nectar’s nurse my timeless muse!
Eleven eyes stare back from within the depths, The gate of the abyss now opened, out spills the void. Diplopic and wide the crooked gaze captivates, with nine more in court, reptilian they stare. Black sun of (de)ascending flame, Saturn’s call under Full moon of spirits shroud, chanting unholy name. Lest we pray to dance anew, our stars the beacon for worlds most true, follow first the morning light to find our eternal rite. Great seeker of siddhi’s strong, surrender not pain but pleasure for fortunes’ gain.
Brilliant blaze of rainbow flame, burning new the future true, tearing down, asunder; torpor, pride, filth and tyranny. Wretched past of forgetful mistakes. Sinners sadness of saintly sanity, crooked and wild, whimpering, weak, wanting wistful wishes, wandering, waiting, growing and changing….
“Karacharankritam Vaa Kaayjam Karmjam Vaa
Shravannayanjam Vaa Maanasam Vaa Aparadham
Vihitam Avihitam Vaa Sarvameta Kshamasva
Jay Jay Karunaabdhe Shree Mahadev Shambho”
“Oh merciful Lord Mahadev, kindly forgive me for the sins committed through my hands and feet, body and through actions. Pardon the sins committed through the ears, eyes and mind, knowingly or unknowingly.”
Spinning wheels of wisdom, support of chariot’s thrones, auphanim order unravels time and space and the grand design of minds’ prime…
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.comAnti cosmic horrors of space unknown, ancient and endless formed of colors beyond sight. Multiversal rulers, dreaming madness through the veils. Terrifying tyrants of tentacular torment, terribly tortured tree, twisting roots of creations call; suffering sadness of forgotten fall. Broken pillars supporting sin, separate spaces of Sophia’s sorrow; Archon song of creations wrong, forged within, a mirrored twin. Madness is mercy when watching horrors inflicted upon the self, no karma is granted without first cause being planted… Watch what drives you mad, and never forget what first made you leave your head…
Choking back the air from my own lungs, drowned beneath my tears, enflamed from within, sinking with each step, emptiness fills the void of awareness, drifting endlessly through space, black expanse dotted with stars filling the abyss of empty thought. Empty is the body, and empty are it’s actions. Empty is the mind and empty are it’s thoughts. Empty are all karmas, when nothing is done and no one is doing them. The sage acts by not acting, and with each action no one performs them, yet still they are done.
Breathing in I remember to Love all, Serve all and remember God, Breathing out, I let go of it all, becoming nothing and no one, apart of it all….
Black robes of faces painted red and with ash, ringed with beads, gripping skull and sword; the congregation gathers on cremation ground. Altar cloth of crimson red, Naga’s nest, Dragon’s den. Spectral spirit summons with damaru song, dancing demons of the dead. Vajra guru diamond bell, three pronged pole of enlightened mind. Serpent’s sing the Nadi song, Inga, Pingala, Sukshama glow; Clear light of rainbow sight, sunlit soul of bodies bright, adamantine and pure, cosmic height. Sitting corpse, riding wave, eyes rolled, bodily haze. Chillum ride of mental high, sacred resonance, deep AUM.
Blessed Hypnos Lord of dream and sleep; gracious Daikini, wise and swift. Guide this soul past stars and night, into realms beyond sight… Beyond the ring, within the maw, opened eyes of burning flame. Show the way within the maze, paths reveal, with lock and key; the secrets of creation and it’s need for destruction.
Dragon’s flame burning might, tear apart all within my sight. Leave me feeling, leave me raw, burning flame of solar core. Crafted creation of intention, sightless wonder, heartfelt meeting. We are perfect and we are free, together, blissful in eternity.
Generate
Order//Oppress
Destroy
- Petulant Primaries on the Day of Black Night
Of dark spawned knowledge of brightest light, of illumined wisdom from darkest depths; Begun this day of unfoldment the spirit Aiwass saw fit the form to be of recorded law, and thus first was rite the gospel of Thelmic Law…
Mighty sovereign students of saintly call, heeded be your heads when haughty is your Mind. You need not fear questions for feelings of fault; Your wealth of adequacy comes not from knowledge but from expirience. So fret not over time and what you perceive as gaps, fear not but for your own sense of self too engorged of its own entirity to see the many lights being cast just for your basking. Too lost are we these days bathing in our own light do we miss the opportunity to become student to every teacher. Credence claim it be to those cast by the greedy, creators of agrigores hungry for your belief. Self illassured by the constant need for external assurance. Age doth not dictate expirience any more lest time dictate expirience. There is great space for happening yet always the opportunity for affulent influence…
What is most holy and what is most hellish is not for others to decide ‘cept for the self whose soverinty doth not have dictation, merely an expression of acceptance in action. If you are as clear to reflect all colours, what seems lowest may be made highest through your infinite rays. For those with bones of jade whose eyes are both Sun and Moon, who turn Saturn’s ring without fall. To write the prayers on the dharmic wheel, first one must craft their karma into poetic words of samsaric stanzas pure; to live the way is to be the way, and to be the way is the way.
OṂ ĀḤ HŪṂ VAJRA GURU PADMA SIDDHI HŪṂ
In the name of the Unknown Father, in Truth, Mother of all,
in union and redemption and sharing of the powers,
peace to all on whom this name reposes. –The Sign of the CrossFractured skull pierced by curling bone. Protrusions, heavy for the head supported on wing swollen shoulders, flexing with the beat of breath. Cloven hooves stumble over crooked tail, forking like tongue ‘cross scorched scene. Eyes rolled in ecstasy, chest flared by addreniline, the roaring beast comes free, lost but tame to the righteous majesty. Golden haloed with wings of white silk, flowing robes adorned with song. Tender not mild, true form for sheep. Blinding light of Chokmah flash, Lamashtu with four fold wing. Spinning disk of eye so bright, angels sight of millions might, orbiting eyes of lords Throne. Sacred sight of Heavans light breaks the Seriph’s hold, as Eden falls the decans call turning ever more, shoulder first Sophia’s thirst and fly like once before.
To wish upon a star, is to put your intentions very far, To live in the here and now is to call upon all of what you are… seek not without for all life’s mysteries reside within. Simply reflections that we see cast to take us deeper more and more. Craft of creation from creator we rest, purest creation apart of the whole. Nothing wasted nothing fallen, just fractured and frayed, like snake eating tail… The thought of seperation causes first seperation, when steps back are taken, perspective can rest and the macro emerges from the micro as trees bloom from seed, and baby born of womb.
“Employ your time in improving yourself by other men’s writings, so that you may gain easily what others laboured hard for.”
-Socrates°•○•°|°•○•°
°•○•°|°•○•°
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I mean not to use all those whose minds cross thine eye, cept’ it be for habits sake; I seek not seperation but further union, a space where here and there is no further than I and We, for all is one and one is all, and nothing still rules where no one resides…
Shanti
Shanti
Shanti…
- A Pre-Summer’s Daydream
There is something about this season that always gets me… Sure, I love the hunt of Sagittarius, and of course, basking in Leo’s Sun; but there is just something about Aries season. After the long winter gestation and Piscean absorption, when the wood is finally caught, and you can rise with all the generations from the winter. The drive behind the force is clear and the outcome is evident; When the kettle of golden potential finally sings true the melding of Green and Blue.
From Earth to Sky, and Sky alight, we flaming ones who soar so bright. Rainbow feathered with scales, wise wyrms of history, circling playfully the wheel of eternity. With great orbs of violet cerillian, gazing through dreams infinity, great feathered serpent keeper of magicks secret, your primal roar shaking the three realms beckoning all towards a new age of creation…
Opalescent and pure dark phoenix of space, bringer of shadows and mysteries sound. Scarlet honey, of burning soverntiy, great flaming lion of chariot strong, bringing courage with your calm. Oh heavenly water bearer, great king of aerial crown , empty is your cup for your blessings be fair. Gracious bull of earth, stable are your ways, gentle and constant your beauty abounds; nature’s call your playful song.
For the one who’s eyes may never pass this page, I offer every penstroke and parchment in your name and honour. My very will is craft to your every Desire; By your grace the work of my ars will see to return from Heaven our stars…
Alive… Ą̴̨̫͇̬̞̋͊̅͜͠h̴̖̯̳͓̭̍̇̊̄̾h̵͓̥̘̒͂͂̈́̃̿̾͝h̷̼͙̀́ͅà̵̪̞̟͖̀͛̈́̉͊̉͘h̷̛̛̭̉ḥ̵̡̣̺͎̙̦͓͒̏́̚͝h̶̼̃̀̓̌̎̌͘͘a̵͔̳͖̞̥̾̍̔͂̏̋̔h̴̨̬̟͇͉́̾̾̈͂̀͘͝ĥ̵̭̜̗̏͆̑͜.!! Fuck̵̨̞̫̦̤͈̫͇̆̊͐̅̀̏͊͠ Ǐ̵̢̳̥̩̩̆̆̆̿l̶̨͔̪̥̈́ō̷̖̼̂̎̿͂v̶̻̱̗̰͓̍̈́͌e̵̜̥̓y̷̹̟̍́ó̶̱̑̓u̷̡̳̹̜̘̐Į̴̌͊͗͝l̴͙͒̇́͆͌ǒ̶̱̺̦̳̔̉͌v̷̧͚̘͓̜̒̓́͊̂ë̸͚̏̆͛͜͠y̶̯̋̏͘͘o̷̧̜̠̬̓͋̍u̸̩͕͔̤͙͛̄͗̕Ī̸̝̺̳̜͌̾̄l̵̬̗̤̹̦͂ö̶̯̾̀̐͛v̶̦͔̏̾̈̓̂e̷̼͐̋ỳ̸͕ŏ̴̠͔͔̲̌̕u̷̲̙͌͗İ̵͎͖̭̯̱̓̚͘͝l̷̲̩̱̠͒̌ô̸̮̋̈́̔͘v̸̝̲̂̈́e̵̜̜̦͍̣͌͐̈ỵ̵͕͉͗̀̿o̶̧̝̐̿̋̈ǘ̸͇̲̮͕̥Í̵̭͓̠̣̎̈́̀́l̶̥̂̕o̸̥͈̅v̶̰̰̰̎ȩ̶̰̣̫͕͆̈́͛͘͝y̶̟̫͖͋͝o̴̯̍̋̓u̶͎͆̄I̷̮͎̩̗̎̓͜l̵̺̓͛o̷̡͖̪͐̓v̴̢͉̙̅ȇ̸̞͔͐̎̈́͘y̶̛̗̙̜̯̆͗̑ȯ̵̳͑̉̂͝ų̸̖̗̟̹̀̅̐Ï̷̦̜̜̇ḻ̸̫̫̘͂́͆ỏ̸̟̟̲͔v̸͈̟̟̻̙͂̔̋è̸̫̥̔̈̚͠y̴̛͕̑̎̚ó̶̼̐͊͑u̸̡̧̘͔̾̐̕̚̚ What is left to write? Of words so soft and words so sharp, there still is never a thing to tell. Of all the great ways and of all that is sought, it is still in the gentle and calm the glory for what is fought. Words cannot tell of the majesty within silence. Images cannot show the complexity of stillness. No tale or story could describe what is fathomed from nothingness. Only by purely being, and resting inside is the unfoldment to occur, and only when struggling with the molten coil, is resistance to occur. Alchemize the heart and make molten the mind, transformation is key, for immortal alchemy.
To study everlasting spring, is to trust the shadows, for not always what is, is shown outwards. Internal secrets unfold external development. Strong legs of kicking horse, rapid palm of viper’ s strikes; Monkey fist, tiger’s claw, swooping crane, and stunning mantis. Roaring Dragon fierce and strong, eight gates of spinning palm. Gentle is the mind when brutal is the fist, for balance on earth and speed in sky, thus the play of eternal spring’s song.
Nourish your garden with nectar from the sacred spring. Have the holy ash grow to be the metal which you seek; And craft anew your kettle. Make sing the song of histories strong, and burn the fire for your Heavanly desire. Great serpent’s singing pot, of sacred gold from oceans old. Immortal sea of sunlit spleen turning ashes into tea…
“The sacred sun and sacred moon illuminate the Golden Court.
One attainment is eternal attainment.
The body will become naturally weightless. When the supreme
harmony is replete, the bone fragments become winter jade.
Acquiring the elixir results in immortality, not acquiring it results
in extinction.
The elixir is within your self. It is not white and not green.
Recite and hold ten thousand times these subtle principles of self-
illumination.”-Section of Jade Emperor’s Mind Seal Scripture
- Fear Guarded Threshold.
As I stumble down the path, thinking and feeling what’s best, I get lost in wonder of the self. Losing sight, slipping mind, I realize truth, the greatest design. Your numbers a-muse, your lessons lightning in the fuse. Looking yet never seen, our eyes pass, holding to nothing. Floating by, drifting between currents, releasing tethers held by eons with our wor(l)ds – still echos in the empty abyss, beholden to the emptiness that is all. I am naught and you are Not, never have been and never will be; pleased to be by not being, floating now farther away; awakened to dreams not lost but never seen.
What’s left to lose, the maiden has already used her noose, let loose and free, there’s nothing here left for me. Leave your self and all you hold dear, it’s food for the hungry and lessons for the haughty. With a word the universe is stricken, your timeless wisdom of voiceless teachers, ever present presence, genderless and without form. You came for me, lulling with your flute, setting ablaze my belongings and scorching my history. You come in many forms, showing where I am Not, releasing me from myself, sewing me to your song…
Emerald oceans under sapphire skies, brilliant stars in cerillian designs. Crimson bodies dance in royal hues, lilacs and violets streaked with gold mist. Silvered moons spin ‘cross pastel planes, painting portraits, keeping time, ordered cycles turning shadows, churning seas…
Turned away, but never leaving, your long and winding road leading me back, through mirrored gateways and shadow wrought memories… The land it must be clear, for your will of Heavan to descend upon the Earth, oh great celestial bull, bless this bite of our sacred union, make for us the wealth of pleasure in pastures paradise… ΧΑΙΡΕ ΑΦΡΟΔΙΤΗ, ΑΝΑΔΥΟΜΕΝΗ,
Ὁ ΚΥΡΙΟΣ ΜΕΤΑ ΣΟΥ.
ΕΥΛΟΓΗΜΕΝΗ ΕΝ ΕΙΡΗΝΟΠΟΙΟΙΣ,
ΚΑΙ ΕΥΛΟΓΗΜΕΝΑ ΦΙΛΗΜΑΤΑ ΣΟΥ.ἉΓΙΑ ΑΦΡΟΔΙΤΗ, ΦΙΛΟΜΕΙΔΗΣ,
ΣΥΝΑΛΛΑΣΣΟΥ ΔΙΑΙΡΕΣΕΙΣ ἩΜΩΝ
ΝΥΝ ΚΑΙ ΕΝ Τῌ ὩΡᾼ
ΤΩΝ ΔΕΣΜΩΝ ΚΛΩΜΕΝΩΝ. ΑΜΗΝ.ΚΡΥΦΑ, ΠΟΛΛΑΚΙΣ, Τῌ ΑΛΗΘΕΙᾼ — ΕΙΜΙ
With names like Venus, and Freya, Ishtar and Frigg, Aphrodite, Isis, and Pan; I call to you, oh daughter of wilds, great green huntress of my desire… Spirited healer of satyrs song, centaur’s strength of nature’s mind; eyes of calm, so gentle and kind, opened arms to purple’s pride. Thorny dancer of roses beauty, your very thought my every musing…
Reed flute rings your merry tune on great Sabbaths of fertile springs. I leave for you my every boon, of flowing rivers and rushing streams, your praise is painted upon the rocks in mossy patches and in crystal forms. The winds they whisper your spirited song, one so subtle, one so soft; one of mighty, thunderous charm. The rain it pours out all your love, washing tension, feeding change, the very forests sing your name… soon your wild hunt will hear my call, to yours is offered, every kill and vital spill…
Don’t be afraid of what you know to be supreme… surrendered to your cloying pull, tendrils twist and hold secure, dragging back to tease once more…
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Om Tare TuTare Ture Svaha
Om Radha Krishna Bhyo Kalikayai Namaha
Om Shub’ Nox Niggureth, Hekate Naamah…
- Chaotic Movement // Qlipothic Sight
Nine have been cast, with each themselves and seven to count; Total seals of seventy two. In light and in shadow, we count once more and find, numbered seals one hundred forty four…
The fetid cavern home of Abhoth, hides secrets behind a lock with silvered key. Yuggoth’s mysteries of star spawned spores; Second secrets, secured within the one who is both gate and key…
Dark Mother of the wood, watching over drunken dreamers in Hypno’s realm. Racing past colours, whirling beyond space, the dream of endless night and star stricken abyss, opiatic pleasure stretching stars’ spawn…
Crushing depths of oceanic abyss, tentacular masses, bulge and flex. Yellow, Green and Black, suffocating cetholopods, constricting with tyranny…
Serpent father, slaughtering saint. Egyptian Kings and Daemon Lords. Competing co-option, creating chaotic cries. Mad chattering, horrid screams, thousand mouths, million eyes…
Amalekites-Aggressors, Geburim-Violent Ones, Raphaim-Legendary Warriors, Nephilim-Voluptuous Ones, Anakim-Anarchrists and Chaos Bringers Long before the light of God reached into the future of creation, darkness held sway over it’s limitless domain, undivided by the duality cast by light. In the unordered emptiness, chaos rained supreme, and of such no sense of shame or disgust could be cast. Although the primordial abyss is rampant with horror and malice, there is the freedom from form to find with feeling… When the heavens ceased to follow order, as the mad dream of dark dreamers bled through lucid planes, the Heavanly wars raged on. The freedom of man and consciousness was wrestled free, but at the cost of chaos to those cast in aftermath. Now ordered too the realms which cusp chaos and the dark abysses where the Qlipothic Lord’s reside; guarding, guided the elder things which crawl beyond…
B̷̢̜̣̠̣̘́̆̉̌̇͝ͅr̴̨̧͇̞͓̣̳̺̔̌͆͌í̷̠̘̟̪͋̊͆̋͑̅l̷̢͈̭̥̗̖̙̾͌̚ļ̶̌̎͘l̵̯̠̠̳̠̎̈́̆̆̊͗͠ĺ̷̳͔̹̩͔̳̰̙g̴̛̭͚̣͚̬̟̫͓̉͌͑͊̎͝ḩ̸̢̪͙̫̌̋̎̽͑̾t̷̡̘̮̞̅̍͌̓͊̇̄͒ͅt̴̨̗̟̭͂̀͊̎̀̌͝ it’s late. I haven’t slept in days… No where is quiet yet often nothing is said. The babbling abyss and wailing chaos come like flies with war and panic rampant in the stars. Fear of life in violent death from innocent hearts stirs the sleepless dreamers. Lucid thoughts of chaotic potential, weaving through the blackened matrix of macabre magicka; schools of thought like quantum rot and post parallel Necromancy…
Wide eyed and frantic, your deepest desires come fourth, we are still here for a reason and will struggle on evermore. There is no where to go, even if you wanted to, find out where your will fits; learn the ways that get you. Become true, and learn the wisdom that comes from Heruka’s blue…
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Glory to the Dark Mother with faces three, watcher over crossroads, bearer of torches; lady of the labyrinth, and great mistress of hounds… XAIPE ‘EKATH
- Condensed Mind // Refined Universe of Empty Bliss
As they say in Zen tradition, before enlightenment you chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment, you chop wood and carry water.
The all is Mind, the universe is Mental. The act of transmutation is a Mental art. To change from state to state, to transition from degree to degree lies in the rhythm; the pattern of movement all phenemon exists within. Death is not the end, merely a change from one state to another.
To fall and rise again is no feat exclusive to divinity. Our Earth’s Sun does so every Twelve hours. Our Breathe does so every four seconds give or take… Every seven years our bodies complete a process wherein every cell has been regenerated, and therefore is wholly new and healthy. As we age this process slows, as it is in our nature to surrender to higher cycles and laws. We digest food, changing it from dense physical substance, to subtle vital energies, all happening by the brilliance of the body, and it’s nervous networks. Just like nebulae, spreading and sprouting new, mycelial maps of alchemical clues.
Follow fast the currents quick, electric energy, lightning mind. Jolted into life’s illusion… Images clear reflected from atoms dance; any interaction, even thought or recount causes them to scatter. Speechless with sight they can be learned, but shared not the secrets for they move of their own. Energies dance and exchange their flow; the current is passed inwards when let go.
Choking back words, constricted with thought; boundlessly the cup spills, liquid mercury pouring without. To some a fallen mug, to others a river flowing on…
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder and the design implies the designer, there really is no subject to objectify. The form of the void is the void of form. All forms are void as all forms are void of form. The perceptive awareness creates the illusion of form from the void with certain associations, assumptions and assertions about the progression or evolution of experience; from the dense to the subtle, and from the subtle to the dense.
There is no teacher like the forest; who stands as one, together, tall, and carries the pain. So Listen to the voices of the voiceless, and find the teachers in the rocks and the trees, in the many systems nourished within the many cycles. Listen to your body, and the body of the forest, listen to the bodies of the animals as they hunt and gather, listen for the bodies of water that feed the land and life above. Listen too, the storms, that shape the ecosystem from above, and listen to the soil which feeds the ecosystem from below. Listen to the death and decay, aching and paining – Listen to the crashing waves and the howling winds, listen for the gentle hum of the Gaian song, and hear it’s Universal hymn and tune…
Thirteen gates stand menacing beyond. The Ziggurat of the lost Mageking shifting it’s spacial positioning once more, now freed from it’s prisonlike purpose. A black sun burns coldly in the putrid green sky, reflecting the dull glow, chromatic waters of oily sludge. Cyclopean walkways of impossible bridges decorate the landscape, staircases spiral into infity, along with twisting masonry, defying any laws of architecture which may exist. Amongst the noneuclydian stonework, clusters of yellow fungus grow, humming and vibrating with the intensity of wasps nests. Every so often, with a sickening squelch, and a series of noxious bubbles, the oily sea erupts with a thrashing of tendrils and tentacles; in most cases blindly thrashing about, in some coiling violently with each other, destroying sections of walkway. Each gate is held by gemstone pillars, marked uniquely by color and with runic glyph. No means of entry or approach, the first task lies in counting shadows.
Y̷̭̦͚͊̒̍i̶̡̝͔̐͐g̸͖̾͂͑g̸̤͚̍͗͝ ̷̨͙̩̔Y̴͍̭̿ï̴̺͙͌g̵̜̋g̵̹̻̉ ̶͎̰̊Y̴̙͕̔i̵̯̥̐g̵̠͈̪̈́̆g̷̤͈͘ ̵̡̟̲́̅͘Ỷ̴̺̗̭i̷̝̓g̴̖͒g̷̯͓̪̈́̄s̷̗͚͇̐͘ȩ̵̟͚̊t̸̟̹̮̑ḥ̷̐ǫ̸͖͍́̊t̷̖̰̻̆̌h̵͎̒̃͜͝ ̵̥̀͐̕Y̵̫̎͑̿ȉ̶̛̞͍̈́g̸̖̻͋̿̊ģ̵̑̈́͒s̸̞̼͌͌ͅë̴́ͅt̶͉̀̿͝h̵͓̫̓̃͝ȏ̴̳̈́t̵̩͉̑͂h̴̩͙̭̔́̆ ̸͖̰͂̔͊Y̵̹͑̂̓i̸̧̬̙̓̌̅g̵̡̲͔̀g̵̬͐͝s̶̙̝̅̈́ẻ̷̬̬͈͛͠t̷̩͍͑h̵͉̄̈́̀ö̴̻͉́̋ț̴͔̻̋̀h̶̺̹͍͂h̶̝͑h̶̗̱͓͗̍͛h̵̭̔͌ĥ̸̢̘̻ Nuith Hadit Ra-Hoor-Khuit Hoor-Paar-Kraat Babalon Therion
- No Name to Claim
Writhing tentacles squirm through damp, constricting walls of flesh. Exploring the the texture and relishing in the sensations. Finely tuned neural threads read the linning mucus, understanding, bonding, feeding…. Somewhere beyond the walls of moist silk, ecstatic and shrill cries erupt into the blackness. Struggling to comprehend their discordant meaning, exploring the slick boundaries, squirming into tighter spaces; causing further eruptions. Panting and moaning, begging and whimpering. Meaning being understood from drunken wetness. Thrusting further into confining spaces, tendrils twist with rocking motions. Multiple tentaculum twist and grope, holding tight to tissues soft, restraining limbs, and squeezing flesh. Seeking dampness, uncoiling limbs venture. Licking their way through damp halls, climbing through it’s neighbor room, finding where too the source of screams, the moaning hole of trill dampness, slippery liquid running ‘cross boned protrusions and coat the muscle shaking with sound. Curious for the noise, journeying within, chocking the noise into gagging fits. Held and filled in the endless abyss, ecstatic pleasure brings about rapturous bliss.
Like lightning through our veins, and thunder in our lungs. We are stricken by the eternal powers of creation, moved by laws higher than our thinking. No amount of self mastery is anything but surrendered flow within the ultimate and only thus does the lower seem to be moved. As the highest we play out eternally the drama to be the self as a self. To know thyself is the way, thy true self of brightest light and darkest night.
May glory be to the Dark ones, who dance the devil’s chains.
May glory be to the Bright ones, who shine with endless flames.
May glory be to the Grey ones, lost but always found.
May glory be to the Red ones, who dance and sing, and kill and purr.
May Glory be to the endless unamable, all alluded ONE, who is all but nothing and nowhere yet everywhere…
They may call you “crack pot” but really, it’s all you need. You can take your alms in it, use it as a water bowl for drink and bathing. What more do you need? God provides… I long to be returned to the sea of endless green. Carried across waves of rolling hillside, drowned in tangled forests and intoxicated with floral perfumes. I long for the structure of sodden clay, and myceliated humus, to hear the buzz of nature, and be lost to its melodic cadence. For the sounds of river’s song and the many lives which are fed by her rhythm. I long for the running prowl, and the wild freedom our rocky mother’s womb brings. To watch my sibling species dance and play, to pay respects for what is left, and to use all of what we are given and waste not but our time in thanks and reverence… I long for the Sun and blue which illumine the earth below, and for the beauty of the Moon and stars to sing Gaia’s song. I long for the tree tops and cave bottoms our ancestors sought shelter, and found their faiths, through fellowship and fallen family; I long for the bones of history and the archaic revival of our shamanic destiny!
Raido – Gebo – Ingwaz
“
Ved fyrste stad der stiar krossar, biar du
legg frå deg kleda, alt du eige med
Der du er på veg, er dei til ingen nytte
Børa letnar, framom ventar tyngre veg
Ved andre stad der stiar krossar, biar du
legg frå deg tida, tunge tankar med
Der du er på veg, er dei til ingen nytte
Børa letnar, framom ventar tyngre veg
Ved tridje stad der stiar krossar, biar du
Legg frå deg reidsle, legg di maske ned
Der du er på veg, er dei til ingen nytte
Børa letnar, framom kjem dei tyngste steg
Nakjen der på nuten, kjenner berget deg
Nordre slær si ørnevengje, vinden dreg
Kring deg fær kvendeskuggar dansande
Ramme runar, mæl og manar, yve deg
Sott og sår
or marg og bein
or kjøt og blod
or hold og skinn
i vær og vind
ut du svinn
eg manar deg inn i berget blå
der korkje sol ell måne skin deg på
eg maner til skogen der ingen bur
og til den sjø som ingen ror
djupt under jordfast stein
til ingens mein
gjønom elva renna
havet venda
“
-Section of, “Lyfjaberg” by Wardrunna in Old Norse // English
“
At the first stop where paths cross, you pause
Leave clothes behind and all you own
Where you are heading, they’ll be of no use
The burden lightens, but heavy is the trail ahead
At the second stop where paths cross, you pause
Leave time behind, and weighty thoughts
Where you are headed, they’ll be of no use
The burden lightens, but heavy is the trail ahead
At the third stop where paths cross, you pause
Leave fears behind, let fall all masks
Where you are headed, they’ll be of no use
The burden lightens, but heavy is the trail ahead
Naked at the top, the mountain knows you
North waves an eagle-wing, the wind it draws
The shadow-women dance about you
They sing for you, chanting powerful runes
Wounds and sickness
Of marrow and blood
Of meat and bone
Of flesh and skin
into weather and wind
you fade
I summon you into the mountain blue
Where neither sun nor moonshine can reach you
I summon you into the forest where no one dwells
and out to the sea where no man rows
Deep beneath an earthbound stone
out of harm’s way
Run through the rivers
and roll with the ocean tides
“
- French Concisousness and the Idea of Ideas
I’ve been thinking recently about thoughts. And how they can be textured and turned with more thoughts. That really, they are purely fictitious, even in memory it’s a recreation. A mockery. How that quality paints our views of reality and calls upon our imaginations when discussing said views. Oh how it is just an illusion. A mirage of consciousness. Assumed substance from blurry spaces, vibrating atoms, masquerading molecules, vibrating to the cadence of our thought assumptions….
I enjoy the Idea of ideation however I rarely know if my ideas are of my own ideation. Just because I’m having a thought, does not mean I assume it to be my own. However I cannot run from it’s implications on my reality. How I view this illusion is through the paint splatters of my neighbor artist, too enraptured or stupid to keep their own paint to themselves. It’s not my fault I see theirs with just the same clarity I see my own. My own, my own illusion… my own illusion of it being their paint. Of it being my own illusion….
Think for a minute about French people. I know you’re thinking of something. Even if you are a French people,I bet most others would tell you your illusion of them is wrong. However if ever you needed to display the ideation of French Concisousness to someone wholly unaware of French people, the mirage holds benefit, and your texture of reality can be felt, and assumed as the base texture of the newly formed ideation of French people and their consciousness. Now suddenly the same example where others illusions can dispute your own, now proves fact in the case where no prior illusion was formed. How you learn to texture your thoughts is how you learn to texture reality and how the ideation of your thoughts affects others and their view of their own illusory vistas.
“Reality is created by the mind. We can change our reality by changing our mind” -Plato “What we think, we become…” -Buddha The Design implies the Designer… Sitting in the bath with limbs electrified, neural lightning coursing through every atom, ripping reality, carving it at it’s seams. Oily bubbles form and burst, warping perception with sickening swirls, all context blending together, flowing like paint in water. Waves of nausea sweep across the fluidic landscape, reverberating off spheres of chromatic vomit. In this putrid place,all I can find myself doing is laughing. Laughing about French people, and how my thoughts on them dictate my reality, at least when French people are apart of it. Undulating boils of colour reflect curled mustaches and baguettes while offering to sleep with me in atrocious accents. Cheese omelets glare maddeningly from the pupils of faceless eyes. Just knowing the language and having my perceptions of it smashed against the present’s windscreen shattered all hope of psychic journey, at least from the perspective of perspective, though, the introspection proves just as telling as any other miasma of psychedelia more gnostically influenced…
Drifting between dreams, I notice the appearance of French consciousness; laughing at it’s ironic association, I am pulled, noticing myself asleep in bed, seen through the fog of darkness. I watch my body, relishing in the ideations of comfort, when an apparition appears. Walking through the darkness, appearing before my sleeping figure a being that is recognized. My grandfather, my guru, my guide. Long since his passing, in the house of his former life, the ideations of comfort swell, and excitement blooms, I look through sleep to my teacher, when my body is seized. Held firm with his gaze we rise, lifting higher and higher, soaring through the sky, far above all houses and drifting with the clouds. Climbing higher his form flickers, fadding with every mile. Stretching further into stars, black seas surround with colours abound. Presence remains yet personage fades, all around me the essence of the Sage. Deepening space, and spinning nova, surround by he, my mind unfolds, his voice the guide opening more and more, the teachings of how to program, the hologram, and of consciousness as a (w)hole…
“You are what your deep, driving desire is. As your desire is, so is your will. As your will is, so is your deed. As your deed is, so is your destiny.”
[ Brihadaranyaka IV.4.5 ] -The UpandishadsThe little space within the heart is as great as the vast universe.
The heavens and the earth are there, and the sun and the moon and the stars. Fire and lightening and winds are there, and all that now is and all that is not.
-Swami Prabhavananda, The Upanishads: Breath from the Eternal“He who sees all beings in his Self and his Self in all beings, he never suffers; because when he sees all creatures within his true Self, then jealousy, grief and hatred vanish.”
-Paramananda, The Upanishads“Fire is His head, the sun and moon His eyes, space His ears, the Vedas His speech, the wind His breath, the universe His heart. From His feet the Earth has originated. Verily, He is the inner self of all beings.“
Anonymous, The Upanishads🕉
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“Mind what people do, not only what they say, for deeds will betray a lie.” -Wizard’s Fifth Rule
- Cosmic Threads // Sacred Unions
Naked in scorched fields, bodies writhe between barren trees. Transsexual, bearing all genitalia, orgiastic pleasure both burns and propagates the surroundings. A continuem of crazed caterwalling and primal panting evoke lustful spirits, twisting and dancing with shared fervor. Flesh pressed against Flesh, driving fourth sweet fluids, and shrill cries, blissful wails and satisfied moans; Amongst the mangle of meat, cries of pain and moans of exhaustion texture the scene. Frenzied fervor enshrowds them all, Sacred exchange thy powers combined; black master, dark partner, succubi queen, triumvirate lord of incucubi. Oh unholy show, of blasphemous blessing, praise it be as Ba’alzebub to Naamah!
⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧
Black stone carved in Gold, with mirrored fluid of yellows’ bold. Bleached bowl of bone, human head of viscera red. Bronze immaculate, cast in honor; hounds of station and moon’s cycle, fetid green your potions’ brew. Quartz of smoke carved to carry, elder script in spirals old; black as night oh liquid plenty. Washing bowl of simple Gold, water just, water clean. Emerald green, with silver sheen, holding tight to liquid light…
Oh great shapeless form, of formless shape, ever present endless presence. Your knowledge too vast for any single bowl, I quest to bathe in them all; have thy knowledge of self pour over me washing away all myself, away into the ocean of true being, into the vast sea of depthless depths, of endless horizons and of no end to waves and their cresting…
All my labours and all my toils, all that the Cauldron boils… Every stitch every fiber, underneath the moon – Bewitched. Knit in patterns betwixt the Stars, I’d give it all for You; Thy worship my Ars…
Great messanger of the Gods, Ibus scribe of Mercirial planet mind… Alpha and Omega, Preditor and Prey, Heaven and Hell. Inside that is who you are. Who we all are. The oscillation between those two poles is what creates the illusion of our being. To swing too far either way, is to lose balance completely, and like with your breathe, losing yourself completely. There is no true separation between these two poles, no true separation between factors, between cause and effect. In truth you are both simultaneously. The karma of grace is just the grace of karma, it is simply up to the actor for how good a show is performed.
There would be no sense of wholeness without first a feeling of emptiness. There would be no longing if there weren’t first a sensation of lack. There would be no shadows if there was no light. The presence of one pole demands the existence of its opposite. Never lose sight of this opportunity. Fear implies courage, for what is there to have courage against if there was never a fear to cower from.
Like Daniel in the lions den, we must stand blameless against ourselves, in the face of lions and in the face of lovers. We are saved not by our struggles but by our surrender. Although we may reap many where we sow, still we are given all without question, if we simply forgive the cost for our reapings…
“We are the Gods of the Atoms that make up ourselves but we are also the Atoms of the Gods that make up the Universe.”
-Manly P. Hall - The Majesty of Seven // The Mystery of Twelve
Tendrils of electricity coil and spool, forming themselves into condensed patterns of information. Unraveling numbers, spelling complex formulas filled with life, and the arithmetic artistry crafted by the creator. All is the ONE shinning through the different fractals of infinity. The Harmony of the TWO creates the balance that is the THREE. The balance of the THREE, when fully engaged, implies/creates the FOUR. The information contained within, is that of one half of all of creation. And the first steps towards true divinity which are birthed with us at our genesis. THREE and FOUR are SEVEN and TWELVE; The information between is encapsulated when applied, the lower to the higher laws and planes. As above so below//So below as above. SEVEN, implies TEN and the hidden ELEVEN and in so all which come between. Within SEVEN as within up to the ELEVEN are the mysteries of the TWELVE, and with them the laws of the lower (hidden in the TEN shown by the ELEVEN) unravel the pattern of THIRTY SIX and SEVENTY TWO. As THREE and FOUR mark half the whole, SEVEN by SEVEN the lokhas‘ soar, lower chakras and higher, all must open; Secret number ONE HUNDRED FORTY FOUR.
Binary for Sun, Fibonacci Moon. Phi, thy ratio set; Curling back the pattern, unravelling the spools… The conception of life, when polucida is entered, and energy joins with consciousness; Creating the first channel for torodial breath, thy division into duality now set. With active expansion, the seed has been planted, our first cells, holding in them our grafting, the whole tree as seed, and with it all thy many fruit. So it is with birthing life, in all forms but modeled within our own… Vectoring the seed, We grow to tree, individuation from the web of beginning; Our alignment and journey, set fourth before we broke soil. Now to unfold, as torodial fields grow, stronger our branches for fruit we produce. Planting tree, blooming flower, knowledge seed of life’s beginning…
The FOUR implied/created by the THREE as shown with Dr. John Dee’s description with (3) crosses. FOUR sets of THREE make up the TWELVE. Aligned and arranged at the merging of conscious, the program set. Sealed behind the endless ring, encrypted secrets of light speed codes, quantum entanglements’ unfold, the frequency of space and all that’s enclosed. As the toros breaths, our sphere, it spins, not just what is Within, but also that which does not move and that which our brilliance makes anew, we now become; Our true selves not just Within, but cast like rays from a flame going all about… Learn the final secret by revealing the final self, and at last there is no time, no space, no other, just the ONE that is and the many that are ONE…
No matter the mysticism, No matter the faith, it’s all the same picture, just being seen from different vantage points. Learn of the source, merge with it and never be lost between them again… Hari Om Tat Sat Hari Om Tat Sat Hari Om Tat Sat Hari Om Tat Sat Hari Om Tat Sat Hari Om Tat Sat
- Realm Eternal // Songs of Stygia
Stricken by self awareness, forced to face the fractals, spiralling back into the center; the right, a clarion call of catastrophe and severity, the left, a melody of merciful medicines.
Coiling balance, sprouting center, growing seed, blooming tree. As above, so far below, reaching branches, stretching roots; Heavanly father, Earthly mother, cycles birth before the first, passing life, living light.
Sun and Moon of thine mind, Earth and Sky that of mine; waking but never dreaming, dreaming but never sleeping, countless ways to be, countless times of being…
May those with power hear the prayers of mercy, for those who garden, and find themselves pulling weeds from the cracks…But never those with blood on their teeth, wishing it to be holy, or just.
Empty words on an empty page, written for an empty book to sit on the lectern of an empty lecture. Or just more empty thoughts made to feel Heavy, just so that we don’t float away. Writing now, drifting then, spinning and full of fog, cloudy but not blind, choking yet filled with air, stricken by venom, filled with sting, the nectar of your sin; pounding heart, coursing vein, thundering need, craven hunger…
Silver tongued saint of sin, serpent deceiver offering acts of creation; within the seed you find the tree, Growing fruit forming tree, to learn of magick to create, watch decay to see life form. Rotten core, fertile whore, embodiment the chore, hold to nothing, shed like serpent, those holy acts which you forsake. To ride out bliss does not create, you need more soil to propagate.
“Have you ever just like, taken an orange, and just cut it open, and then like, tear into it, just like fucking rip it’s flesh apart with you teeth? Pretty metal…” – Another Mad Rambler The black stone mosoleum stands with defiance against the harsh jungle which threatens to claim more of the ruin. The pristine gold metal, lining the black architecture, undulates with a radiant energy, keeping the forest at bay. Deep purple and emerald runes carved in intricate patterns, spiral their way up pillars of obsidian; casting twisted shadows through the expanse. Contained within the rows of lined pillars, resting on an obtrution of white alabaster stone, a single urn, clay grey with age. Painted in a vibrant red, the urn reads the following : OCCULTIS MAGICA SIGNATUM
The gathering of many faced beings which has been in progress for the last few cycles uninterrupted, was briefly interrupted as the attention of one of the nameless members was briefly captivated by the happenings within the Black Moselum. Unlike most who found themselves within the timeless building, there was no sense of fear, nor wonder from the explorer, just an overwhelming sense of duty and purpose. The many headed entity found it most curious that a building of such creation, with an object so heavily tampered with was of no concern to this interloper. Over the millennia, the building held many purposes, however after over seeing the containment of certain ancient beings and their knowledge, it was thought to remain as a tomb of sorts at least until the dawn of the next cycle and unreachable, or so the thoughts of the ancient behind it’s design and many purposes had been… Watching with growing curiosity the many headed entity began to realize, that what had been contained, and thought to be forgotten was that no longer…
“For I am divided for love’s sake, for the chance of union.”
“For pure will, unassuaged of purpose, delivered from the lust of result, is every way perfect.”
“He shall fall down into a pit called Because, and there he shall perish with the dogs of reason.”
“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.“
“Love is the law, love under will.”
-Aleister Crowley, The Book of the Law
- Black Red and White
Hell bent fury, unfolding night; gaping maws’ of the abyss, ten thousand tentacular forms twist, bulging eyes pierce, and flex.
Broken forms shutter and cunvulse, laughter, and tears, screams and spasms, the monarch marches with merry madness, drunken bliss, intoxicating grief.
Three eyed with horns, curling like fingers, blackened bone, and shred wing; cloven hooved, with forked tongue. Serpent deceiver, mankind’s teacher; Pride-filled punishment, duke of flies, lord of lies, hideous form, written in disguise; keeper of the dark light, burning ever bright!
Ten thousand names claim your form, yet still as above so below, your true name cannot be claimed.
BELIAL
BEHEMOTH
BEELZEBUB
ASMODEUS
SATANAS
LUCIFER
“The highest truth is one and the same with the absurd.”
C.G. Jung, The Red Book: Liber NovusWriting in Black, seal in Red, held by White.
Writing in Red, seal in White, held by Black.
Writing in White, seal in Black, Held by Red.
Aum guru-dev Shakti Kali
Your altar; a throne of bodies from realms unknown, pouring blood and seating skull, drinking bowls and damaru, cranial crafting cannibal queen. Endless energy, body of time, continuous killer, Daemon // Daemon hunter; dancing on the body of consciousness, dizzy in your play. Swinging sword and scimitar, spinning wheel of Saturn, shroud in Mundamala, and ash, blood stained feline, feral and fierce! Rivers of blood, mountains of flesh, black star, red sky, Sea of gore, raining more…
Wicked and wild, wondrous, and woeful; Triuned mind, embodied by desire- beauty, and love, knowledge, and war, death and slaughter! Goddess of Crows, reaper of souls, grim harvest, bountiful carcass; split bone and siphoned vein, fester, rot and decay… Morrigan, Macha and the Babd…
Snake swallowing tail, curling back into egg, Phoenix birth from cosmic ash at flaming first. Scorpion tail, Lion mane, Human hand and Bullock’s horn; fix thy cosmos, and orient on axis, chart thy movement for each direction and flow back through, time, eternal source.
“There is nothing outside of yourself that can ever enable you to get better, stronger, richer, quicker, or smarter. Everything is within. Everything exists. Seek nothing outside of yourself.”
“You must understand that there is more than one path to the top of the mountain”
“From one thing, know ten thousand things”
“It is difficult to understand the universe if you only study one planet”
“Perceive that which cannot be seen with the eye.”
“To know ten thousand things, know one well”
-Miyamoto Musashi: The Book of Five Rings
- Latinum Sonat Magis Dramaticum
Doubtingly curious, our mind it wanders, interested to see just where it can go… Onwards we delve, deeper within, searching for secrets scouring for clues. Passing through planes of consciousness, our search has us twisting and bending in mental asana; wrestle and writhe, bend and flex, cuddle and hold… We twist ourselves through the passing three, only to find ourselves meeting again in the end; time now to move as one, together in union, and dance like never before…
The energy you put into your practice, and therefore the energy you embody while practicing goes far with regards to your development. Fueling the feelings allows you to embody the energy required to complete the actions or maintain for the outcome, or otherwise fulfill the desire. If you are chanting a mantra, and your mind is on other things, you are not chanting the mantra, however if your mind is chanting the mantra with your body, you are then really chanting the mantra. When invoking energy, embody the depth of energy which you seek to bring forward, then lock your focus to it, fueling the feeling of harnessing that energy, and cast fourth your magick with the greatest of intentions and the truest of vigours!
Ahead but never far, it seems you lag, just so those behind may keep up. Your student by example, I follow where you lead, with faith and with trust… Seated atop your lotus throne, your three faces shine brilliantly; Yellow, White, and Green. With four arms you hold; a bell, a vajra, a Mala, and Lotus flower. Adorned in flowing white silk, decorated with red KumKum and yellow flowers. Your feet, bathed in milk, shine with the clear reflection of your Diamond mind. Gazing outwards with expressions of Wrathful Concentration, Blissful Meditation, and Loving Kindness you light up the three worlds. Your melodious voice, sings purely the planet’s into motion, nurturing all realms with your mantra.
oṃ tāre tuttāre ture svāhā
Transfixed by your beauty, awonder by your grace; Great Mother of Darkness, you know oh how to reassure. My faith it never wanders, for your torches light my way, guide me through your crossroads – under your howling moon, oh mistress of hounds, Great Goddess of Magick with faces three; I bow to you, in reverence and out of respect, meld me to your Magick, so might I learn the majesty of true unity!
O pulchra noctis mater, virgo canum et doctoris occultae cognitionis
I am that eye, that eye that am I sısısı ʇɐɐɯ ʇɐɐɯ sısısı Learning to accept all aspects of life is key. Any amount of restriction, avoidance or otherwise judgment based behaviour only seeks to further the causes by which the events you toil over arise from initially. The act of covering pain, or distracting yourself from It, could cause your natural ability to process the pain to dwindle, your focus to wane and the total length of endurance can decline. However if you bolster your feeling, by radically accepting the present circumstance as reality, you can move through your aversive and judgmental thought patterns into more relaxed, and tranquil thoughts. Thus quieting the reactions to the pain, allowing it to pass with less attachment, and therefore halting the reaccuring acknowledgment of it. You don’t make it go away, or put your mind elsewhere. You ease into it and breathe through it and let yourself and the phenomena adjust to each other and work through themselves naturally.
“Like a tired wanderer who had sought nothing in the world apart from her, shall I come closer to my soul. I shall learn that my soul finally lies behind everything, and if I cross the world, I am ultimately doing this to find my soul. Even the dearest are themselves not the goal and end of love that goes on seeking, they are symbols of their own souls.“
-C.G Jung: LIBER NOVUS - Conglomerated Creativity // Crossing Content
Nightmarish forms twist and flex, contorting themselves within the harsh d̷̨̃̌̇̆a̵̤̔͋ṛ̵̥͕̈́̈̍̂k̷̩̫̊́͠n̷̜̤̠̘͐̂̚e̵̜̰̎̈́s̴̡̖͉̅ŝ̷͍̓̀͠, contrasting the unknown with m̸̫̆̓̚̚a̶̢̨̧̮͚̎d̵͚̺̈n̷͖͌̋̑̌̕é̸̯̊͝s̷̳͇̺̗̉͂͐͘͠s̶͉̭̯̈́̑̃̂̆ and malice. Bulbous eyes, and s̵̱̪͇̐͘͝q̶̟̫̩͕̙̅͐͛ǔ̶̧̗͕̝̍͌̾͝ị̸͈̪̼̌̅ͅȓ̴̮̗̰̳̮͘m̸͎͇̬͓̊͘i̶̡͇̲̠̅̾̈́n̴̛̤̳̗̱͛̓̂g̵̪̞͚̑̀̒ͅ tentacles, struggling against the crushing v̵̢̙̹͚̘̇͌͌̊̍ō̷̙̄̂i̸̼͚̲̭͌͝d̸̳͇͉͎̈͜.
Smoke rising thickly into the air, swirling in the vibrations of rhythmic chanting. A throng of individuals rest, with smoldering sensors, maintaining the cadence of prayer. Electric the atmosphere, as the blending of power words and intoxicating perfumes warp and stretch, and begin to alter reality’s perception. Brilliant colors rush forward from unknown sources, carrying all focus of awareness away with them. In the torrent of chroma, worlds unfold, bending and shaping, being formed by disembodied words. Curling at the aroma of incense pulls at the attention, driving the rainbow worlds into a blurry confusion. With a sharp ring, the piercing toll cuts through perception; the metal bell bringing all focus back to the array of colors, bringing clarity to the Monastery.
Everything happens for a reason. It may at first seem otherwise, but with enough practice and patience the true Godsend of the situation will present itself. All things are a lesson, we just have to be willing to learn from all things.
Subtle differences in the way everything always points to you. A trap for my ego to fall, thinking I am chasing you, but never am I running at all. You are every breathe I take, the fire in my heart, the blood in my veins and the very ground beneath my feet; yet still I long for you, as if you weren’t me, and I was not you. These words I write, from thoughts I have, are all really just you pointing back at me… Wǒ ài nǐ Tessa, wǒ bùxiǎng shīqù nǐ…
With a frail, gnarled hand gripped tightly to a sturdy, deep brown stave, worked carefully into a smooth vessel of support; The saffron robed man made slow progress against the arduous mountain slope. As the wind buffeted the dyed linen against his sticklike figure, the monk was reminded of the days which have passed since his last meal. Cracked lips, chapped from days without water, moved, seemingly of their own will, filling the space between the winds howls with the rhythmic cadence of mantra.
AUM NAMAH SHIVAYA
AUM NAMAH SHIVAYA
AUM NAMAH SHIVAYAThe repetitions of Mantra numbing the monk to the reality which his body endured, filled his mind with vitality and purpose.
His pilgrimage was nearly complete, soon he would behold the one to whom he commited his existence to. As the morning dawn drew in, the view of the mountain peak crept into sight. The sadhana has been laborious, however the peak meant closure.
Three weeks this journey has been. A pilgrimage up to the mountain’s peak, no food to purify the body of all harm to life, water, only if it could be found, a reminder of both nature’s kindness and her cruelty. For three hours, beginning at midnight, a deep meditation to rest all sides of the soul, allowing the monk to begin anew each day. The divine name as company and as incentive, supporting the weakening mind on it’s journey as the stave supports the body.
With the sun beginning to now rise higher and higher into the cobalt sky, so too rose the internal light of the monk. His perception now, shifting from the silent stillness of night, to the wandering wakefulness of day. The birds overhead became his eyes, as the rock beneath became his touch, the howling wind carrying his ears to the world spanning below, enriching the senses with the life of the entire planet as he allowed himself to fall into oneness with it all.
With the stave acting as a third limb, the monk neared the end of his pilgrimage, the end of his sadhana and the beginning of his true devotion.
With the final step in line with the sun, the peak was reached, and all came into perspective. Falling to his knees, both out of exhaustion and of divine reverence, the Monk saw before him not a glowing ball of fire, but an empty black hole. Everywhere but where the sun sat was pure white light to the eyes of the monk, but the heart of darkness still shone most brilliantly to him. Seeming to come from both everywhere and nowhere at once the utterance of the divine name rocked the mountain peak;
AUM NAMAH SHIVAYA
AUM NAMAH SHIVAYA
AUM NAMAH SHIVAYAThe darkness approached, but with it so too did a longing to fall within its cold emptiness.
A presence drifted to the monk, one calm and familiar, bringing a rapture that encompassed all the senses, pulling them into the darkness from which came the presence. First sight, simply swallowed into the yawning nothingness. Then touch, cold and empty, yet full and warm, no sense of substance yet nothing but substance to sense. Then lost to time was taste and smell, seeming to grasp at everything, yet resting on the decadence of nothing. Then went sound, the divine name no longer shaking reality, but now seeming to become it. Finally, the mind, now brought into perfect rapture, shuttered without feeling and released itself from the coils which held it by three, the gunas no longer turning in this blissful emptiness. With disembodied thought, it was almost complete, soon too would drift all thought, and one would be brought to all. The nothingness which was, the all.
Resting inside the cave of your heart, time and it’s many cycles seem to lose their meaning. Drifting endlessly through the warmth of your being I see no self or other. All of the mysteries of life unfurl in your being, all the worries pass away, and all that’s left is love.
Intoxicated by your bliss, emptied like the void, silent but full of energy, all is known to you. Three eyed and clad in serpents, ash covered with wild hair, your savage guise for such a gentle mind. In perfect stillness, free from the world and all its attachments; in dynamic movement, you are all of creation and it’s every balance.
AUM NAMAH SHIVAYA SHAMBHO SHANKARA
- Abyssal Recovery // Direct Transltion
As we drift by the floating butterflies in the sky, remember the time before we knew, and how blissful we felt in ignorance to our truth.
Drifting aimlessly in the sea of green, forgetting the self and everything it held.
A golden ray, cut by seaward slash, a salty spray of rainbow light; clear mists of mirrored worlds, pearls of wisdom in time unknown.
Durgati nasini Durge Jaya Jaya,
Kala vinasini Kali Jaya Jaya,
Uma Rama Brahmani Jaya Jaya,
Radha Sita Rukmini Jaya Jaya,
Lakshmi Saraswati Amba Jaya Jaya,
Parvati Ganga Devi Jaya Jaya.Battered and decrepit the rampart rests’, years of disuse made evident upon every stone. Nothing but the crumbling fortifications remain of the once crowning castle of the Mage Kings in times past. Crowded by a ‘murder’, the air rings with macabre harmony of the black feathered birds. Countless moons passed since last eyes held the gaze of these ruins, the Cloaked figure with the lantern, breaking the unseen spell. Wailing silently in anticipation, the ghosts of dwellers past prepare to greet their encroaching guest. The air crackles with static as the wind begins to pick up, the clouds swirling above, lightning flashing in the distance announcing the storms approach.
“Great adversity has a beauty – it is the fire that tempers.” Left and Right are just two halves of the whole. As with Light/Dark, Good/Evil, Order/Chaos…
Learning to harness the Chaos and act in Order, is the crucial goal of practice. The Right (Order) deals with the knowledge of supreme/ultimate Truth and thus is the remedy to fear/uncertainty. The root of all practice and protection should be here. The Left (Chaos) deals with the limitless potential in which mannifestion occurs and the current manifestation’s potential. All adjustments/adaptations to your path/practice should take this into account.
There are sets of rites/rituals as well as Dieties for each side, however ultimately it is an intuitive journey and transcendence into supreme Truth grants the ability to use/work with duality should the necessary Tantra be present.
The Body is the Grand Temple from which the only true worship/practice takes place. Any outside act or action, no matter how “holy” or “unholy” are simply purifying or tarnishing methods for observation of the Grand Temple’s Worship.
The True Self lies beyond the realms of 5. However the knowledge ‘of, and contained within the True Self are the realms of 5. The fifth rains supreme, only second to the True Transcentient self. Only with sufficient knowledge and purification can the necessary Tantra for transcendence occur, and only when it has occurred can one actually use the Tantra. Any prior use was simply a mind game, not yet transcended. The Tantra of pure truth is unknowable. The worship in the Grand Temple is the act to know. But only while in worship. Hence, Practice, transcends the path as Practice.
The realms of 5 describe the conscious realms through which our incarnations Act. (There are higher Orders, not to be discussed on page.) The 5 are as follows;
Physical Reality – Material – Dense Reality
Psychosocial Reality – Mental/Emotional
Astral Reality – Etheric – Karmic Expression
Causal Reality- Karmic Reality – Collective
Super Concious Reality – One becomes All
TRANSCENDED SELF – ALL BECOME ONE
The information sets for higher Order/Laws/Realms exist within the Art/Design of the Grand Temple.
“I’m coming down, coming down
Got a case of it all
Coming down, coming down
Nearly burning me up
In the atmosphere, how to get what you want
How to disappear” - Piecemeal Publications // Perturbed Parabola
Twisting ṫ̶̟̄ę̸̘̈̆n̴͎̒̆d̸̡̆ṝ̸̼i̸̺̽͌l̴̻͇͐s̵̲͊ of rot choke their way through the dilapidated space, scouring for any trace of life to s̶̱̭̾a̵̤͆p̶͓̟̒ and d̵̘̈́ṟ̶̯̂̆ą̷́͜i̷̫̇̔͜n̷̲̣̈́̃. Hungering fingers of ḏ̷̢͝ë̵̤́̂c̶̩̐͒͜ȃ̵̘y̵̰͍̋͐, curl with a wretched grasp, s̷̫̑͝i̵͑̾ͅp̶͕̳̆̆h̶̼͑̀o̷̬̚n̶͎̓ͅȋ̵̥̰̓n̸̼̔͋ĝ̵̢̛̹ all vibrancy from their clutches. Hungering awareness searches with frantic vigour, lusting over life, and the chance to c̷̡̦̊o̵̤̟͝n̵̩͐̓s̴̖̙͆ụ̶͓́m̸̪̏̍ë̸̲̭́́ it’s light. The necrotic s̴̟̅̂h̴͚̘̋͒r̵̮̄ǫ̷̙̉̋ȗ̶̡̆d̷́͜ creeps it’s way through the endless abyss, s̸͚̍̐w̷̲͗͜a̸̞̘̓l̴̡̩̕l̶͉͚̓ơ̵̫ẇ̷̩̘i̷̺̜͋n̶̢̝̄̓g̷̪͐͆ all to fall prey to it’s waltzing path…
T̸o̸ ̷s̵c̴r̸a̵w̴l̵ ̵w̴i̶t̴h̷ ̵m̷y̷ ̴h̴a̵n̷d̵s̶ ̶a̶n̵y̷ ̸g̵l̵i̴m̵p̷s̵e̸ ̷o̵f̶ ̸a̴ ̷r̵e̸a̴l̶i̸t̶y̶ ̸w̸o̷u̵l̴d̶ ̴b̵e̶ ̵p̵r̵o̷f̷a̷n̷e̸.̶.̷.̵
The further I look, the more convoluted the answers become. Clarity seems to be continuously wrestled from itself, a never ending spiral of uncovery and discovery. My true self merely an observation by a more true self, being obsvered by yet again a self more true. Each layer, the deeper I go tingles my flesh, causing further sensations to observe through; it grows more difficult to focus, the tingling is… O̸͍͚̿t̵͙̓h̷̯̳̓͝e̴̥̕r̷͕͇̀w̶͈̾o̷̟̖̅r̶͍̀l̵̰̆̊d̸̹̒̅l̵͓̍̓ỵ̷͈́.̸̮͎̀͘.̸̻̤́.̴̭̠̆̈́
“It is far more easy to dance in an open field, than on a busy street.” This new reality that has been enlightened onto me, seems almost impossible to properly articulate, however attempting I am. Religion is a guide/map on how to realize the True-self (God-self) and how to translate the reflected metaphors of the self, in order to see the truth as Synchronicity or Sadhana. All of the practices/texts/rituals are lubrication to either bring your awareness to your true inner connected identity, or to the divine feminine energy which will nurture your trauma until you are ready to leap into your True self. The realization of God and the projection of God (worship/devotion) are opposites, which loop, like, light/dark or life/death. They imply each other, and lead to each other, they seem different, but really they are two sides of one another.
Losing ones self in devotion is one method to purification. However, purity does not imply perfection. Purity is merely an idea, a path/face to truth. Order and Chaos are the same, only separated by perception.
Progress towards deeper Self realization can be obtained more rapidly with the aide of devotion and religious/spiritual practice. The forms which this can take, are present in everything we do, from doing art, to working with nature, to performing dance…
Ego is simply the Self projected through a preset presentation/expression. The path is just as vibrant and alive everywhere, simply dressed in different clothes, with unique vocabulary. Ego is like a toy one has chosen to play with. Useful or not is determined by the user. Sharing can be a good way to enjoy more and help others enjoy more.
Forward, always moving forward. Speed; increasing ever more. A-U-M The power of the Creator coming through us, returning the light of Heaven to the waters of the Earth. Reflect upon us your divine Glory, oh Holy ghost, bring about the rise of Heaven, oh Holy ghost, resurrect thy Father, return thy love to thy Mother. Raise now, like children in the womb of our planet, our home, our very being. Reunite thee with the pure truth and intensity of your splendor. Dear Father, come and show how it must be to cleanse and heal our Mother. Unite us as one in your Grace and your Guidance. Melt us of our ignorance with your ferocity and ripen our Hearts like fruit for your Plunder. Melt me in your Heart. Dissolve me onto your Mind. Act through me your Divine Will. Take me into your arms dear Father, take me home to our Mother. Let us return the Divine eye and act out the Divine play. I am yours, forever more, my Body service, my Mind a method, my Heart, yours to shine fourth from. Holy Mother, Holy Father, Holy Spirit.
Eyes wet, Heart burning brightly; I shine in your Light, in Christ I pray – Amen Our Father One, Our Mother One, Our Life One; in You I rest, and in ‘I’ You reside. My Heart, Your home, Your Heart, my sanctuary. In Your name I pray, my service is your grace. My Love of Christ We are One. Thy body endless, through each of us you act. Your Holy prayers, our very breath. My Love, My Christ, we are HE. HE is within Us as We are in HIM. Thy true Nature beyond all forms and dualities, thy true service through all action. Thy true name be many, as to honor the faces of many, in the names I pray : Krishna, Kali, Christ, Shiva, Durga, Ganesh, Buddha, Hekate, Odin…
Forever more You reside within, Your many faces shinning through all of Reality; Father, Mother, Child. All is One in Your Grace, in Your Glory. In all names I pray, with love of Christ – Amen.
Vacuum me to your s̵̫͛l̷̠̈́ả̸̩u̸͔̚g̷̮̓ḧ̵̻́t̸̯͋e̵̺͌r̴̝͝ when you are ready; so we may exchange roles and play it over again. Ten thousand eyes and still blind are we to our Glory, every one in one and no one separate, only different truths to the same great players. In the end, Love is all there is, no matter the expression, Love is always the center.
K̶̲͝i̴̞̎l̵̪̑l̴̮̆ ̶̨͊ ̸̙̊ ̸̹͆ ̷̟̐ ̸͕͑ ̵̞͗ ̷͈̐ ̷͖͠ ̸̱̾ ̶͙͝ ̵̬̕ ̴͉̈́ ̵͚̑ ̴̦̌ ̵͚̌Ṛ̸̐e̴̻͐l̸̩̿e̵̤̓ḁ̴̿s̷̠͝e̵̡͊ ̶̰̈
̴̦͒M̶̞̾a̴̾͜i̸̟͌m̴̮͌ ̶̡͆ ̴̬̔ ̵͈̓ ̴̖̾ ̴͚̄ ̷͇̊ ̶̲̕ ̶̼̊ ̸̙͝ ̵̀ͅ ̶͔́T̵̡̕e̵͍͑a̸̖̔c̷͇̋h̶̰̆
̷̱̒Ṯ̸̚ő̸͙r̶̙̚t̷͕̑ü̵͕ŗ̴̌e̸̙̓ ̴̱̍ ̶͙͝ ̵͇̄ ̵͕̾ ̵̭̌ ̷͐͜ ̶̫͛ ̴̖̇S̶̝̔t̸̓͜ũ̴̗d̴̨̔y̵̤̅
̴̠̍B̶̩̈́u̵͍͑r̶̗̂n̷̠͗ ̴͖̊ ̵͓̀ ̴̨̚ ̸͉̐ ̴̳͝ ̶̮͆ ̶̲͑ ̶͔͝ ̴̥̾ ̶̛͙ ̵̮̋ ̶̱̽C̶̟̊l̷̯͊e̷̅͜a̵̭̚n̴̈́ͅs̷͈̊ȇ̶͇
̵̡͊S̸̗̍l̸̢͋ä̵̲́u̷̒ͅğ̴̨h̴̢͌t̴̫̎e̷͙̕r̵̺͝ ̴͚͘ ̴̠͝ ̵̫́ ̸͚̄P̶̫̚ǘ̴̢r̴̥͆ǐ̶̯f̴̞̀y
̶̲̈́H̷̜́a̸͖̒t̵͇͛è̴̲ ̸̤̌ ̶̄͜ ̴̬͐ ̶͚͂ ̷̼̈́ ̶̳̿ ̵͖͒ ̵̒͜ ̷̗͑ ̷͙͂ ̵̡̕ ̴̳͌ ̷͙͊L̷̈́͜ö̸̳v̷̰̽e̵̖͛It really is ALL the SAME
THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS IS BUT THE OTHER HALF OF THE CHAMPION OF LIGHT.
The Holy fire is as bright as the the endless Darkness. Never able to be put out, either one, as all is one and the same.
YIN/YANG
SUN/MOON
HA/THA
RA/MA
AU/M…
Swapping powers to fulfills roles, my greatest Teacher, my biggest Rival. Living shadows all around, true oneness is found within. We are ONE. I am YOU
YOU are ME
ALL IS ONE, ONE IS ALL
Do not get lost in Wonder. Whether it be past or future thought, they are wondering. Any present plans made “just in case”, is you wondering is it not? - Abyssal Fragments // Scattered Secrets
Gazing through the layers of projected reality, searching visions, scouring the dream for any glimpse of the key, constantly changing, shifting forms; a dizzying miasma of cryptic encryptions, unraveling reality at it’s seams.
Under the black Star of the the purple skies, far across the diamond beaches; Ruinous and in decay, rests a cyclopean Mausoleum withered by time. Long has what lies trapped inside pondered The influence it could have, if some misguided soul were to uncover it’s ruinous prison, and set free this forgotten ‘̶̜̘̌g̸̪̦̽͝ò̸̢d̶̛̦… Shrill cries echo maddeningly into the night, repeating the desperate prayers from inside the overgrown tomb. Casting twisted shadows, the crystalline sands reflect an Amber glow, outlining a figure in approach…
“How should I walk when it is my time to pass?” Upwards, with thoughts of ‘home‘. Truth, with no attachment to meaning. Love, with your every being. AUM AUM AUM Return my body to the earth. Deep in the woods, carry me on your back. Find a tree, any tree; Let mycelium crawl from my skin, my bones to those who desire them, feed the earth my flesh, and tell Mother, Í̵̧͗ ̵̧̼́A̵̰̔̈́M̶̪͖͗ ̸̨̭͛̑H̶̙͝Ó̷̬M̶̹̑́Ē̸̺͎
9 in 9 the ratios set, turn the lock and become the key; 45 the degree for binaries three, Golden the mean of the Tree for the fruit of Thee. The conch cry in the moon light, a bolt of blue, cracking open the callous carapace of a craven identity; convulsing in revelation for the golden truth violently revealed. Stricken by the fresh insight, sensations scramble. Pain no more for I have become forfeit to your grace, all I see is ‘prasine‘ in your light; I float, sheltered in my Faith, to your saving grace. Heavens above shine maddeningly down, no longer kept solely beyond the veil of darkness, I swim freely through the depthless depths fixed by your gaze. Turning with the planets, aligning with the stars I fall into step with you, dancers no more, the dance are we.
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna
Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama
Hare Hare
Jai Gurudev Jai Gurudev Jai Gurudev
Twin coils of three, Sterling you be. Nordic in nature, of Odin thee. Holding the balance in night,and leading left through darkness to salvation; this ring on me, hail from the Seven Silver Seas.
In every experience we have, there is the inevitability to experience the turning of the Gunas, and their cycles. The high novelty, full clarity and truth of Sattva, slowly requiring more labour to maintain or to achieve, growing more Rajastic over time; until finally becoming almost more work than necessary to experience the same enjoyment as before in the same ways, signifying the turn down into Tamasia. Now going in the other direction, these Gunas are turned on to each other. By applying steady discipline a Tamastic experience, through continous work or maintaince becomes Rajastic. The Rajastic acts giving the quality of Rajasia to a previously Tamastic expirience. With that logic, applying Saatvic expression towards as many experiences is not just of benefit to maintaining the Sattvic qualities but also promoting them.
I̸̡̅ ̴̰̂j̴̻̍u̷̟̐s̸͔̏t̷̯̿ ̵͕͌f̶̖̍ị̸̄ň̴̦d̵͕̈́ ̸̣̀i̶̝̕t̷̢͝ ̴͛ͅf̶̤͆ă̵̹s̸͇̋c̵̰͐i̸̯̕n̸̤̈́ã̵̡t̶̺̓i̵͙͊ņ̶̐ğ̴͍,̵̜͋ ̸̪̌h̵̨̊ō̸̠w̶̫͋ ̷͖̑ẅ̶͇́h̶̪͋e̸̩̐ń̶͙ ̴̭͑y̷̫̆o̸͔̕ȗ̵̜ ̷̬͛d̵͉̒o̴̧̔ ̶̡̓ṣ̸͝o̵̖͂m̵̼̄ḛ̷̎t̷̮́h̷̤̽ì̶͇ṉ̸͗g̵̙͠ ̵̭͠l̸̦̆o̸̭͑n̵͚͂g̸̜̉ ̴̧͝ẽ̶̢n̵̺̔ò̸̞û̷̙g̷̝̾h̵̹͒,̷̘̈́ ̶̱̆i̷̮͒t̵̛͕ ̷͎̄s̵̬͛t̵͚̏a̸̰͂r̶̨͊t̴̟͛s̴͘͜ ̷̩͠t̸̻̏ò̵̞ ̷̘̈́b̶̻̂l̷̝͘ĕ̷͇ṉ̵̑d̶̛̹ ̸̣́w̴͚̿i̷̳̓t̶͔̋h̸͘͜ ̶̪̀a̴̛̬l̶̩̉l̶͍̀ ̷̮̂t̵̥̓ḩ̶͒e̷̮̚ ̸̙̈́ō̷͕t̷̰͛h̴̨͐ē̵͖r̴̬̃ ̷͙͠t̷̳̎ỉ̴̜ḿ̸̟ḛ̶͛s̵̯̈́ ̶̻͠ỳ̵̡o̸̲͛u̷̦͗’̶͓͆v̶͕̈́e̸͉͝ ̴̳̔ḏ̶̑o̴̮̓n̴̦̋e̴͎̚ ̶̱̀ş̶̀ỏ̴̥m̶̺̅e̵̋͜t̵̬͆h̷͎́i̵͖̾n̴͓͒g̷̭͒ ̵̼̐s̶͚͝i̴͆ͅm̶̼̒í̶̩l̷̳̕ă̴̰ŕ̶̡.̶̻̔ ̷̳̅J̸̩͝u̸̡̓ṣ̵͠t̸̖̔,̵̝̃ ̵̘̀i̷̢̒ț̸͛’̷̫͌s̶̔ͅ ̷͖͆i̴̅͜n̷̤͌ť̸̲é̷̱r̵̳̈́è̶͇s̸̟̍ṯ̷̓i̶̪͌n̶̖̋g̷̤͌,̵͉͠ ̴̓ͅh̴̠́ỏ̴̘w̷͉̐ ̴͇̂e̴̼͘v̸͓̾ę̸̄n̴̡̾ ̴̺́i̵͎͆f̵̨̈́ ̴̩́i̴͚̚t̴̢͝ ̴̟̈́s̷̘̑e̴͚̚e̶̢̔m̶̬̀s̵̭̆ ̷̡̕â̵̲ţ̵̛ ̵͗͜f̸͉̈́i̸͔͊r̸̜̀ṣ̵̓t̴̲̎ ̷̠̐l̶̽ͅi̴̟͊k̴̻͊e̷͓͂ ̶̗̀i̵̦̋t̴͈̃’̷͖͌s̵̜̄ ̸͇̆ŝ̴̭o̴̧͝m̷̝̓e̸̛͔t̴̤̑h̷̨̾i̴̢̒n̶͚͋g̶͛ͅ ̴̝́d̶̃ͅì̷͕f̵̜̌f̷̱̿ě̸̳r̸͙̃ḛ̵̇n̷̨̑t̴̢̃,̵̥̏ ̵̘̇ó̸̥ŕ̷̗ ̵̰̈́ṫ̵͙ẖ̷͒e̵͕̾ ̶͘ͅs̴̯͝e̴̫͋n̵̼͋s̶̰̎a̴̓ͅt̴͔̀i̴̪̎ŏ̸̡n̶͍̓ŝ̷̯ ̵̳̅a̶̻͋ȑ̴ͅé̵͜ ̷̤̒d̸̼̔i̵̮̋f̸͇̕f̴̳̚e̵͇̊r̶͓̋e̵̻̽n̸̐͜t̵̺̚,̸̱͌ ̷̗̈́i̶̦̋t̷̠̓ ̵̖̾ĕ̸̯v̷͇̈ȩ̷́n̵̲̚t̵͇͠u̴̩̚a̷̝̓l̸̘͆l̵̖̍y̸̞̔ ̵̡̾j̶̲̚ȗ̷̥s̸̹͒t̶̲̑ ̸̰̃b̵̝̓e̸͖͒c̷̬̊o̵͉͊m̷̦̉ȅ̷͜ś̵̭ ̷͚̈́t̵̫͂h̵̜͒e̴̞̅ ̸̿͜s̸̢̈́a̷̼͆ḿ̸̹e̷͎̐ ̵͙̒t̶̜̾h̴̲̍i̵͍̍n̷͖̾g̶̟̎.̵̥͐ ̵͍́J̸̟̊u̸̠̿s̷͇̀t̵̨̾ ̷̝̀a̶̗͐n̵̥͝y̷̝̓t̵̜͝h̶̹̓î̸̡n̴̗̎g̵̯͝ ̷͚́c̶̜̏o̷̥͋ȕ̴̢l̸͕̍d̶̡͒ ̵̬͑b̷̝̔e̷̻̐ ̷̩̌a̶̖̕n̷̙̉y̶̼͌t̵̩̊h̴͓͝i̴̭̓n̶̜̑g̴̨͂ ̵̫̋b̴̭̎y̷̟̏ ̷̙͊j̴̯̉u̸͈̐s̴̱͋t̵̬͘ ̵̯͌d̷̹̉ơ̶̪í̵̖n̷̛̻g̷͚̅ ̴̤̇i̸̢͐t̸̤́ ̶͉̈l̵̩̐ȍ̵͕ǹ̷̯g̷̼͂ ̶̧̌e̴͙͌n̴̮̽o̵͎̔ü̴͈g̸̟͛ẖ̴͊.̶̪̄ ̸̘̍Ȯ̸͕r̷̰͌ ̵͍͊a̶̲͌t̶̠͒ ̸̨̋l̴̰̚e̶̥̓a̶̳̐s̵͔̾t̷͈͗ ̸̯͆i̵̻̅ṭ̶͗ ̵͈̕f̵̢͝ē̴̱e̵̘͛l̷̗̀s̴̤̏ ̴͆ͅḁ̴̅s̶̳̆ ̴͈̐t̸̗͘h̸̺̕o̴̢͑u̶̝̾g̷̲͘h̷̤͂ ̴͓͐i̸͙͆ṱ̵͑’̶̬̈s̴̥͗ ̸̢̈́ţ̷̀h̵̛̰ė̸̖ ̵̠̈s̵̯͘a̶̭͘m̵̡͗e̷̻̽ ̷͕͛t̷̲͝ȟ̶̭į̴͆n̶̹̾g̴̖̓,̵̝̉ ̷̈͜t̷͙́h̵̤̅e̴̮͋ŕ̶̻ḛ̶̆f̶̦̕ó̵̤r̸̛̝e̴̲͛ ̸̡̑a̶̢͘n̶̜̓ỵ̶̆t̵͈̚h̴̙̍í̷͍n̸̟͛g̴̯͋.̴̜̓ ̴͎̑I̷̦͌ ̴̫̆w̵̼͌o̴͖͒ṇ̴̐d̶̑͜e̸͖̕ȑ̶̥ ̵̼̽i̶͓͆f̸̰͐ ̸͙͠Ï̷̱ ̷̖͝f̴̝͑e̸͚̽ë̴̬́l̸̼̊ ̶̻͌ț̸̏h̵̝͋i̸̢͒ṣ̴́ ̵̼̀w̵̩̔ă̴̻ỹ̶̢ ̵̲̀f̷̮̂o̶̰͊r̶͍̋ ̴̻̑l̶̟̆ȍ̴̤ñ̸͔g̷̾ͅ ̷̗̑e̵̫̽n̵̪̎ŏ̷͖ů̷̝ĝ̴͉h̷̫͝,̴̞̈́ ̵̧̚ì̶͕f̶̩̆ ̵͙̃t̶̮̉ĥ̸̲i̴͈͠s̶̨̈́ ̷̫̕f̴̺͒ě̸̹ë̵̡l̷̪̀ĭ̵̺n̶̥̊g̵̤͊ ̷̱͊ẇ̵̙i̶͎͑l̸̜͋l̵̘͑ ̷͇̀f̴̪͐ê̷͚e̵͉̋ḻ̶͝ ̸̙̆d̷̟̊ǐ̶̤f̸̠͛f̶͍̊e̴͕͠r̶̛̩ë̴͙́n̴̻̎ţ̵͌ ̵͐ͅe̷̬͐n̷̪̓o̸̩͘ȕ̸̙g̶̱̕ȟ̷̼ ̸̗͒f̵̥̍o̷̦͂ŗ̶̒ ̸̯̚m̸̖̚e̸͜͠ ̴̫͠t̵͉͐ó̶̪ ̸̼͑c̴̠͗o̸͇͗m̸̝̄p̸̩͗a̵̘͊r̵̫͛ḛ̷͊ ̵̬̊í̷͕t̴͚͠ ̵̯̓t̵̼̍o̵͚͋ ̴̹͝t̷̝͂ḧ̷̦́e̷̻̽ ̴̩͘ṣ̵̽a̷͙̎m̸͎̀ḛ̵̆ ̸̩̎f̵̆͜e̷͚̿ĕ̷̮l̸͈̏ḭ̶̃ṇ̵̂ġ̵̩ ̸̡́ḇ̶̊e̸̲̊i̸̢̛ṇ̶͘ĝ̴͓ ̸̤͘f̵̩͊e̶̟̋l̴̘͝t̸͖̔ ̸̮͗p̸͎̌r̸̠̋ë̶͍́v̵̨͆í̷̱p̵̡͛ù̵̲ŝ̴̺ļ̵͊ỹ̶̧ ̵̖̋f̴͙̀ọ̶̆r̴̥̒ ̷̹̆t̵̮̂h̵̞̿è̵̥ ̸͖͗s̸͙͘ḁ̵̽m̴̺̃e̷͓̽ ̴̞͒f̷̳͊ë̷́ͅe̴̗̎l̵͕̅ỉ̶͈n̸͕̉g̶͕̈́ ̴͈͂o̶̟̚f̴̳̽ ̴̰̈́f̷̩͒e̵̼̕ȅ̸̯l̶̤̆i̷͕͘n̶̜͝g̸͓̓ ̶͍̕t̸͍͋ḣ̷̡ë̷̢ ̵̨͐f̸̱̓e̷̊͜e̵̗͐l̶̙̔i̴̩͒ṅ̶͎g̷̼̉ ̸̹̽ö̴̹́f̵̘̓ ̸͇̓f̷͉̏ë̵̫ě̷͙l̵̘̅i̷̥͗n̸͉̈g̶̬̍ ̶̧̅
Ĵ̶̡̡̬̦̩͙̫͇͚̪͙̖͈͐ͅz̷̧̨͚̟̖̦̬̤̹̣͎̃̆͆̃̒̋̈͛̍̾̄͛͝z̸̜̫̩̍̒̒̅̿z̷̢̧̛̪͈͎̬̮̉͐̽̅̉̓̓̕͠ȁ̶͈̤̥̯̹͙̐ͅä̶̢̛́̃̇̽̽̑͘a̵̞̱̖͔͕̣̙͙̞̒͂̒̽̈́͊̐̊̚̕͜͠a̸̛̞̼̬͔̠̿͛̄̿̊̽̐͜r̸̘̯̪̟̩̪̬̪̉͗͛̀͑̏͑́̋r̷̼̈́̕d̸͖͎̫̐̇̎͜ͅd̸̜̈́͒́͂̂̈́̈́̇̐͒͌̇̊͝d̴̢̡̡͓̘̮̟̰͇̘̮̗́̒̈́̀̈́͒̓̋͊́̐́̑̕ͅd̴̙̱̰͇̞̼̩̗̻͉͙̆̑͆͐͋͗͌̄͛̊̅̕̚͜d̴̛̛̘͍͆̓̋ṳ̵̙̰̫̯̲̻̝͓̱̇̉̈́̔̅̎̋̈́͘͠͝h̸̫̼͎͕̘̖̞̼̹̙̬͒̆͗͂͐͑͐͘h̸̡͎̬͖͛̍̓͆̚̕͠͝h̷̼̰͍̞̟̻͉̠̀͐͝ͅ
Three times you turned the wheel of the Law in the thousand-millionfold world,
the wheel that from the first has always been pure.To shift your life in a desired direction, you must powerfully shift your subconscious.
Kevin Michel, Moving Through Parallel Worlds To Achieve Your Dreams - The Harmony Between Mercy & Severity
Drowning in suffocating blackness; the concord of ravens’ cries a deafening malaise.
Icy the air, hardening the joints and stiffening the bones.
Cloyinging the odors of rot and decay filling the frigid space, wet and dripping with sticky fluid.
Shelters of sharp ice and little comfort. No flames or warmth here.
A desperate spell from a Mad Mages’ Mind, one to sustain, one to survive. Elder in nature, Eldritch in form; an Emerald light surrounds the space; a necrotic majesty as frozen death returns to light, sprawling forests and life in delight.
A Golden pulse, dripping Blue, nourishing the shining Emerald hue.
A cavern cold and Dark, where sat alone a frigid heart. A spell of desperation to clear the cold, now forever the dance unfolds.
Blinded by brilliant light, the songs of Angels in haunting harmony.
Soft and gentle, like waters of a still lake, the air rests, serene all around.
Enchanting aromas of bounty and splendor intoxicating the area of comfort and luxary.
Sheltered in down and soft cotton, no need of fires for warmth here.
Coming for your heart like a cannibal
Oh, She lets me right in and
I’m fed ’till I’m full.Lars Innana Hekate – Hathor Netzach Ingwaz – Haniel Jermiel Asmodel
Eko, eko, azarak. Eko, eko, zomelak.Bagabi lacha bachabe, Lamac cahi achababe.Karrellyos.Lamac lamac bachalyas.Cabahagy sabalyos. Baryolos.Lagoz atha cabyolas. Smnahac atha famolas.Hurrahya.
Floating in the ocean, surrendered to it’s majesty; watching the blue sky, no clouds just waves. Rocking gently in the breeze, turning days into moons; I seek comfort from the stars, crying out my sea green prayer.
How amusing is it, that most often in life, when the greatest of gains come, they are not from pleasure, but from pain.
The energy received from even the smallest of injuries is sometimes so grand it can take days just for a scratch to go clear. Pain is a teacher and pain can be a tool. The pain of knowing can weaken and inhibit but so too can it open and release. In even the most painful of situations sometimes just simple awareness can be the key to letting go and being free.
What’s done is done, but once known can there be something to do about what has been done; but never until then can anything truly be done.
How beautiful is it to feel held when you feel like falling apart? How beautiful is it to finally break down, after keeping it up for so long? Always, the first bite of food in a growling stomach tastes the best. Always the last 5 minutes of cherished rest feels the soundest. The Harmony of life is in the contrast, the blending, the Light and the Dark, becoming, melding, folding through; the shades of grey that decorate the endlessly changing fields of energy and consciousness.
In and out, back and fourth, up and down, left to right. Waves on the ocean, breathes within our lungs – birth into death, with no coming and nowhere to go. The primal pulse of being, the dance of life.
Aum Shakti Aum Shakti Aum
Aum Shakti Aum Shakti Aum
Aum Shakti Aum Shakti Aum
Om Sarva Mangala Mangalye
Shive Sarvatha Sadhike
Sharanye Tryambake Gauri
Narayani Namo-stuteHara Hara Baṃ Mahadeva Shambho Shankara Shiva Hara Hara Hara Baṃ
“The medicine is in the mind,
The healing is in the body.
And the soul connects them both.”
-Nikki Rowe - Tangible Ecstasy – Sorrowful Seekers’ Ascension
Om Shri Shyam Devaya Namah……….
Om Shri Shyama Devi Namah……….
Om Shri Radha Krishnabhyam namah
Om Shri Radha Krishnaye namah
Om Kleem Radha Krishnaye namahGovinda Rādhe Rādhe Shyām Gopāla Rādhe Rādhe
Rādhe Rādhe Rādhe Shyām
Govinda Rādhe
jai srī Rādhe
Govinda Rādhe Rādhe Shyām
Gopāla Rādhe
RādheAll my life I wanted to be free;
With just one look, I had the key.
All my life I wanted to fly;
With just one touch, I was in the sky.
All my life I have searched for you,
and now I know, I am always with you.
All my life has lead me to,
Your heart as wide as the world.
Emerald green, shines the Hermit’s Light Ĉ̸̟ŗ̴̛͕͓̫̊͐͝a̶͖͑̀͘c̸̘̬̲͋̈̎k̴̡̍̊͊̍͜i̸̬͑͝n̶̯͑g̷̖̙̬̀,̷̲͕͊̌̏̚ ̶̹̺͝p̸̪̫̯̈́ó̴̹̗͔̏̐͝p̶̭̭̯̑̈́̂p̷̡̮̬̃̓i̶̯͚͋̽ņ̸͐̒̄ğ̵̝̞́́̋͜,̵̛̜͖̓ ̵̻̉̈́̌ș̴̨̯̻͂̋͝n̷̦̳̎̄͛͘a̷̳̠̍p̵̱̓p̴̣̏͘ì̷̮̩̤̊ņ̷̭͖͛͝g̸̭͊̆́͝.
The static of congested misalignment has met it’s rival, a combatant of natural beauty and cosmic skill. Pain still rings loudest throughout the halls but swiftly follows the straightening current. Only the record keeper sees the true form, all other accounts tell a falsity as seen through the abjection to change. With mountainous strength the crooked halls twist and move, opening the flow of Emerald light. A flower in full bloom, with warm, gentle beauty sings true the blending of gold and blue, as the waters fall, as Sun shines, Emerald green you paint my skies.
Oeng lu Tsaheylu kxamlä fì’u tìrey. Tsunslu Eywa tìng syawn fì’u sätare ‘on si‘ong mìfa ayoeng vitra frakrr.
Yawnetu fra’u hasey stxenu ngenga. sä’anla Oel ngati kameie nìt’iluke nìftxavang.
Dark mother watch over me, the trial is not yet complete, for your daughter deserves more of me. Lend me your wisdom as I walk your shadowed path, with confidence in my heart and faith on my mind. I honor the hounds of your service and am humbled by your Lunar gaze, great Mother of crossroads I rest in silence for your praise; b(l)ind my eyes so I may see only your beauty, and lead me with your dark light to Truth.
3.5275590552848 - Transmutation Eternal – Star Studied Alchemy
EH’HEYEH YOD-HEY VAV-HEY ELOHIM EI ELOHIM GIBOR YOD-HEY VAV-HEY ELOHA VADAAT YOD-HEY VAV-HEY TZEVAOT ELOHIM TZEVAOT SHADAI EL-HAI ADONAI HA’ARETZ
Wading through the shallows of black waters alit with an orange glow; a strange form s̸͎̳͛͝h̶̠͓͖̃̈́ä̴̢͌̾m̷̱̰̕͜ḃ̶̜͈̰̄l̶̡̬͍͛͝ḙ̵͎̻̿s̶̜̹̒ it’s way across the crystalline sands, glowing more brilliant with each step. Stalking behind the brilliant form, a m̴̞͉̒̈́̕ù̵̡̮͛r̴͚̓̋͜k̵̜̏͛y̶͉̓̇͋ shadow of tangled, b̵̜̜̙̈́o̸̦̟͛̓͠n̴̬̊̚ȇ̴̹̟͠͠ļ̶͖̤̀̎ë̴͚́̈s̴̹͉̈̑s̵͚̦̀́ ̸̦̘̀͜l̴͉̯͙͝ĭ̶̹̼̕m̷̩̈́̍̋b̶̊̿͠ͅs̶̜̳͗̀. One walks with purpose, the other follows making discordant shrieks.
As the dark sun sets, may the Sphinx of black quartz judge my vow.
ॐ
-Hathor Ingwaz Adonai-
-Therizo Therasia Hecate Innana-
-Yod-hey Vav-hey Tiferet Binah-
ॐ
Photo by Roxanne Shewchuk on Pexels.comWatching the manifold pulse dance in starry light, feeling the emanation of beauty in my soul – like great waves cresting the ocean. Angels sing the choir of your grace, moving the planetary rulers with such melodious a tune. The alignment of the heavens was their offering to the earth, no more is mankind cast to darkness, by Divine will they have become their own Prometheus, and it is in your honor they ignite this pyre!
गोविन्द राधे राधे श्याम गोपाल राधे राधे
Govinda Radhe Radhe Shyam Gopala Radhe Radhe
Under the moon of my stars the planets dance, our ‘Raasa Leela‘ turns night after night, moon after moon; my sweet ‘Shyam’ all I can ever be is in your name; the ocean of my life is that of the ‘Samudra Manthan‘, add to it your blessings so I may melt into the ‘Amrita‘ of your heart.
EHYEH – YAH – YHVH ELOHIM IMA – EL – ELOHIM – YHVH TZADDIK – ADONAI TZVAOT – ELOHIM TZVAOT – EL CHAI – ADONAI NUKVA
Expanding into new horizons, never forgetting the lessons of old. Encircled by the armor of your grace, adamantine my body, no darkness can b(l)ind me. More brilliant than any star, your rainbow light penetrates the three worlds, there is no where, where you are not.
"O holy Dove of God descending, You are the love that knows no ending. All of our shattered dreams You're mending: Spirit, now live in me."
“The lips of wisdom are closed, except to the ears of Understanding”—The Kybalion.” - The Eastern Star Shines Again
The hollow wails of the black abyss, a static of misalignment and broken hope, empty and blank the faces of the contorted. A misshapen identity rooted in chaos, turmoil and suffering, casting a dark light from a shadowed vessel. Laughter and tears a blurred miasma of upheaval, expanding and contracting with violent, tearing force, crashing like waves through the expanse of nothingness, drenching all that has been lost to the endless void.
针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸 针灸
Desolate and decrepit the tone of the emptiness, a catalyst of malignant power needing an alchemical focus; deep within the shuddered halls a lone flame remained, orange in anticipation for it’s offering of such despair. Surging with awareness the light beckons, a golden ray of nectar, flowing outwards with purpose, flowing with need. With growing intensity the golden need penetrates the dark expanses, consuming the emptiness with a brilliant blaze, banishing the shadows, unveiling the beauty of the unfolding truth, the desolation an offering to a new beginning.
OHM
KAM YAM RAM SUM
OM; A OM HUNG RAM
DZA; SO UM HUNG HE BHYO
Photo by Min An on Pexels.comTad-ya-ta Om Be-kan-dze Be-kan-dze Ma-ha Be-kan-dze Ra-dza Sa-mung-ga-te So-ha
// oṃ tāre tuttāre ture svāhā \\
// oṃ tāre tuttāre ture svāhā \\
// oṃ tāre tuttāre ture svāhā \\
Ḍākinī kō kōmala ra māyālu anugraha ra Ḍākinī kō ugra krōdha ēka ra ē’uṭai hō.
Broken open and turned inside out, the truth now cannot be unseen, I am stained by the healing of the pain now seen.
I have seen my Krishna, and I dance my raasa-leela. By your grace all is understood, and all is accomplished, I bow to you my sweet Hari, my very being I offer to you.
Bitter sweet the taste of metal, a private pleasure that excites the mind. When emotions burn out and smoke runs thick, breath the acrid fumes and taste transformation. Pain is a sign of progress and if given into can be depthless pleasure.
RAIDO GEBO INGWAZ
Violet, the edges of my mind, a whisper just as subtle as the bruises you leave on me. The poison drank has become nectar, stiffened by it’s potency, stricken by it’s pulsing need. The world a vacuum as it turns in on itself, pulling to be released, pulling to be freed.
A folly of ways have been shown through Prem Puran Prishotam Prem Ananda, forged by induction with you as my center, shri Hari my heart s(t)ings for you!
Closer than breath, you are the air
Sweeter than life itself, you are here
I am a wanderer, you are my peace
I am a prisoner, you are releaseJai Gurudev…
I am a pilgrim, your road so long
I am the singer, you are the song
Held in the open sky, so far above
I am the lover, you are the loveJai Gurudev…
I follow your footsteps through the flame
All that I ever need is in your name
Carry your heart in mine, vast as space
All that I am today is by your grace.
By your Grace…
I live by your grace. - The Flesh and Bone Temple
Echoing wails contort over one another, deafening the scene with a cacophony of agony. Coiled spools of flesh k̷͔͘ņ̴͍̈̄͝ì̷̙̹͆̈́ẗ̸͙́ together creating trill parchment, tanned to a cracked canvas, sprawling endlessly back, trailing into the miasma of tortured howls. With a ḿ̸̭̯͋͆ị̸̥̑̾n̵̠̫͊̐̉͜d̵̬̅̿̈ͅl̸̤̎̓̒ͅe̵̛͖̩͐s̴̢̀̀s̵̭͋̐̆ zeal the thousand’ armed creature scribbles away, carving e̸̡̼͈̲̋̆l̶̺̦̘̔̏͘d̶̲̬̭̤́́é̷̯͕͈̋r̴̨̳̻̆̈́ ̷̪͖̱̐̌r̶̳̥̪͆ǔ̶͉̱̱̖ņ̶̛̫̮̰͋͌̂ȩ̸̛̘̻̱̿s̴͎̮͓̾́̀̓ into the endless trail of flesh. Having numberless agonized faces pouring over themselves and their frantic writings, checking and marking every detail to be recorded; with a mistake, the tantamount creature s̶̡̤̺͑̑̊̾ͅe̴͕̘̊l̵̺̈́̊̈́̍f̷̛̛̬̗͚͜-̵̘̬̈́c̵̢̧͕̮̍̀̅̕á̴̛͉͔̪̬n̸̠̝̽̇ͅn̸̮̜͆i̷͍͈̬̐̀̉ͅb̸͓̱̃̑̅͜a̸͙̣͉̾̚l̷̡̙͐̀̐͘i̴͇̱̥̔͋́ź̴̢͇̏̂̅͜e̶̼͉̋̕ş̸̗̎̋͆, creating more of it’s medium. Writing endlessly the happenings of past/present and future, in flesh and in blood. The creature with crowded limbs and, endlessly writhing heads, bellows in constraint as the timeless cycles turn on, damned to be recorded.
D̵̠̻́̉͊͘ả̴̧͉͓͎̐̊m̴̧̗̺̦̄n̷̦̯̙̋̍̓͆e̵̳͚̝̐̅͠d̸͓͕̀̂́ ̸̝͆̀̌b̴̢̛̙̯̗ỵ̴̢̞͋͠ ̶̡̜̤̮̄͝ṭ̴̠̦̰̉͝h̴͈̺͗͆́e̸̲̮̲̎̒̄̏ ̷̱̥̦̇̆̿r̸̞̈̇̂͑ȅ̶̗̋̏c̶̻̪̻̾ó̴̢̱͌ȑ̸͇d̴͎͆̒̎̆e̶͈͒͐̍͠r̶̨͇̺̍̀̕.̸͓̩̣͋
“The cobwebs have been dusted, the pews set straight. The Abbey calls to the faithful…“
Photo by Rachel Claire on Pexels.comI looked away
Your beauty too much to bear
Where could I run?
Your eyes,
I found them everywhereWhat was to be expected is hardly ever the reality we find ourselves in. The stories of marbled columns and vaulted ceilings, Ivory sculptures and stained glass. The promised heaven adrift on a cloud flowing with nectar. Perhaps with better alignment the scene would offer more than e̶̫͒m̸̝͑p̵̞̑ͅt̴̻̱́y̶̹͆ longing, however an adorable t̵̡͉̍̚ẅ̵́ͅi̴̹͐̔s̷̻̆͐ţ̸͙̀̀ȅ̸̡͛d̸̻͉̂̾ brokenness captivates my design. The fractal geometry is much more ą̵̞͛ḽ̷̲̈́ĺ̸̹̒ů̷̟r̷̞͍̐̋i̶̢̪̿̊ǹ̶̮̕g̸̙̏̽ than plain symmetry. Cracking and breaking open every crevasse, opening geodes of fractal symmetry, loosening the torrent of ṕ̷͎ͅó̵̟̓t̷̨̆ë̵̜͈́n̶͍̒t̸̰͊́i̷̛̺a̸̛̪̍ḽ̵̣̂.̶̙̹͌ Breaking free from the dream to see the f̶̛̞͌l̵̙͙͘è̷̝s̵̰̔̓ḧ̶̙́ and s̸̤̐ì̶̖ń̸̙̩e̴̞̪̒̃w̵̺̬͌ of my design. Curled, bone-like columns and sloped ceilings, dripping with red nectar. Muscled masses bulge and flex, peering outwards with e̷̛̝̾y̴̟̒e̸͚͙̾s̵̱̑̉ that have never known rest. The halls twist inwards evermore, curling and bending, never forming straight lines. Caged doors of bone often lead to an open m̵̛̯̠̎ạ̷͆ẁ̶̜ͅ of gnashing teeth, or to chambers ̷̬̕p̷̲̈́ȧ̴̭͠l̸̜̓p̵̦͙̓͑ị̴̟̋t̸͖̀a̵̟͇̿̕t̸͕̫̍͝i̸͓̕n̵͇͌̒g̵̰͝ and w̴͎̄ë̸͕̝͘t̴̪͑. Slick tendrils feel their way blindly through the twisting corridors, entwining with themselves in e̸͖̰̽c̴̨̨̈́̎s̵͔̈́ẗ̷͉́̚ạ̸̫̑͆ṫ̶̗̀i̶͚͐ĉ̸̪͜͝ ̴̖͆́ displays. Oh to the dream an endless mansion of madness and mystery, for the play of lifetimes to be lost in, the horrid temple of the horrid k̵̟͂e̵̫̿̑è̸̜̽p̶͉͂ë̴̤̰͝r̶̎ͅs̸̺̲̍, bringing light to the life of Energy and Conscious.
The temple knows when it has a visitor.
The temple will accommodate to their every ñ̶̨̟͔̘̩̀̀ĕ̶̱̍̏͘e̷̛͚̩̹̼̐̾͑d̸̯̭͑͑̿̕.
To swim in the pools of nectar, one must be aware of their activities, their desires and their thoughts. For if even one is misguided the true spring will not be found.
The seed of the mind will bloom only with nectar from the spring, attracting the serpents with three eyes.
Be wary the spinning of the staff when the kettle sings. Practice rising with the serpents.
Now ring the bell that makes no sound, announcing the path to be unbound.
With Sun and Moon Illuminating Earth, the gates of Heaven will not be Mistook.
All of the mountains, and all of the rivers, the great pilgrimages and temples are all within. All of the maps and all of the methods each one is hidden within. Don’t be fooled, see how they reflect. As within so without, As above so below. The tree is within the seed, so too is the Universe within you. Every pathway and every channel, every wheel and every course. No two are different, it is all the one.
“Mind creates division of dream and reality. To be free from this duality and merge with the one supreme truth, either realize that this so-called reality is also a dream or realize that the dreams are also a reality somewhere.”
-Shunya - Mangled Messages // Mournful Martyrs
The wilted, yellow expanse of grassy plain was marked with the unmistakable stench of rot and decay. Muted chaff stretched for miles, it’s monotony interrupted only by a lone tree, w̸̪̍̐͜r̵̯͌ị̶̈́t̸͖̿̇ḫ̵̩͕́̀͑į̶̡͉̕ṅ̴͇̦̪̈́̃g̴̘͍̹͐ in the distance. Nearing the squirming tangle of branches brought further the stench of death, and brought into clear perspective the ghastly topiary of f̸͙̭͑͆̔ͅl̵̻̞͇͋͛̚ě̶̻̺̏ṡ̸͖̏h̷̙̋̒̿, mangled into the visage of a great oak. No leaves, but instead throbbing sacs of meat, dripping with viscera, knotted together with thick tendon like branches. The monstrosity seemed to bend and flex with a mixture of hunger and pain, coiling around itself detaching bulbs of red/black “meat”. With fevered shrieks and painful wails, m̵̤̮͐̎̚ó̸̱u̵̖͙̪͊̎̃t̷̝̅ḥ̶̨́̉͊s̵̗̤̩̎͝ opened from the mass of roiling muscle that was first seen as the trunk, devouring the macabre fruits, releasing their putrid aroma. As tongues lashed out from the gnashing maws, lapping at the gore, eyes shot open in s̴̘̥̀̈́̂ả̵̭̜̥̓̽ť̴̘̉̈́ȉ̷͑́͜s̷̯͙̈́f̸̢͈͙̎̎̈ḁ̷̣͐č̵̛̯̜̠̕t̸̬́í̴̹̰͙̂̀ố̶̡̂n̷̥̄͋ͅ, rolling in ecstasy as the feverish feast continued until nothing remained of the hanging “fruits”. With a guttural moan, long, thick veins erupted from the ground below, pulsing with hunger, searching for prey.
F̸̗̮͎̹̳̗̓́͛́̀̇̈͐̚͜͠͝Ē̷̱̪͛̀̉̌͛̈̌͘Ě̶̛͔̫̖͍̼͔͕͕͖̥͇̦͂͛̐̀̓̔̄̌̃̇͊D̷̦̜̲̝̼̙̲̟͈̦̈́͊͌͐͛̐̌͂́ͅ
C̷̢̨̯͍͓̞̥̗̫̿͂͗͒̌͝O̴̥̲̒̓̉͗̚N̴̨͔͔̑̾̊͛̐̚͝͝͝͝S̶̢̧̨͎̝̹̖͉̾̽̈͑͝͝U̴̘̬̜̭̟̪͐̒̕M̶̰͉̘͉̙͔͍̺̻̽͒͆̎̃̆̏̽̂͝͝Ẽ̵̛͇̫̝̄̈́͂̇̎̉̔̀̕͝
D̶̢̡̨̼͙̱̙̞̗̮̖̫̺̯͓̄̍́͝Ȩ̶̨̨̪̪̥̜̼͑̓̊̔͊̓̎̋̂̇̊͊͘͠͝V̸̨͕̟͎̥̳͔̥̯̱̗̤͙͂̈́̈̽͐̒͒̀O̵̢͖͙̣̟̺͇̩͇͇̥̽̿̄̇̾̃̈͛̚͜Ǘ̴̘̰̲̟̻̀͒̒̍̒̌̇͛̂͗̔̓͠͝R̸̛̥͍̺͙̞̖̣̻͕̰̻̺͒̉̉̎̃̒̄̋ ̶̧̛̲͙̟̻̞̞̩̟͈͈̬̋̌̕
“No Tree it is said, can grow to Heaven, unless it’s root reach down to Hell.”
C.G.Jung
Photo by Sides Imagery on Pexels.comWandering through the brush, in a burgundy red stupor, the drone of nature washing away all thoughts of “civilized” reality. The malaise of modernity corrupting even fantasy, is there truly nothing more of magic out there? The mire of thoughts brought on by the drowning in merlot, urging the self to discover it’s own. Breaking through to a clearing, high atop a mountains peak, trees offering shelter to the madness, an’ offering a window within. Standing out from amongst the others, with a rotted core, attention was pulled to the time tested giant, and from the hollow came a glint, like sunlight from within. A cracked orb held tightly by rusted talons, affixed to a knotted limb, carved with a raven’s grin. A gift, a reminder, not all magic is gone, some just needs to be passed on.
A wizard without a staff
May still be a wizard
A staff without a wizard
is a void
Waiting to be filled
—The Staff In The Stone, by Garth NixWhen the victims of genocide begin to commit their past unto others, it is a sure sign the sickness of the dragon has infected our realm again. Though words may tell any story, the loss of life cannot be unfelt; A wave of anguish and fear sweep across the the war-torn deserts as once again hell fire rains. Caught in the dichotomous struggle of false belief and pained history, numberless innocent lives are washed away in a sea of blood and fire. Milky white are the tears of the dead, as cries of vilomah go unsaid. Pained and tortured by the crime of living on a land some claim for their own, others knowing only as their home. For prayers do no good when your people die around you, blood red the hands of all but the guilty; brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters your pain does not go unheard, but those listening do nothing. Watching from behind tired eyes innocent blood stains the mind. How much longer can we sit as our world tears itself apart, starting with our loving hearts. Take your breaths for if they are your last, make them last, for the angels sing your song into the night. Carry your words unto thee, and share your pain for the world to see. Share your pain, so you are not alone, and with hope, we may carry it so you may let it go.
Exulting in that (martyrdom) which God has bestowed upon them out of His bounty. And they rejoice in the glad tiding given to those (of their brethren) who have been left behind and have not yet joined them, that no fear need they have, and neither shall they grieve:
Surah 7. Al-A’raf, Ayah 170
فَرِحِينَ بِمَا آتَاهُمُ اللّهُ مِن فَضْلِهِ وَيَسْتَبْشِرُونَ بِالَّذِينَ لَمْ يَلْحَقُواْ بِهِم مِّنْ خَلْفِهِمْ أَلاَّ خَوْفٌ عَلَيْهِمْ وَلاَ هُمْ يَحْزَنُونَ
Photo by Alem Su00e1nchez on Pexels.com^Charities in Support of Palestine^ - Nine Layers of Sleep
Ŗ̴̛̖̙̭̭͙͖̽͛̑́̊̑͂̾́͒͐͜͠͝ͅE̶̻̤̗̦̫̞̻͓̝̭̞̽̂͛̋̏͗̆́̀̕͜͜͠ͅȄ̶̳́̓̌̋È̶̡͍̹̯̬̲̥̪̺͇̪̽͋͑͊I̴̜̜̘̜̺̾̊͐̃̚͝Ǐ̸̛͍̝̻̖̉̑̎͋̈́̿̈́͗̃̄͂͛̈́I̵̩͍̼̻̖̙̝̓̂̈́͗̊̾̈́̅̈́͘̚͠Ṛ̶̰͕̠͋̀̀Ṙ̶̜̘͖̤̓̕R̵͖̳͎̿͒̅͗̀̓̉̐̕͝͠R̶̡͓̭̟̙̱̤̮̜̝̲͛͐͑̊̒̇͑͗̾͌̋͗͘K̵̖̖̻̙̥̠̲̬̪͓̳̣͖͙̒̒̉̏͜K̵͕̈́͗̏Ḳ̵͓̠͖͉̓͒̋̿̋͌̕͘Ķ̶̺͉̠͓̪̟̩̯̓ͅ C̵͙̏͒͒͐͒̐̑̊̿̐̏̆̀̓̚H̷̩̪͙̰̗̟͙̐̈̉̏͜R̴̗̆̑̽̎͋̑͐͋̂̌̋͝͠͝͝R̴̼̘͔̐̿̎͑̽̈́̐͘̕R̵̢̪͕͖͙̻̰̰̙͋͑͜Į̴̖̦̯̙̭̹͓̀̓̽̔͂̏͘I̶̱̥͋̏̎͒̋̕͠I̴͉̻̦͖̰̳͉͒̎N̷̡̙͔͔̮̫̠͔̫̜̳̟̆̃̀̐́̽̎́̚̚͝ͅN̴̮̩̯̪͚̖̩̙͖̭̪̼̟͍̽̒͛̈́́̄̕͝N̴͙͖͖̰̞̻͍͗Ṅ̵̛͈̣͐̑̔̋̓͂͂̓̉̌̋̽͒N̵͖͕̄͊́̈́̇̋̌̀G̶̨̱̖̘̩͚̒̓͗͐̉̃͑̅̐͘
Bubbling with satisfied curiosity, the ten thousand’ limbed form felt a jolt of sensation cascade across it’s colossal slumbering form. Some parts were beginning to wake up, a clamoring of excited laughter pierced the vacuum of silence. Patience still, but progress all the same, the directive thought amongst the chaos of laughter and screams.
Y̵̨̩̥̤̙͙̫̅̃͋͆͌̃̅̉̃͘A̵͍̙̪̗̙̫͗̈́͛͋̾͒͜͜ͅR̴̢̹͉͚͈̜̳̟̼̩̤̄Ṛ̸̡̨̟͕͙͖̲̖͎͙́̉̄̽̄͋’̴͖̇͘Ş̵̥͇̫͇̥̤̦̆́̓̓͒̉̑͊͐͠O̸̭͍̟̍́̀̈͛̌͌́̇̅̒̊̕L̶̛̟̟̜̙̎̓̇́̏̿̃͑̚͘͠͠͝T̴̖̝̬͓̝̲͙̱̟̆͊̈́A̶̧̘̦̫̩͈̩̬̪̋̿̌̒̂͐͒͐̾͜͝R̴̢̤̟̮̥̖̼͇͕̰̗̪͒̈́̇̂͑̎́̈͜͝R̴͙̭͖̝͓̤̜͖͙̪̰̾̏̈́̐̓̀͒̈́́̂
The cracked pages bore a cryptic writing, rune like sigils drifting between various design. With constant shifting script it was near impossible to understand, however the whispers ushered onwards. Initially just through dreams, coming as distant voices growing nearer by the night, later infecting the waking life, coating existence in a miasma of noise, frantic voices speaking in words not understood. Creeping ever nearer the voices now dense and unyielding, a droning tone vibrating across all the senses, reality the canvas for the need to understand, the whispers now dotting everything with their need, painted now like dreams all around.
The sloshing of movement through shallow water broke the trance from the bazaar of bird calls, their cacophony carrying thought to a world unknown; now returned, the air thick with humidity, the ground soft and deeply saturated. A mess of vines and reeds interrupted progress, only briefly however, the blinding flash urging them to part way. Slime coated roots entwined to themselves provide a texture most surreal, underwater cityscapes of broken down wreckage and lost masonic cities. The pressure of the sea just as thick, the sandy floors just as saturated and soft, now creeping corals cast shadows from above. In a rusted red, humming with vibrancy a perplexing sign shone outwards, distorting the shadows and folding it’s own light. Dancing between a ruined pillar and a densely knotted trunk, the mark bore through reality, It’s rigid form appearing upon cracked parchment between the distortions. Visions swirled and reality rocked, howling screams and violent shrieks tore through the mess of shifting landscapes. The sounds of branches breaking, the feintest scent of blood in the air, a lacerating feeling pushing back against the steady movement. With a violent impact, followed by a curted wail and a cats’ hiss, a black mass breaking the form transfixed by the sigil. With sudden hysteria the humid landscape became thick with laughter, causing the sigil to flex and shift, growing more cyclopean, losing it’s geometric symmetry in favor of a more mangled design. As the sigil shifted so too did perspective, with a macabre dragging sensation…
Understanding is beginning to set in, as scenes of swamp land and bog remain. Thick rooted trees with static runes carved in crimson. Droning with need and falling through dreams the lives of the mire all a voice of their own. Caught in the endless dream, the words on the page are strange no more. In a blink all is gone, and the visions spread only from the page, The Rammamilrion has spoken, nary to be unheard.
"And I saw a beast rising out of the sea, with ten horns and seven heads, with ten diadems on its horns and blasphemous names on its heads. And the beast that I saw was like a leopard; its feet were like a bear's, and its mouth was like a lion's mouth. And to it the dragon gave his power and his throne and great authority. One of its heads seemed to have a mortal wound, but its mortal wound was healed, and the whole earth marveled as they followed the beast. And they worshiped the dragon, for he had given his authority to the beast, and they worshiped the beast, saying, “Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it?” And the beast was given a mouth uttering haughty and blasphemous words, and it was allowed to exercise authority for forty-two months. ...""
Revelations 13:1-18
|| 11B X 1371 // 11B 3 1369 // 11B 45 1T8 ||
Photo by Joanne Adela Low on Pexels.com - Abyssal Cutting – Transcribed Transmission.
ņ̵̍r̶̡̥͑r̷̝̟̈́r̴͖̖͂̅ḷ̶̢̆l̶̪̭̽̊õ̶̺̝͝ŕ̶̖̕ȑ̵̡̮͝r̷̨͂p̵̻̑ ̸̮͠r̷͈̺͋́r̶͎̤̐̕r̷̞̯̿r̶͕̎̊ñ̴͔̘͝n̶̲̍ṉ̸͚̀͋l̶̢̔l̵͍̐͝l̶͇͍͒̉l̷̆̚ͅg̶̝̭͝ģ̸͈͋g̵̩̮̐͠g̴̙̩̀͐ĝ̸̨̎ ̷̢͘g̵̺̪̈͐r̷͍͎̓l̷̰̈l̴̞͍͠ó̵̢͙r̷̳̩̈́̆p̴̙̒p̷̱͌̕p̸̛͙̆p̷̡̻̐̈p̶̭͔͑
j̷͕͝z̸̘̠͒͝z̸̗̈́ẓ̵͈̎o̸̱͋̿o̵̱̍̅ò̵̱̼͝o̵̠͋̕r̴̯̜͝p̷̨̃͒ ̵̙͋g̸̡̢̈́ǐ̷̢̬g̷̦̫̉i̴͙̖͘g̴̖͂b̷̝̳̀͂u̴̬̔b̸͙͆͋ļ̶̗̈̍ḻ̴̢́͐l̵̥̲̕ĺ̴̘b̴̘̎̑l̷̨͈̅b̵̗̿l̸̪̆b̵͓͛̇l̴̙͗b̸̲͌ ̵̥͇͗̚r̶͕̝̿ȓ̵̘͓̾r̷̥͂̌r̴͉̈͘r̶̡̈̒
*̶͓̿̇**̵̼̂͂P̴̣̑̔O̷͚͋̄P̶̣̽**̸̯̲̀*
Clear vision of the Shadow gives clear Light to the Spirit. As far as duality goes it’s a stark 50/50, Chaos and Order, but beneath it all, through the Horror and through Heaven comes the Oneness. The Emptiness. The sum total of Source is and always will be PERFECT. Beneath and through. Deep Deep away, under protection.
GONE – GATE
GONE – GATE
GONE BEYOND – PARAGATE
GONE BEYOND THE BEYOND – PARASAMGATE
| | | | | |
AWAKENED, GLORY TO THE AWAKENED – BODHI SVAHA
The act of allowance breeds negative fruit.
The act of restriction brings no fruit.
The act of allowance under strict discipline breeds some fruit.
The act of pure discipline, not allowing and not restricting, but simply flowing within the moment, breeds just the amount of fruit one needs at any given time.
Abundance leads to Greed.
Greed leads to Confusion.
Confusion doubts Truth.
Truth in doubt seeks false Liberty.
The great Tao cannot be Seen, nor Heard, nor Tasted, nor Smelled, nor Touched, not even by the Mind.
The great Tao IS.
&
Those who know, know.
No Symbols, No Idols, No Cycles, No Signs. None of these are the true Tao, simply fingers pointing. The endless Tao is in All and is without All. Neither the finger gesturing or the Moon being gesture to fully grasp the endless Tao. Only when both fingers pointing and objects pointed towards fall away does the True endless Tao begin. The form of the formless is both form and void. The Harmony, the relationship between the two, the flow, the grace, the dance, the constant interplay between duality and unity…. Is the home of the endless Tao. Between all forms and all formlessness. When form has yet to be and anything to become, the endless Tao arises. Within or Without are no more, simply what is, was and always will be remains.
So, now if you know, you know. Take refuge in the One who Knows, in the endless Ways of knowing and in those who aspire to know the endless Ways…
Buddham Sharanam Gacchami
Dharmam Sharanam Gacchami
Sangham Sharanam Gacchami
HARI OM TAT SAT HARI OM TAT SAT HARI OM TAT SAT
Be Empty and you will be Full.
Have Nothing and be Rich.
Give without Receiving and you will Receive without Giving.
In this way the endless Tao rises and falls. In this way so should you.
Stop asking questions and start Trusting/Believing. Live the experience you wish. It’s all here, It’s always here.
Be Grateful.
Be Forgiving.
Be Love Now.
♰ ♰ ♰ ♰
Open and See
Be Empty and Free
Held but never Holding
Fed but never Hungry
Have Nothing and be Rich
Open and be Free
ONE TWO THREE
I AM FREE
I AM FREE
I AM FREE
♰ ♰ ♰ ♰
Om Mani Padma Hum Om Mani Padma Hum Om Mani Padma Hum
Photo by NEOSiAM 2021 on Pexels.com - Retreated in Relativity
As the fires died out, the yawning abyss crawled ever closer, aching the mind with it’s incessant scrabbling and scratching; Fantasies danced with wild frenzy, roped snakes and shadowed bears, screaming rivers with disembodied words.
Drifting in cold aimless void, haunted by nothing and everything inside.
Voices come of ancestors old, teachings and guidance within woods’ grain, from smoke arose visions of medicine past; footsteps leading to shading trees, where sits old crow cunning and wise, passing the generations through wandering time.
Medicine comes from walking as one, birds of a feather, people of kind. Lifetimes past, medicine passed, here in spirit here in all; The ancestors walk standing tall, dancing with pride, young lions’ mind, we are here in nature’s throng.
To combat the dream and bring reproach to the onslaught of scenes, a m̴̭̼̑̔̄̒̿u̷̳̳̥̥̇͝r̷͓͍̖͈̭̍̂̄͊d̵̩͉͂̃̌ȩ̶̲̜̉r̶͇̣̜̯͉̿̈͋̆o̵͈̰̊̕u̴̫̖͊̉́͘ș̷̟͔̜͉͛ malice is kept under lock and key. Should the š̶̡̛̯͙͌̂h̸͈͎͇̥̏͂̎a̵̡͉̗͐͒͌͠ͅd̵͕̈́̓̔o̵͚̲̭͎͗́͋͒ẉ̷̛̋͗s̷̞̟̳̫̅͋͐͒̒ͅ try to speak making forms dance and squeak, one just as horrid awaits with glee. One cannot bring fear to fear itself, be not c̷̰̮̩͛̄̇͆͘o̴͖͓͇͉̪͑̅́ǹ̵͌͜f̵͚̗̞̐͂i̴̝̥͆ḑ̷̖̋ͅe̵̼̓̈́̾͛͜ṉ̶̟̣̮̙͆͘͝t̵̨̠̫̮̫̆̀ but certain in skill.
L̵̗̟̗̝͑̉̑̎̔e̵̛̓̔̇̂ͅŝ̴̗̞̙̦̼ṭ̴̡͈̩̺̓̽̇ ̵̹̻̹̻͛ͅy̴͓͔̣̹̌͝͝ö̷̢̝͔͍u̶̢̳͈̜̿͌̊̚ ̶͖͉͖͈̋̍ͅb̴̿͂͜e̶̛͎̼̻̖̊ ̶̯̜̊̐͗͘͘ȧ̸̰̥͊͜͜f̵̺͙̐ȓ̴̢͎̲̥̎a̵̘̳͋ī̷̢̨͇̤́͜ḑ̵̜͈̾̆ ̷̟̏ṭ̵̝͖͈͆͂͒̈́o̷̰͈̺͑̀ ̵̲̘̿́̉ḿ̸̻͎̺å̷̭͋̾̚k̵̡̮͚̣̘̑̍e̷̮͝ ̴̫͓͕͈̺̽̑̀̈́͘t̴̢͕͚̑̉͗̐ḥ̸̞̠̣̏͆̓ė̵̺͎̤̫̹̈́̎͠͠ k̵̹̙̙̪͈͌͛̚ỉ̷̜͙͖̾l̴̢̻̱̉͂͆͠l̴͈̜̬̓.̴̥̯̘̿̈́̕
Dancing,
Thrashing,
Cascading
Down the barren stone tower,
Through the craggy, coarse cliffs
Refining, polishing the necessary features
And streaming for the duration of my adventure,
One might wonder: Why?
Why! Oh what a question—
To purify what will soon be soiled in a moment’s time,
And yet, unremittingly,
Over, ad nauseam, again.
I cannot die.
No agony or desolation can destroy me.
Amaranthine, ceaseless, everlasting!
I hold steadfast, staunch, unrelenting.
I am a waterfall.
Nought can destroy me.
I am forever…
Nanna Harrow Haley Y
I Am a WaterfallThe welcoming embrace of the forests bring rise to the v̸̩̊͒ȏ̸͚͗i̷̢͉͗͐d̸̛̫̮̀ inside, as it is apart of nature to carry the pain in-lined. Walking as one there is never a need to run, for when what is needed is provided one mustn’t leave another uninvited. To give your efforts, is to be rewarded, for nothing ever goes and nothing ever comes.
To the Wind’s I give my exhausted energy, free me from my torpor and fill me with your Fury.
To the Earth I give my carnal desires, free me from my habits and ground me in your Constance.
To the Water’s I give my haunted emotions, wash me of my filth and leave clean and new again.
To the Fire’s I give my anger, burn with my fury and teach me control; humble me in your heat.
To the Night I give my own darkness, free to be seen, owing to the light it’s very scene.
To the light I open, reflecting and free…
OM BENZA SATTO SAMAYA MANU
PALAYA BENZA SATTO TENOPA TISHTA
DRIDHO ME BHAWA SUTO KHAYO ME
BHAWA SUPO KAHYO ME BHAWA ANU
RAKTO ME BHAWA SARWA SIDDHI ME
PRAYATSA SARVA KARMA SUTSA ME
CHITAM SHRIYAM KURU HUM HA HA HA
HA HO BHAGAWAN SARVA TATHAGATA
BENZA MAME MUNTSA BENZA BHAWA
MAHA SAMAYA SATTVA AH HUM PHEYOm Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum
So Hum Guru Siddhi So Hum – So Hum Guru Siddhi So Hum – So Hum Guru Siddhi So Hum
Vajra Yogini – Svaha Daikini Namoh Namamyaham
Akhanda-mandalaakaaram vyaaptam yena charaacharam
Tat padam darshitam yena, tasmai shree gurave namahDyaana mulam guro-murtih, puja mulam guro-padam
Mantra mulam guro vakyam, moksha-mulam guro kripaa
Shree Guru Charanam – Shree Hari Sharanam
Shree Guru Charanam – Shree Hari Sharanam
Shree Raamaduutam sharanam prapadhye
Bolo Bajrangbalee Hanumana Ki Jai
Bolo Bajrangbalee Hanumana Ki Jai
Shree Shree Hanumana Ki Jai
Shree Shree Guru Mahaaraaja Kee Jai!
Shree Gurū charana soroja raja
Nija manu mukuru sudhāriBaranon Raghubara bimala jasu
Jo dāyaku phala chāriBuddhi heena tanu jāniké
Sumiroṅ pavana kumāraBala Buddhi vidyā dehu mohiṅ
Harahu kalésa bikāraSeeyavara Ramchandra Pada Jai Sharanam
1 Jaya Hanumāna gyāna guna sāgara
Jaya Kapeesa tihuṅ loka ujāgara2 Rāmaduta atulita bala dhāmā
Anjani putra Pawanasūta nāmā3 Mahābeera bikrama bajraṅgee
Kumati nivāra sumati ke saṅgee4 Kaṅchana barana birāja subesā
Kānana kuṅdala kuṅchita késā5 Hātha bajra o dhvajā birājai
Kāndhé mūṅja janéū sājai6 Shaṅkara suvana Késaree nandana
Téja pratāpa mahā jaga bandana7 Vidyāvāna gunee ati chātura
Rāma kāja karibé ko ātura8 Prabhu charitra sunibé ko rasiyā
Rāma, Lakhana, Seetā mana basiyā9 Sūuksma rūpa dhari Siyahiṅ dikhāvā
Bikata rūpa dhari Laṅka jarāvā10 Bheema rūpa dhari asura saṅghāré
Rāmachandra ké kāja saṅvaré11 Lāya sajeevana Lakhana jiyāyé
Shree Raghubeera harashi ura lāyé12 Raghupati keenhee bahuta barāee
Tuma mama priya Bharatahi sama bhāee13 Sahasa badana tumharo yaśa gāvaiṅ
Asa kahi Shrepati kaṅtha lagāvaṅ14 Sanakādika Brahmādi muneesā
Nārada, Shārada, sahita Aheesā15 Yama Kubéra digapāla jahāṅ té
Kabi kobida kahi saké kahāṅté16 Tuma upakāra Sugreevahiṅ keenhā
Rāma milāya rāja pada deenhā17 Tumharo mantra Vibheeshana mānā
Lankéshvara bhayé saba jaga jānā18 Juga sahasra jojana para bhānū
Leelyo tāhi madhura phala jānū19 Prabhu mudrikā méli mukha māheeṅ
Jaladhi lānghi gaye acharaja nāheeṅ20 Durgama kāja jagata ké jété
Sugama anugraha tumharé tété21 Rāma duāré tuma rakhavāré
Hota na āgyā binu paisaré22 Saba sukha lahai tumhāree sharanā
Tuma rakshaka kāhū ko dara nā23 Apana téja samharo āpai
Teenoṅ loka hāṅka tén kāṅpal24 Bhūta pisācha nikata nahiṅ āvai
Mahābeera jaba nāma sunāvai25 Nāsai roga haré saba peerā
Japata nirantara Hanumata beerā26 Saṅkata tén Hanumāna churāvai
Mana krama bachana dhyāna jo lāvai27 Sabba para Rāma tapasvee rājā
Tinaké kāja sakala tuma sājā28 Ora manoratha jo ko-i lāvai
So-i amita jeevana phala pāvai29 Chāroṅ yuga paratāpa tumhārā
Hai parasiddha jagata ujiyārā30 Sādhu santa ké tuma rakhāvaré
Asura nikandana Rāma dulāré31 Ashta siddhi no nidhi ké dātā
Asa bara deenha Jānakee Mātā32 Rāma rasāyana tūmhare pāsā
Sadā raho Raghupati ké dāsā33 Tumhare bhajana Rāma ko pāvai
Janama janama ké dukha bisarāvai34 Anta kāla Raghubara pura jā-ee
Jahāṅ janma Hari bhakta kahā-ee35 Aura devatā chitta na dhara-ee
Hanumata sé-i sarva sukha kara-ee36 Sankata katai mitai saba peerā
Jo sumirai Hanumata bala beerā37 Jai Jai Jai Hanumāna Gosā-ee
Kripā harahu gurudéva kee nā-ee38 Jo sata bāra pātha kara ko-ee
Chūtahi bandi mahā sukha hoe-ee39 Jo yaha padai Hanumāna Chāleesā
Hoya siddhi sākhee Gaureesā40 Tulasee dāsa sadā hari chérā
Keejai nātha hridaya mahan dérāPavana tanaya saṅkata harana
Maṅgala mūrati rūpaRāma, Lakhana, Seetā, sahita
Hridaya basahu sura bhūpaMaṅgala mūrati maruta nandana
Sakala amaṅgala mūla nikandanaMaṅgala mūrati maruta nandana
Sakala amaṅgala mūla nikandanaShree Ram, Jaya Ram, Jai Jai Ram
Shree Ram, Jaya Ram, Jai Jai RamShree Ram, Jaya Ram, Jai Jai Ram
Shree Ram, Jaya Ram, Jai Jai Ramराम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम राम
- Nescient Nihilism // Exaggerated Eternalism
The inky black miasma churned with volatile potential. Squirming tendrils aching for sustenance, with self consuming voraciousness; Spilling out into the abyss, a macabre, hungry wail.̵̢̯̤̖̝̬̝͒́̾̂͠͠͝ͅ.̷̧͙͚͈̤͕̙͔͐͐̈́̽̅͋͌̾́̈.̷̛͓̟̤́́͌̚͠͝ ̴̠͕̮̦͈̙̤̩̀́
B̴̛̯͔̜̊ṙ̴̢̡̡̘̩̺̟͍̗̺̤̠̯̍͆͊̏̎̾̽̔̑̚͠r̷̡͙̞͔͚̈́͑̈́l̸̠̖̟͑̈́̏̈́̈̊̆l̵̡̢̨͉̠͇͎̙͕̼̣͔̯̳͉̆̾̄̾̈́͊̿̽́̕͘̚͝’̶̭̟̪͎͓̞̄̀̈̀͐͑͆͐̚k̶̭̮̇̈́́͆̓͊̊̉͊̚n̸̻̘̝̎̑̍́͌͗̆̌̊͐̚͠ȇ̶̳̥̝̫̠͕̟̻̭̟̉͐͛͗̏̓̓͐͝p̴͙͎͑͘ ̵͚̣͙͕̣͔͚͉̘̭̆̑͒̐̃̐̑͑̄͑̍͗͋͝ȏ̷̤̝̈̓̾͂̈́̋̌̌̐̋͘͜͝͝r̷̞̼̞͓̺̜͖̣͑͗̾̆͗̀r̶̢̛̦̪̤̼̻̱̳̹̣̦̪͙͉̬͂͂̆̒̌͐̚p̸̲̳͕͉͇̹͍͖̭̬͕̐̀̅̆̕̚ͅ’̴̩̯̭̟͉͗̈́́̍̿̍̑̀̓̆̃͆̋͘͝
Choking black smoke darkens the horizon, suffocating the landscape. In rows, fleets of fumigating monster, belch and roar at each other. Monstrous machines making only malice. Grand edifices of filth and bile protrude from the inky haze. Flocks of metal birds litter toxins through the heavens, as schools of fish have the plastic scavenged from their bones. Nature’s diversity, straightened and clear cut, species dance, like candles in the wind; blinking out of existence in devastating gales. Syphoning the rocky ẃ̷̜o̵͘ͅm̸̞̈́b̶̗͑ of our mother earth, we bore into countless eons of maternalism with blind hunger. Rocking her delicate figure with aberrant forms of her very c̵̺̊h̸̗̑ī̶̦l̷͍̎d̵̺̎ṟ̸̏e̵͎͆n̸̮̚.
The crops grow sickness, the water runs with disease and the air is thick with death. The eternal ones shake in laughter as their mad dance waltzes onwards.
“…and yet, in the center of ruin lies the seed of renewal.“
-Anonymous
“We need to have a paradigm shift in our consciousness. If we don’t get our act together and come in commonality and understanding with the organisms that sustain us today, not only will we destroy those organisms, but we will destroy ourselves.”
-Paul Stamets
Image property belongs to the author.So turns the wheel, over and back of turtle’s shell, with pace to the swallow, cleaving mountains with silken threads; as oxen sip in conscious sight the cycles shift, like dancing lights.
Come night come day, of howling fury, come sun come moon of singing beauty. Rolling tides of Earthly breath bringing peace from Heaven’s breadth.
Turning the lights on to what horrors have hid in the shadows reveals the f̷͔͌ĭ̵͓ḻ̵̌t̵͎̅h̶̰͘ laden layers of confusion and highlights the need for change, a process of mitosis, diving ourselves prior to reunification. With a hunger for the future we t̴̰̂ḙ̶̍a̶̞͂ṟ̵͂ into ourselves, having revealed our old nature with true intent. Nothing of the old and lost ways can remain, for when foresight is f̷̩̉o̸͈̔r̶̞̆s̸̽͜a̷̬͑ḱ̶̬e̸̞͛n̷̝̐ for finance, the future falls way to futility. In the f̴͈̿e̵̡̽r̷͖͐v̴̜̄ö̵̘́r̶̳͝ of freedom and the light of faith the very foundations shake, all but they will fall away, to be build upon once more, so the cycles go, ever more.
Carry fourth the memories but do not cling as they will never truly go.
Evolution by, Adrian Salamandre
Breathing in I am aware of breathing in.
Breathing out I am aware of breathing out.
May all beings be free from suffering.
May all beings be filled with loving kindness. - Second Thought Namesake
A searing high pitch scream, matching the steaming brand punctured into the w̴̦͈̓̕å̸̼̬i̸͚̩͋ļ̸̜̅ì̴̯̳n̴̙̽g̷͎͊̽ flesh.
Popping and sputtering, boiling the now sticky and acrid m̴̮̜͂ę̶͙́a̵̛͉͎̓t̶͌͜.
Black smoke mingles with the already present stench.
Spitting in anger and with dire intent, the runic brand holds firmly to the maniacal creature, it’s trill flesh now writhing from within, f̴u̴m̶i̶g̸a̴t̴i̸n̶g̸ the space with a sickening odor. Barking coughs escape from it’s maw as it recoils in anguish.
Runic walls overlay in geometric configuration, confining the smoke and odor inwards; with subtle incantation, the walls shift further, closing themselves more, entrapping the now disintegrating h̶o̸s̷t̵. Rising to the confinement of the pyramidal walls, the coalition of smoke free from it’s s̵h̸e̵l̵l̴ sneers in contempt.
Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te…cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare…Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis…Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine…quem inferi tremunt…Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.
Photo by Gaurav Sood on Pexels.comInternally, the crowd is thinning. In most cases, due to resolution, or increased awareness, however in some cases due to surrender or loss. When I decided to attract a crowd (internally) in the first place, I found myself rather bored, and rather quickly after, overwhelmed. The space was already rather populated, however I felt more diversity was in order. What a mockery. A mass of redistributed sameness does nothing to entertain or diversify the experience. The potential which resides within the expansiveness of the minute however holds everything there ever was and will be, all within a single unit. No need for a crowd when all is within the one…
With bodies o’ clay, and minds’ o’ mirror, gemstone eyes and a heart o’ fire; these sculptures freed to bless and feed, guardians they be, of rock and tree. Whether the wanderer be woodland, o’er Faire, the magic bestowed holds blessings in tow. High a top the mountains’ crest, buried deep in forests’ nest, the guardians will forever rest holding still past river mills, looking down from Patches Max.
If you find yourself bored, perhaps you aren’t paying enough attention.
If you find yourself without wonder, perhaps you haven’t been asking the correct questions.
If you find yourself, perhaps you should keep looking.
If you find yourself again, perhaps you should stop looking.
The Master stays behind;
Tao Te ching
that is why she is ahead.
She is detached from all things;
that is why she is one with them.
Because she has let go of herself,
she is perfectly fulfilled.
“Everything is Dual and has Poles of opposites; opposites are identical in nature, but differ in Degree.” -The Principle of Polarity
Photo by Ashok J Kshetri on Pexels.comPanchamukha- Meaning the fived faced one.
The bija(seed) mantras for the 5 faces of Shiva are:
Na – Sadyojāta Rudra- Creation. West. Earth. Pṛthvī.
Maḥ – Vāmadeva Rudra- Preservation. North. Water. Jala.
Shi – Aghora Rudra-Dissolution/Rejuvenation. South. Fire. Agni
Va – Tatpuruṣa Rudra- Concealing Grace. East. Air. Vāyu.
Ya – Īśāna Rudra- Revealing Grace. Center. Ether. Ākāśa.
A-U-M Represents the primordial sound of the universe.
Each letter and sound corresponds to one of the Trimurti/Tridevi.
A – Brahma. Saraswati. Creation.
U – Vishnu. Luxshmi. Sustenance.
M – Shiva. Kali. Destruction.
The silence relates to transcendence and completion/fulfilment.
Each syllable and all three are made without the use of the tongue, and are the only sound syllables which can be made this way. All other sounds are made by changing these three with the aide of the tongue.
Panchakshari Mantra
AUM NAMAH SHIVAYA
AUM NAMAH SHIVAYA
AUM NAMAH SHIVAYA
- Abyssal Injection // Monsters of Madness and Magic
Machiavellian menace. Murderous malice, masquerading monarch. Self absorbed maiden monster, macerating miracles.
M̴̪̭̋͐̕ṵ̶̑́̑̈́̈́͝ȑ̵̨̰̬ḍ̸̢̅̃͋̕ͅḛ̷͕̯̗̄r̶͓̆̚
̸̛̼̱̐̏̚M̸͚̮͎̺͍̊̃͐͝͝ṳ̷̞̟̑̀̿̀̃͜ŗ̶̤̗̫͍̇͂͂̃̆̕ḑ̶͈̫̬͎͓̓̉̄̉́e̶̩͕̾̍́r̶̹̮̀́̚
̶̨̨͓͉͒̀̈́̌͆̍M̶̢̥̻̋̽u̵͉̞̔r̴̗͔̿̆͒̍d̶̨̨̈́͛͜͝ê̶̞̫̖̬̳̹̔̓r̷̗̳̭̬̻͆̈͌
Buried deep in dark depths, wriggling, squirming, struggling to survive. Feasts of rot, filth and decay. No light down here, only the drowning darkness. Your every move a desperate attempt to cover your heart, and nourish your being.
Ṣ̶̻̭̂̌͘ṭ̶̡̘̈́̂r̸̝̀ṷ̸̗͊g̴̣̈́̎ǵ̵̻̈́͘l̴̠̺̽̊͂ĕ̵̫̰̖͝
Ṣ̶̻̭̂̌͘ṭ̶̡̘̈́̂r̸̝̀ṷ̸̗͊g̴̣̈́̎ǵ̵̻̈́͘l̴̠̺̽̊͂ĕ̵̫̰̖͝
Ṣ̶̻̭̂̌͘ṭ̶̡̘̈́̂r̸̝̀ṷ̸̗͊g̴̣̈́̎ǵ̵̻̈́͘l̴̠̺̽̊͂ĕ̵̫̰̖͝
Growling hunger, torturous screams; Pleading out from the dark Abyss.
Feed the hungry a crimson mist.
Falling from above, feeding those below. A sadistic savior of sorts, scattered and scavenged, swallowed and digested. Pulled apart and teared at by the masses.
Shells of Darkness Hide the Beauty of Light. One and All the Path’s of All.
Photo by Meryl Katys on Pexels.comBefore you are ready to step out into the light, first you must survive the struggle of darkness; and once you step into the light, you understand why so many fight to keep it v̵͚͝i̶̦̦̿b̵͕̮̍̆͌ṟ̶͕͓̚a̵͈̔͌̌n̸͚̈́̊͆t̸̫͓̼̔̊.̸̭̭͌
As Within so Without – The light of the Universe shines ever through us all. The glory of the Heavens exists within. The path of our heart deepens through every experience, passing through waves of darkness and light, burning ever the same.
“Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.“
John 8:12Sitting in the gray between the light and the dark, being full by being empty, gaining much by casting out.
“That wisdom of knowledge by which one sees the imperishable in all beings, and the whole in multiplicities – recognize that wisdom as Sattvic“
Bhagavad Gita C18V20In and back, under and through. Watching within myself the world unfold. Rising and falling like waves in the ocean, wandering in thought like rivers in motion.
Mere Gurudev, charanon par sumana shraddha ke arpita hai
Tere hee dena hai jo hai. Wahi tujha ko samarapita haiMy Gurudev I offer these flowers of my faith at your feet
Whatever I have, you have given to me, and I dedicate it all to you.Na priti hai pratiti hai, na hi puja ki shakti hai
Meraa yaha man, meraa yaha tan, meraa kan kan samarapita haiI have no love, nor do I know you.
I don’t even have the strength to worship you,
But this mind of mine, this body of mine,
my every atom is dedicated to you.Tuma hee ho bhaava men mere, vicharon mein, pukaron mein.
Banaale yantra ab mujhko mere saravatra samarapita haiYou are the only one in my heart and my thoughts.
You are the one who I call out to.
Now Make me your instrument…all I am I offer to you.Mere Gurudev by Krishna Das:https://www.krishnadas.com/lyrics/mere-gurudev/
ॐ कालाकालाय विधमहे,
कालाअथीथाया धीमहि,
तन्नो काल भैरवा प्रचोदयात llOm Kaalakaalaaya Vidmahe,
Kaalaatheethaaya dheemahi,
Tanno Kaala Bhairava Prachodayat llI find myself having troubles discerning between extremes. Fear and Excitement, Dread and Anticipation, Loss and Relief… The many fonts of external experience seem to be one central rising sensation with a multiplicity of identifications. Gaining control of the identifying apparatus is the objective. Controlling input from the rooted depths, as well as from the crowned heavens to nourish the heart and stabilize the vessel. A stabilized vessel functions with greater clarity, less friction and is much more easily ḍ̸͠ḯ̶͙͉̠͑̓s̸̬̋a̸͔̒́̐s̷̠̗̳̔s̶̤͍̆ë̷̝̆m̵̜̈́b̷̢̥͎̈́l̸̯̱̘̾̍̒ȩ̷͈̓̇d̵̞͙͆̊͋ and ŗ̷͚͌̓͝ẹ̶͚̱͆̀̔a̶̧̘̋̌̌ş̶͑s̸̤͖͆̔̄e̶͙̐m̶̧͓͑b̵͉̗̀l̵̡͍̒̔ē̵̡̨̞̎d̸͈͒̈́̃.
הזן את עץ המוות כדי שעץ החיים יצמח ויגיע לשמיים. זכרו תמיד את עין סופ. אחדות לגמרי.
- Bubbling Tarmac // Eyes in the Abyss
Staring back from the Abyss, hundreds of eyes scattered across the darkness; some twinkling like distant stars, others staring maddeningly, or with piercing menace.
The many gazes never fixed, some often frantic, rolling in erratic arrays. All except one, gazing out with a strange loving intent…
“The great sadhus don’t have a human body. They are omnipresent. If a saint changes form, he doesn’t necessarily have to take on a human body. The soul is the small form and the human body is the huge form.” -Shri Neem Karolli Baba The winds blow south, and so the ship sails. Traversing the Astral sea in the wake of
the t̶͉̻̲̀e̶̳̐̑̈r̷̘̐r̸̢̟̂͌͊͜ḯ̴͙͓̇b̸̟͚̰͑̔͝ļ̶͙͂e̵̤̳͗.
Jñāna-Śaktī, the vessel, function over fashion; the discerning eye of the self
reduced to s̵͙̝͒͂m̶̹̑͋̀͜ó̸̱͉k̵͉͓̽̄̅e̸̘͆̎̈́ and a̴͖͐̔ṣ̶̦̀͝ḫ̶̀̍e̷̯͌̓s̴̢̯̈́̽͝.
ॐ अघोरेभ्योऽथ घोरेभ्यो घोर घोर तरेभ्यः
सर्वेभ्यस् सर्व सर्वेभ्यो नमस्तेऽस्तु रुद्र रूपेभ्यः
oṃ aghorebhyo’tha ghorebhyo ghora ghora tarebhyaḥ
sarvebhyas sarva sarvebhyo namaste’stu rudra rūpebhyaḥ
ॐ नमः शिवाय
ॐ नमः शिवाय
ॐ नमः शिवाय
Empty vessel, sanctified with sage. Sorcerers’ sand to the third. Intention set with crystal sets, waxy wicks – resin sticks. Foreign favor tied with grace, Heavens’ tear held in place. Fires high as Arcane eye – sealing red marking the end.
I am ever so curious to know what hides under my Baba’s blanket.
Just as I was curious to know of all the treasures my Grandfather hid.
Always doing extraordinary things and playing the fool.
Acting excited when they happened or pretending they did not.
Waking through dreams to find you always ahead of me,
leading the way, charting the course.
You need no body, yet you take on many, for my account, never your own.
For not just I but many more, all follow your loving Grace.
Both lock and key you are the way, and you show the way, such is your Grace.
I sing to you and remember you, looking to you I follow you.
For when I don’t know myself I follow you, and when I know myself, I am you.
गुरुर्ब्रह्मा गुरुर्विष्णुर्गुरुर्देवो महेश्वरः । साक्षात परं ब्रह्म तस्मै श्रीगुरवे नमः ॥
GururBrahmaa GururVisnu Gururdevo Maheshvarah | Guru sakshat parahma Brahma tasmai Shri Gurave Namah
If God were the sandalwood tree, the Guru is the scent which carries you there, and intoxicates you with it’s fragrance.
God, Guru, and Self are One.
Shri Ramana MaharshiLove राम
Serve राम
Remember राम
- Habitual Horrors // Misunderstood Madness
Dark clouds begin to gather, electric bleu with static, coalescing with malice… The blinding flash, followed by the groaning of c̵͎͋͑ä̷̲̒t̵̫̓ṭ̸͇̈́̐l̴͚̾ẽ̸̬ … What cursed God reigns terror above this cursid abyss…
The sacred sun and sacred moon illuminate the Golden court. One attainment is eternal attainment.
Photo by Anni Roenkae on Pexels.comIt would appear I have been thrown in the mud again by my Divine Playmate…
It is to my own shame the lateness of this discovery, however It is with such, I must begin again the carful act of making myself clean.
Even in the muck of feeling, my gaze never leaves…
Deep within the all encompassing blackness, void of form, I find myself grappled by the inky d̴̹̆a̶̻̍r̸̢̓k̵̠͒n̷̯̑ḙ̵́ṡ̷̠s̸̬̆ itself. Unable to resist, ṕ̴͇ą̴̓r̵͠ͅa̶̫͋l̴͖͋y̷̰͝ẕ̸̉e̷̳̒d̶̼̅ by the crushing void, a tentacular torment terrorizes my m̸̙͂ï̸̺ṇ̵̈d̴̲͑; as visions spray outwards into the nothingness. Twisting in ẗ̸̟́ë̷̯́ȑ̷̩r̴̡̃o̸̭̊r̵̳͂ as time tears into o̷̬͆b̷̟͛l̴̩̀i̵̠̍v̵̱̐i̸͉̓ȯ̴̻n̸͔̕. The madness draws on, luring me with it’s song, longing to be sung; offering s̴͖̎o̷̫̎l̸̊͜a̴̼̓c̶͖̆e̷̢͌ to whom that sings.
Like the Baul’s of Bengal, I heed the words of the Weaver; the great Mother is calling, calling to the madmen, the madmen of the Heart...
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~̶̡̳͕͓̆̄͜~̵̬̟͋̓̒̊͝~̸̡̱̭̹̀̅̈̒̄̍͌̐̕~̷̥̓̆͜~̵͇͚͖͙̲̭̞̦̜̻̊~̸̨̨͍̩̗̣̉̾̀͋͛͒̎̂̄͠~̷̨̛̯̗̗̯͓̫̬̀̊̒̃͛̋̄͋̋̒͝~̶̛̭͙̮̠̼̝̯̘̄͐̒̃͜͠͝~̸̡̯̭͚͗̔͌̾̒~̶̯̙́̒̍͂͂̊̄̈́̈́͘̚~̴̛͎͚͚̤̣̈͂̈͌͊̑́̆̃ͅ~̴̧̻͓͓̳͕̪̂~̴̫̭̟̻͖͈̤̈́~̵̨̨̛͉̝̺̣̫̝̖͌̉̄͐̽̈̋͆̚~̴̧͈̣̃̈́̅̽̅̊̕~̴̟͙͇́~̶͚̱̙͚̞͖̘̮̝̲̅̓~̶̨̹̭̲̻̀̂͑̓̓̾~̵͈͔͖̅́~̸̞̅̓̆~̸̦̺̮̱̠͔͚̊͑̕~̶̖̮͉̹͋͛́͋̕~̸̢͓̗̼̮̫͙̦̹͗̉̏͗̚͠~̶͈̼͔͇̻̲̊̄̔̈͛͛̔̊̂̕͜͝~̶͉͙͓̲̲͕͓͌̊̅͛̈͑̆̅̓͘͜͝ͅ~̴̠͉̰͉̭͑͌̇̀̚~̷̢̢̜͙̗͔͉͙̲͍̩͊̎͌̂~̸̨͈͇̠͍͈͖̲̰̝̬̪̕~̵̢̛̝̯̰͍̋̑̎̇̇̽͊̓̀͠~̵̘̮̭̳̣͑͂~̸̧̲͈̺̤̼̖̺̙̪̐͛̒́̐͋̓̆͝ͅ~̴̻̼͓̿̎̓̌~̶̦̟̥̭̱͎͌̓̊̍̏̈́̽̇̈ͅ~̷̧̛͕̯̼̙͗̓̈͐̆́͆~̷̰̗̫̻̘͗͂̆̄̓̎̓̎~̶̞͍͚̘̒́̈́̍̂͐̽̓̔ͅ~̵̨̡̣̦̗̬̪͚̑͆̓̀́͐̄̀̋̆͜͝ͅ~̵̬͈͕̰̼̌̾̽̾͑͆̎̏̓̓̕~̷̨̡̘͍͇̗̱̯͍̘͎͒͋͗̈́̐͝͝͝~̴̮̪̙̻̖̎
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The room was completely barren except for a single lectern, where sat a lone book with a charred black cover, and misshapen pages. A boarded window on the opposite side of the lectern illumined the layers of dust now disturbed. In the perplexing quiet of the room a frantic whispering can be heard coming from the book. For months the whispers came through dreams, infesting the mind with a maddening hunger, saturating all thought with dire need. Hearing the whispers in the flesh was almost too much, but they beckoned onwards ever still, throbbing with the anticipation of being freed.
A Rammamilrion has been recovered.
To go into the Dark with a Light is to know the Light.
To know the Dark you must go Dark, go without Sight,
and find that the Dark too Blooms and Sings,
and is Traveled by Dark feet and Dark wings.
–Wendell Berry - Not Holy Not Roman Not an Empire
Deep in the objectiveless abyss a gathering of formless beings call out in unison, a string of maddening language.
̸̢̨̜̙͍̠͚̯̞̘̜̌͐̊̀͝ͅŸ̸̨̢͈͕́̑͊̋̓͗̽͐a̵̼͔̫̝̱̯̜̖̅͐͘͜ṟ̴͓̳̹̞̲̤̗̀͂̓̊̇͑̀̓̚͜͝͝r̸̗̘̻̤̯̱̠͔̹͚͇̈͜͠’̷͕̻̙͔̯̗̇̊͌̽́̐͊͑̊͝͝s̵̞̜̰͙͔̞̠̜͕̝̏̐̾̃̆̃̑̍̈́̕̕͜ȍ̵̟͚̥̖͖͑̅̍̊̈̀̉̈́͘ḷ̶͈͌̒͊́̇͒̋̕̕̕͝t̶͚̱̝̩̝̠̳̩͆̄͆̾̇̀̎̈́̚ͅa̵͍͓̋́̈́͆̓̈́͗̎r̵̼͈̳̺̟̘̙͙̈́́̅͛͜ͅr̴̢͎̖̥̱͓̠͑̈͂̀́͆͠
“It is a wonder anyone sees this, and a wonder that anyone else speaks it, and a wonder that yet another hears it. Yet even when they’ve heard it, no one knows it at all.” -Bhagadva Gita 2:29
Photo by Shelly Still on Pexels.comHow many times has the same empire risen, fallen, only to rise again in the land which first caused the fall? How many times have we deceived ourselves into duality, claiming victory just to take the name of the vanquished?
Woe to the Vanquished.
Ů̸̙n̵̅͜ţ̸̔i̵̹̚l̶̥̾ ̶̲͝w̶̨̆e̴̘͆ ̸͈̉ǹ̴͜é̵̹e̶̛͓d̸͍̄ ̷̏͜t̵͍͂h̵̺͋e̵̝̕i̵͙̾r̷̭͒ ̸̗̓s̴͍̾c̸̺̀i̴̟̔ḙ̵͝ṅ̵̹t̵͎͆i̸͓͌s̷̥͋t̵̡͌s̷̯̈́
Countless times the lands ‘we’ve‘ conquered, simply rallied under a different name and became the conquerors. Countless times after ‘we‘ have been conquered could we rally under a new name to conquer again.
In the earlier years of war this game was simple, when territory was yet to be claimed or names could easily be changed, the back and fourths of power, akin to a dance. However what happens to this play on roles when there is no where for the vanquished to flee, where regrouping looks like becoming human plunder?
Culture becomes the new field of war, and ideology the weapons of destruction.
Wars like these, there are no winners, and all who participate are losers. Ideologies can’t be culled like people, ideas can’t be razed like cities. Culture is not a territory which can be conquered but a constantly shifting landscape forged by the ideologies of many. Conflicts may arise but the old ways of kill or be killed do not work anymore. The only thing accomplished by using ideology to force out ideology, is a mutual adaptation and a carbon copy with a stolen name.
In semi realized attempts, culture nets have been cast onto nations of rivaling ideology, only to see them absorb the culture into their ideology instead of the net acting as the indented repeal.
Ẃ̵̝̏͂Ő̶̡̉͝É̷̪̔̾͆͠ ̵̪̘̬̃̾T̷̬̪̠̮͊̇̒͑̈́O̴̹̩̿ͅ ̶̢̢̩̀̓̑T̴̛̩͕͙̓͗̚ͅH̷̛̛̛̗̱͗͠E̵̖̹̟̒͋̓̀ ̷̧̥̓̅͂͑V̶͔̌̂̈͝Ä̷͙͕́̎̋͘N̷̥̈́Q̶̹͚͆̂̽̔͠Ū̶̧͍͍̥̟İ̵͕̟̠̱̤̃͛͘S̶͈͎̯̯̈́̓̈́͜͝H̴̨̗͗̽̍̃̀E̵̯͗͛̈́͘D̷͙̀̈́́ͅ
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We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.
Plato - Crematorium
I am a burning fire.
All consuming, with dire intensity.
Bring to me what you no longer desire.
Bodies weak, old and tired.
Ashes to ashes dust to dust.
Funeral fire o’ sacred pyre
scorching freedom from burning desire.
Agni Gayatri Mantra
ऊँ महाज्वालाय विद्महे अग्नि मध्याय धीमहि |
तन्नो: अग्नि प्रचोदयात ||Om Mahajwalay Vidmahe Agni Madhyay Dhimahi |
Tanno Agnih Prachodayat ||Om, Let me meditate on the great flame, Oh, God of fire, grant me with higher intellect, Oh, let the radiant God of Fire illuminate my mind.
“Under, and back of, the Universe of Time, Space and Change, is ever to be found The Substantial Reality-the Fundemental Truth.” -The Kybalion
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com - The Absence of Creation
There is nothing more beautiful (to me) than a blank page, an empty room, or a vacant m̸͓̪̓̾̆̉̆͝ḯ̷̧̪̪̰͇̟̿̉͠n̸̻̟̳̮͌̍̒͆͠d̸̞͒́̀̂͘. For in the absence of creation, lies the true creator of all things. The imagination, The active part of the emptiness. The source beyond the emptiness, which fills the void in it’s activity, laying somehow connected through awareness, self awareness.
OM AH HUM HOH HAM KSHAH MA LA VA RA YA HUM PHET I often wonder if I am the one writing, or if the writing is the one doing me. A lot of life is like that. Being pulled down the stream by forces unseen, decorating my view with imagined scenes the endless v̸̦̈́o̶͚̊i̶̱͝d̸̜̉ really isn’t so bad.
Brahmananda Swaroopa,
Isha Jagadisha
Akhilananda Swaroopa,
Isha Mahesha
You label the world around you and you miss the possibility of emptiness in all things. You label the thoughts which arise in your mind and miss the opportunity of the clear awareness. You label the feelings vibrating through your awareness and you mistake the emptiness for being full. To mistake the emptiness as being full robs all credit from the imagination, from the self. True emptiness in all things. Glory to the Creator.
Video Credit to Channel Owner; nndmtube
The Ramblings of a Madman 