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let it flow


Let it flow I
 
 
 
A long and twisty journey
to find me where I started
and learn I never departed at all...


Half a Page of Scribbled Lines
 
Stone cottage, mythical forest.
Magical fireplace flickers stories.
Giants and dwarves, quests and sorties.
Forces ancient yet virile and free.
Luminescent sprites cast nets aglow,
gently float, flit
betwixt, between.

Realities Doorway
 
Zombie-like stagger,
subliminally aware of
omnipresent, unobtrusive
psychic feelers.
Surveillance sweep.
Data bombardment.
Brain shakes with malevolent intent.
Tiny spinal fractures emit
memory, reason, the capacity to love.


I am free to wander
all the wealth of stories that
could ever be,
choose the ones
to steep in, retell myself
as sleepy morning
soliloquy.
Psyche’s numinous doorway stands open.
Gentle blue heaven surrounds
my little house, imbues, secures.
Luscious landscape, gorgeous, bountiful.
Soft-shaded bubbles effervesce,
proclaim enchantment.
Voyages.
Initiate’s siren call
sea-washed
sun-warmed.
Magnificent peaks manifest,
clothed by sparkling
sediment.
Aloft, alone, I gasp in awe.
Anytime you ask
I will gladly
express,
extend pleasure with my stories.
Just outside my doorway
always eternities more.




dweller on the threshold
 
 
Ivy dense,
tangly generations,
encircles. Insulation.
Mortared brick, aged,
silent lamentation
for days that never can return.
 
Inspired by anger
coursing through my blood-brain barrier,
by symphonies of guilt and shame
by dismal morality tableaux
glimpsed in roving eyes,
by gagged and chained
liminal desires,
by sacrificial warriors
who cope with more
than could be required
and the songs my silent ear demands I hear.
 
Collar up against bleak wind and dark.
Rising smoke creates warmth illusion.
Wrapped in sanity's delusion,
fog's memory of mist, imagined tide.
Seated here, salt-etched wall
alone between vast sand and
murmuring waves.
No one sings.
The notes, the voices
appear



Silence
 
 
We who are silent
tongues clamped to grindstone,
throats clinched like forever grief
caught, pinned, suspended in lethal cloud.
We would cry out
send forth aureoles of potent speech
to assuage, to persuade to desist,
if voice permitted.
Abraded to dust, clinging to glints and shards,
bare breath escapes without
resistance,
silent
but for that shimmer, that subliminal
growl

~~~

Let it flow II


Growing Out of Liminality


Thirteen Wizards Shall Guide You, rotating in 7s,
to be chosen from a wizard test administered at regular intervals
to any who wish to apply.
Each wizard shall serve at his/her pleasure -- until they decide to move on.
Any wizard may return by retesting and getting the highest score amongst
those currently in line at the time of a vacancy, like any other candidate.
The test to be devised by a wise pre-council to ascertain qualities of
wisdom, compassion, responsibility, integrity and clarity of communication.
The test may be reviewed and revised at any time that the full council agrees
to do so, based on evidence of better result to be gained.
The wizards do not make the laws.
Laws are made by direct democracy, after a sufficient period of debate when
an overwhelming majority of consensus seems likely.
Wizards do have veto power.
Wizards do not control the economy. That is the province of the market.
The wizards do oversee the use and conservation of common resources.
They do oversee a social infrastructure that assures everyone a comfortable, secure
livelihood. They do oversee disputes to assure that everyone is treated fairly
in the course of commerce, and in the course of community life.
They are not paid an outright salary.
They are given ample living conditions so that their minds may be free
of personal want.



The experience of pain and suffering can be used as a gateway to compassion.
Compassion promotes self-compassion
Self-compassion promotes introspection
promotes self-experimentation
promotes awareness of personal operating systems
promotes forgiveness of misconceived blame
promotes relaxation of boundaries and restrictions
promotes liminal wisdom
promotes calm acceptance of non-rational realities,
promotes reintegration of self as programmer
promotes self-reprogramming in alignment with
self-progression to a place of bliss and
dharmic awareness in which
every piece fits, magically finds its place
in expanding space eternally unwinding.



windows


That liminal curtain between the pain
and screen selection, prescribed feeling. Immersion
distracts from meaning: what you don't mean;
all the ravaging truth (No, that's not me!)
I was the princess, all the rage -- cashing in
on beauty, charm, ambition
See, my vision, bubbling up in pastel
pinks and blues.
Who were you, back when
the carnival was still in town?
Were you that merry clown,
costumed glee, charismatic spree,
grab it all for free!
And now?
Cloaked in silence, screaming; bravely scheming.
Which face you can allow to smile,
slip through comedic picket fence or crooked style.
Intense desire disguised as disgust.
Social trust misapplied.
How to excavate, extricate all those lies,
(and why should I?) to touch cool, hard stone,
layered experience, polished to magnificence
not mine alone


God is a concept. Power is belief.


Born with the implied function to continue the tradition of who we are.
Haunted by hunger for applause from those we adore.
Containers of dangerous unknown unknowns.
It’s not morality. It’s not romantic love.
We aren’t equipped to viscerally commit beyond
the bounds allowed
by our desires.
We act within confines
of who we’ve defined ourselves to be.
Shell-shocked by normality.
Remnants and bits carelessly sewn together.
Feel the pull before the push dethrones from behind.

Accept
need as given.
Wander on, through healthy reverence, pleasure,
bliss, mystic surrender

Tales of death and resurrection make it seem so easy.
Yes, I’m terrified; but twill be better in the end, and then
again when I revive.
But just because the legends say better days will show
doesn’t make it so.
Seers can foretell bitter memories. Fear can
eviscerate for aeons.
Long before healing can take hold, strength diminishes,
resolve escapes, the time to reignite arrives too late.





Welkin


In closing moments of late Winter light,
clouds sink afire into horizon's shore.
Visions shielded by day from instinct's sight
creep into focus, relink to nature's core

If the sky could, it would dream of stars nova bright.
Inspired vision lingers, abreacts, holds wisdom,
high on meditation,
splinters into triptych.
The you that dreams.
The universal eye dreaming.
The awakened.

Relax deeply,
languidly. Breathe.
Tell those busy thoughts to be dreams,
diffuse.

~~~

Last edited by libramoon, Mar/14/2014, 7:51 pm
Mar/12/2014, 9:32 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 


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