poetic palate

the seer

2011-12-31T23:21:00.000-08:00

It should be said now

before the mass of group consciousness turns the page

about seeing, or the lack of

I too, have had moments of blindness

of sight discolored by gaping wounds

but my words were not hollow, my actions stood behind them

until it was no longer necessary to carve them into etherspaces

so I stopped speaking and gave earnestly until the last of embers expired from the fire held in your place

and what I encountered was words that boomeranged back in a time-released fashion back into your cave

they didn't carry much of an echo

a substance.

If I place myself a few feet away of observation, I can sympathize for the paralyzed one within.

some people will pause and look deeply

with curiosity, to marvel at the intricacy of God's unique creation before them, eager to discover more, eager to be nourished by God's breath shared

I will admit I have failed on numerous occasions to do this

but on selected occasions of scrutiny I said yes, a yes made of aged oak wood

but yet like a reed would bend resiliently to the dance of the breeze to flow with the grace of life

said yes to a wandering soul delivered to my doorstep by the Divine Magician

like a bundled infant

said yes of acceptance to a mysterious duty of tempestuous nature

my fault, I may have been too blind

in contrast one may not have looked too deeply with their eyes

into their soul

and outward to imbibe the subtleties, the shades of color, to savour the layers of flavours

to unravel the sacred spiral, to walk the holy labyrinth,

sometimes one is not ready for certain journeys of breaking open, breaking apart, peering into the reverent caverns within the soul

sometimes we miss the fragrance of a flower in the cusp of blooming

sometimes we mistake by seeing the tightly woven bud

as the end all

but it is only the beginning of an unfolding poetic beauty to be unraveled by sacred precision,

in time unlocking the poignantly breathtaking universe within

will you see?

what will you perceive?

will you see me.

will you see the galaxies, nebulas and stellar light

will you see the manifestation of earthly delight of bone, warm waters, silk, salt, sweet, soft

will you name me or keep me infinitely undefined?

gravity the gift

2011-12-22T00:04:00.001-08:00

Chronos, you do bring gifts

sometimes with a brute hand and sometimes with a delicate hand as you strike your time chime

dues paid

a new day has risen,

Time - although a construct, often so misconstrued

one cannot deny the passage of night and day that has repeated itself incessantly for my ancestors ancestors and prior, and continues today for the children's children

Chronos, you have gifted me, alas in due time, to believe in the gravitational pull again

I had lost faith, so I had floated in outerspace like cosmic debris for an unknown, unmeasurable amount of dedicated time

but gravity has pulled me down to earth again

gravity sank me down so my hope could rise to the surface again

Gravity, I can believe in you again

I can believe in the pulling in of forces

of two bodies of mass

dancing in elegant distance, coming closer together

I can believe in the visit of the comet

destined to line up in my vision

I can believe in electromagnetics

creating fusion and synergy.

We can pull towards

meet in spaces

having exchanges through the grid of light

nebulas, fresh from death & freshly gaining the momentum of life

pulling and pushing down

condensing into manifestation

My astronaut's travelling boots removed

my feet touch earth

I am home. We are home.

The Stirrings

2011-12-21T21:59:00.000-08:00

In these times of acceleration I've lived lifetimes among you

intermingling with interdimensions, living multiple lives

they are starting to bleed into each other

In the great heights of the Sun

In the great lights of the sparkling days

following the fresh green rebirth after the cold dark days just before

in this etch of time, surreal like a bubble

i bloomed in pubescence just beginning the journey, advancing into burgeoning adulthood and reached a milestone of myself grayed, dullness saturating from an expected and projected paradigm fullfilled, until the timeliness of impeding death struck its blow.

In that sliver of hyperdimensional life I was dealt quite a hand from the deck, so rich with storytelling, whispers, echoes, silences, standstills, stories never wanting to be retold, and then stories never told to a human soul. Kept witnessed only by me, shared and buried in the soil of the great mulcher mother earth.

I gambled and some would say I lost, or failed

I let the snake charmer entrance me, until it bit too hard to ignore its slow toxic poison overtaking me

I let the charlatan whisk me away until I abyssmaly lost myself and sought to find my way home again

I let the chameleon meld with me until I saw its true colors show me how very contrasted it was from the first impression

I let the vampire drink until my coloring faded and life seeped from me like a long gasp from realizing one's diminishing lifeforce that had been freely given up...

I let the actor play with me until I got too caught up in the drama

I let the coyote trick me with humor that one day stopped being funny

I met narcissus along the way near the end of the road, when I finally let the blinders off, gained clarity, surrendered with white flag, and listened to the whispers from the soul's inner winds...

Shortly after I was approached by Chiron the wounded healer, reminding me of my sacred duty to envelope compassion, all ways...

I've been abled to walk away from the game

bitten, scarred, drained, swivelled, conscious whilst grossly unconscious, walking the drunkard's gait, spewing the woes of the intoxicated Liver, and having my un-tender moments of a sailor's turrets speech.

But the winds of the soul still speaks, if I care to truly stop and listen - during this ancestrally sacred turning of the tides of day & night --- I feel something breaking open in the dark of the soil, something is moving, wiggling, willing itself to outstretch... behold... something is coming alive again

I must live in the trusted knowingness that the gold awaits to be harvested from the mysterious occult alchemy undergoing from the stories I have shared within the soil of Mother Earth's soul. She is busy mulching, she is busy creating new rich soil from those stories, come spring life will come forth again. I will harvest the gold, it will wear and shine like a golden sun in my belly, out my eyes, out my mouth.

I've died many deaths in this cycle to be reborn amongst the homo-luminous, sharing the trials of the human spirit, sharing the trials of my tribe, my brothers and sisters, the conscious and unconscious as we choose to awake.

assimilation

2011-12-13T22:15:00.000-08:00

another wave of assimilation has been threatening to overtake me for some time now.

For too long I thought I was wrong or something was wrong with me

for lacking a particular gene, an air about me, an impetus to follow along to function in this society.

For too long I pressed down on myself, for thinking and feeling differently than the masses

but something in me would not budge to conform, to contortionize myself into the cookie cutter that has been there waiting for me for when I am ready for my soul to be broken and be made unrecognizable by fitting into the mold. Even though I feel like I am already dying here, I at least have my soul in my possession...

and perhaps I suffered much as a consequence of being in the outskirts...

I've been hiding behind the curtains pacing, stifling my voice, and have belonged nowhere, just surviving day by day.

but then some souls that my DNA remembers from previous lifetimes sent me reminders in clever ways...

they echoed a resonance of my actual sanity and spiritual health

I came to my senses and can stand in my choice, my voice of

no i don't want to participate in something I don't believe in

no I don't want to harm another life to get ahead

no i don't believe in your philosophy, infrastructure and destructive rituals

no I don't want to be force fed your propaganda brainwashing programming

A contemporary reminded me the value of being grounded, authentic to who you are at the core of your spirit, to speak from that place of knowing from the depths of the heart & soul, that one is to heal and cleanse from the polluting energies that poison our sense of worth, freedom, and true sovereignty.

It can be easy to be swayed by the trance, we often need those calls, those reminders to wake up, to not let our senses be continuously dulled, that our life saver doesn't mean a flotation device but an anchor that plunges us deeply into the spiritual matrix, the roots of our hearts and souls. Yes, I want to leave a legacy of feather-weight for the generations to come.

regret

2011-12-01T16:05:00.000-08:00

I would have, if I was a smoker left the room quietly and inhaled the slew of phytochemical alchemy of tobacco, under the umbrella of the cloudy night sky. Sitting with and releasing out my desperate consciousness of what I had just done. The dysfunctional slander to my own self. I watched you from uptop as I gave. I watched you take a gift, which left me empty-handed. I curled up in my knowing, unable to lie to myself. I would if I was a smoker inhaled deeply the what some would call poison to numb or another call medicine to soothe, feeling less and less of my painful regret. pausing in moments to hold a smoking cylinder with the faint ember fire in my hand -- it speaks my language of burning, language of pain & transformation. With each waves of breaths feeling less alone as I am being watched by the moon, the stars, and the languid movements the talking clouds. If I was a smoker the dark poetry would have unravelled from my lungs to meet the cold night air in a dance of smoky mist. My toxic offerings to the heavens, yet each inhalation an intrepid mixture of quiet lashings and brief numbing comfort.

2011-11-07T08:36:00.000-08:00

the human experience

a microphone selected

a wire to god

the empty room with just one voice

and the presence of the one

who listens, emanates and speaks without words

directly to your soul

here you get naked

decide to let go of what you have been hiding, if you choose

transparent of the human experience

you unburden the facades, the mocked up strength, the masks we layer and

walk through the sticky veils of illusions that leave your skin slicked

but the soul with laser like acuity pierces through the distortion intactly clean and unto the sharp bevels of our authentic natures

true intimacy begins without shame without hiding

but showing up fully you.

2011-09-25T08:56:00.000-07:00

Travelling...