The Interval

On the outside; a brilliant sunset which casts the last glowing spots of spotlight. On the inside; the radiance begins in fervor, I sit and daydream and then I pace and cast myself into the slipstream.
The greatest moment; like a rocker on his death bed, the repugnance is purged; the smell of divine fragrance (jasmine) enslaves the snake within us all. It is the embodiment of purity. The sense of sincerity. The knowledge that every act of mine is final and it calls death to the fore; to be a spectator, to be enchanted with the brilliance/exuberance that is life. it makes death seem unimportant. It makes life to be glorious. An experience not even needing memory to hold it. For its repeated every single time in a new way. Another way to do the same old. Another way to grab and revel in the mystical alchemical gold. The gold which is cast from dust.

Metamorphosis is evolution. 

Love holds the kings throne; Truth is the ever strong halo beckoning the ignorant to come and kneel down at the scepter shining forth.
The shaman sees with the eyes of the hawk. From the edges of the carved mountains, which way is the fall. And where he shall rise. Then he flutters his wings, not once or twice but till they open up and lift him beyond the skies.
Oh avadutas (the free ones), why do we remain bound by what we create?
Oh shining ones, why do we not love and care and instead breathe hatred with every word we spare...

Into the slipstream where it all began, way beneath the psyche where we all are made (from birth). In the darkness where only the holy sound pervades. There is no form to be called I. Oh freedom it seems like another refreshing life.
Beneath the skin and deeper than the bone; Your true form to nurture will never go. Its what nature is; an embrace which unites that which never separated in the first place.  
My private space; Your private space; further than thought and dream; closer than heart and its beat. The slipstream is the meditation of ones own self. its the interval which you and I seek from lifes disheartening tales.
The slipstream collects the experiences within itself and distributes it further all over. Each existential experience in this way felt/touched/created in each I this world encounters.
Intertwined are we all; how ever far we try to isolate ourselves, what affects even one; affects the entire one.
The interval of meditativeness in my head and heart explain what it all is; and has become. The curtains fall and the entire universe collapses into the primordial seas of dream beckoned. The curtains are raised and I am privy to the most special sunrise from the same spot where the sun died the previous night.
Fear and doubt dispelled; I continue to stride and slide; in a sense unite with every step of mine. Taken from birth till the day death dispels any false notions which the interval could not crucify.

Peace

Living in the Womb

The rusk and grain separate you and the pain.

In the desert sand, the rattler shakes like mad.

Who will win you over? Judas or Mary Jane; one mans misery is another mans gain

Defiling and spreading, slowly turning (vermin). Becoming nothing again and again and again.

Sit down; stand up, enjoy the glass of wine sans singer sans song.

Slow down; pick up. Life is turmoil, chaos breeding mistrust.

Point fast, Shoot last. Pity there is no one to put me in my casket;

So sure? So surely you will come for the funeral. Pick up an end; bury one under the molten rain

Defy! Decide! Deicide!. Don’t doom yourself to this lie. I have become the ravenous hunger that I hope you surely despise.

Cross over and kiss oh so so slow. Oh how I bit off more than I could chew. But the ride is never ending. Sorry to tell you but you got a ticket love; for eternity

Two pennies for your eyes. For the ferryman to be bribed. Taking you over to the other shore. Where blood meets wine, wine meets lips, and those lips; they surely must go… get aboard!

Travel travails that must not last. The ferryman bores your dead real fast. Oh how the Styx overflows into the boat. Of gold and mildewed lava to burn my skin. Nothing favors sin like delicious sin.

Thrown overboard like a whore; croaked and choked and oh so bored. The god Anubis waiting for me at the door; Kiss the snake and guard the gate. Your end; was it worth the wait?

Its your birthday child of the damned. It’s your renewal to ancient love of the land. Your journey repels you to even try to think another one might be at hand.

Had enough of changing cloaks so soon; death and life and living in the womb. Over and over and over till the end. The end in sight and no end so right.

Would you hold my hands and walk with me/ The child flutters like a kite in spring summers glee. Oh wicked son of god; you entice me once more. That I be smitten by innocence and enter the world of addictive gore. I put my head down and sigh ‘Once more; No more; once more’

Look another one born, the child so complete yet so lovelorn. He is the master, he be very well the slave. He will grow up to be our savior. Before we once again bury him in his grave!

Hiss Order

The cool shade inviting, your special foe now in.
Turbulant shaking and violent strife; flowing raging like the wild flower
Demise; Spitting the fury within, right type of dissent.

In spite I flew in the daze, it deludes the wicked, blessing insane..
Type spell cast over the pearl like moor, Winter Wine with the wane.
To look over your venom, the death and vile in my vein. Take the sport that first fades (into your well of pain)

Dye red, and wine over flows as the turtle settles within the shell,
You look in due awe, with the jaw hanging like a nuclear holocaust babe.
So, sow the seeds of strife within, the servant will obey; Hiss order looms in dis order.
This order which you accept with heads down to be in unison the favorite failure of our day.

No this is not the attempt to change what come may, hiss oder like the snake pouncing down at the flesh
weak and writhing rage.
The coil force is shifting, and as this is the day and age of aquarious, what you could be is what you be never ever in a thousand days.
Night owl; smirks and leaves for the worst to come down and finish the end looks like.
It bears no mark or resemblance to memory; it corrupts and registers itself again.. you will see
the bars unchained now let the fiery to the fore; the subtle humor, or what the senses will call an insane moment..
uncovers again and again. Why to bother; when everything bit down becomes to do your bidding.
Come what may.
Take a breadth and hold yourself in, see the wisdom of silence of this order to change it (within)

I stress your survival linked to the lineage, where you are the power plant; shamans night owl and the laughter of hallucinatory proportions.!