Tuesday, July 6, 2010

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.


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