“Life in contemporary society is like an open-air lunatic asylum with people cutting and spraying their grass (to deny untidyness, hence lack of order, hence lack of control, hence their death), beating trails to the bank with little books of figures that worry them around the clock (for the same reason), ogling bulges of flesh, bent over steering wheels and screeching around corners, meticulously polishing their cars, trimming their hedges (and of course spraying them), giving out parking tickets, saluting banners of colored cloth with their hand on their heart, killing enemies, carefully counting the dead, missing, wounded, probable dead, planning production curves that will absolutely bring about the millenium in thirty-seven years (if quotas are met), filling shopping carts, emptying shopping carts, nailing up vines (and spraying them)- and all this dedicated activity takes place within a din of noise that tries to defy eternity: motorized lawn mowers, power saws, electric clipping shears, powered spray guns, huge industrial machines, jack hammers, automobiles and their tires, giant jets, electric shavers, motorized toothbrushes, dishwashers, clotheswashers, dryers, vacuum cleaners. This is truly obsessive-compulsiveness on the level of the visible and the audible, so overpowering in its total effect that it seems to make of psychoanalysis a complete theory of reality. I mean that in this kind of normal cultural neurosis man's natural animal spontaneity is almost wholly stifled: the material-technological character-lie is so ingrained in modern man, for the most part, that his natural spontaneity, his urges standardized perceptions that they are hardly recognizable: I have, for example, seen someone in ecstasy over a new Edsel, and looks of beatitude on the faces of people contemplating a vast new stretch of concrete or a box-like new apartment building. Modern man is closed off, tightly, against dimensions of reality and perceptions of the world that would threaten or upset his standardized reactions: he will have it his way if he has to strangle the segment of reality that he has equipped himself to cope with.”
~Ernest Becker, The Birth and Death of Meaning (1971)
Mornings like this I wake up and as I dissolve into the light of the morning sun I wonder what I could ever done to deserve such ecstatic participation in the great communion of life here. The feeling of warm sun on bare skin after a long winter is balm for the soul:…..salve at ion.s dance with the here & now of circum.stance ::::: standing around the circle looking in, and saying “ yes, I am the Point” And The Line The Arc of the Angles that bleed into Mind As the Prizm splits The rotting rind To make way for the Seeds If ‘I and Thine’
The true test of assimilation into transformation is if you can hold it all together within your awareness, or if it slowly dissipates and leaves you lost and hungry for external stimulation. This is the nature of timelessness and wholeness within the seventh sense, for when you begin to be whole and cohesive, there is no difference between now and the moment I first seduced you with my words back on a cold snowy evening in November of ‘94. It is all happening simultaneously throughout eternity, so will always be within you right Now once you are whole, but only a thread of retreating memory until you embrace that cohesion completely.
The problem is that you are still seeing from the plateau of linear reality, and so time stretches out behind you like a road you traveled long ago, when in the seventh sense reality it is happening right now and eternally forevermore. From where you presently stand, instead of that same energetic seduction flowing through you to ignite the flame to light your path of heart, it is viewed as a past memory and so it leaves you empty and lonely because it does not exist in the Now of your perceptions.
This is another way to glimpse the nature of cohesion. If the things you have learned and the experiences you have amassed are only memories stored in the brain, they are not really a part of Infinite you, but only connected to the physical self, yes? And while it is true that some of these memories have contributed to the wholeness of you and will follow you into eternity, it cannot really be said that they are the heart and soul of you, but only recordings of events which contributed to your personal inventory. We have come to the point in your journey where these things must be made part of you through Doing if they are to have any benefit in your confrontation with the eagle when you face your final test to claim your destiny.
Be gentle with yourself, but also be firm and demanding, for that is the nature of the finest seductions of the Self, yes? This is not an easy concept, and so we will approach it slowly until it yields its secret willingly instead of having to be taken by force. Ah, but never forget that sometimes a firm pressure must be steadily applied to break through into the ecstasy of conjoining utterly with something. And so it is up to each of you to always be caressing the question of your own cohesion and coming to understand its nature by learning to speak its language and coming to see through its infinite eyes.
You’ve come too far to go back to the safe sanctuary of oblivion, and so without this wholeness you would be cast asunder, each individual fragment of your consciousness hurled in a different direction, still aware but without reference, without cohesion, an infinitesimal number of screams echoing endlessly into the abyss, and all of them only what’s left of you and nothing more. Indeed, legends of purgatory arose from the seers who had glimpsed this state and struggled to describe it.
I tell you this so that you might fully comprehend what is at stake and see it as real instead of only philosophical fantasy. Never forget that while some dreams are only midnight masturbations and others lucid journeys brought into being through your own volition, still others might be seen as tests or gifts from what you presently call allies. What matters now, of course, is what you Intend to do about it.
I twist into these mournings, daylight saving me from the burning flame of darkness swallowing my emptiness while waves of irony wash over me i am toppled by the days and silently i sit hovering... wondering if i can float this time wandering thru wastelands of my mind picking up the book written by me on the other side of the dream the other side of the dream where it all spins into me... I find all the lost notes and all the lost tones and all the lost fractures of all my mended bones
I am painted the color red. I am tainted, the mother has bled
we D R I P together thru the weathered web, creating worlds in our head, to spew out into the ethers, to want neither this nor that nor wonder where its at, but to birth the beginning again.... knowing we are just seasons of rhyme
flowering in our own time chrysalis, wrapped up in a fairytale of all that is and was and wasn't for sale...
Across these moonbeams, these split seams, these written clingings to the dream.... across all these we call to invisible bodies that are singing in their invisible moments that are bringing their soulstuffs into existence to balance the tension of the desire to Be, and to not Be....
and therein....lie......We.... somewhere in between.
May the Mirror be Faced With new reCognition A New I born From repetition Of ancient sounds Burrowed deep Within the blessed soul Who sleeps Upon the wheel Of premonition That pokes and prods This sacred mission Of god-in-hiding To forgive the Mind That cries inside him Divided into whither And whence Perched upon hallowed fence That splits the world From Sight and Sense The rebirth of Light In the newly born Sun Til the Name has no number Not even The One May the Mirror be Faced With new reCognition A New l born From repetition
We stand at the border of choice and chasm Are these painful platitudes simply spasms Uploading consciousness into the Drive The Masters' Disastrous Path to the Hive Current See is Redundancy as currents bleed Reality from the veins of the You and the Me Via manipulated mind maze gathering slaves Sustained SineWave notations digging Graves Neural intrepidation saturating the Film Biophotonic regurgitation of bionic Whims Intention is the Blood and flood of Becoming As HeartBeats Synchronic feats of drumming 5GoD Grids tuning the etherSpheres Directs crystal dimensional sonic Tears Media(L) Mirrors torture terrified Players Nerves Firing Burning through layers To initiate the New level of the Game Output generated from Aeons of Shame Hysteria operating thru blasphemous blame While terrified CreatorGods forget their Name Human Beings Becoming shadowSelves Bodies forgetting wherefore they dwell Lose their Spin and Vascilate in vain Boundaries obliterated thru HiveMind Stain And here is the Time and here is the Now Are we Ready to nurse from the Sacred Cow? Absorbed in the Milky Way of Silky Space Into the womb of our Being and Seeing, or Will HiveMind homogenize the Sovereign Spirit?
~Charleen Johnston 3-20-2020
(First word in each line makes a fractal of my rhyme) ( formatting may alter)
“I’m with the That One I’m with the This One UnFriend Me Now If You’re not with The Same One”
Why say such, it’s lack of courage If you want to break the Tie with Others Just Do It… Do it Blatantly, hit that button Tip tap those keys Delete the Imaginary Friendship That lives behind the Dumbscreen Stop asking the Other To do the job for you Passive aggressive pacification Wrapped up in Delusion
The Eyelids are heavy From Fighting the Fog The Myelin too Thin For the Mind to Behold That which percolates within the Field The ElectroMagnetic Drag that breeds The Sag And breaks the Seal ….leads To broken Lives Within The Lie UnOpened Files in the Hard Drive The Sweet MeatSuit unZips And drips from the Hive “The Land of Milk & Honey” Or the “Best Milk & Bread that Money can buy” Or Steal Human Biofield wrapped up in sudden zeal The frequentSeas sign the deal And Stage The Set As the broken Nets Are all Set To be ReVeiled.
The EyeMage.Is a Script A Synaptic Aleph-Bet Written by Adepts Of the Photonic Neural Net -Working overtime To Hush Little Baby Don’t you Cry And pull the Covers over Sleepy Wittle I~s
Gestation …Jesters Jestating in Rotation Around the wheel Spoke in Was and When Began to Feel Now and Then We Breathe Again Umbilical kin Syncing in The frequent.Seas That split the skin
BlissNinja 