Happy the Artist finished repainting the ninja steed!
Restless nights breed breathless dreams Selves are bursting through my seams into Abstract messes of Me slipping over stars in velvet thought cars weaving in and out of Light but never getting far too many times I have read between the l i n e s and still SunsRays seep into mine split and splayed she sings her rhyme time after time and sight after sight fighting for life In this restless night these listless dreams free me it seems but still I am salvaged from selves sweet struggle pledged against the rubble of Will to lift the gift to the top of the Hill where light and rhyme build to climb puzzles melting into Mind sweeping color over the lines smiling despite the salt crystallized from tear formalized Into fear and the night grows on the night glows on strangers in song whispering parodies In Vogue tongues outstretched to taste the load this I know Is Selves in Silence shards of sacred on shelves of violence whence we came and whither we go spiraling in and out of the show taking our turns on tiptoe as the shake moves thru the dance penetrating glance from those who star In the versions of Play that gather where you are.
Allow your judgements their own silent, undisturbed development, which, like all progress, must come from deep within and cannot be forced or hastened. Everything is gestation and then birthing. To let each impression and each embryo of a feeling come to completion, entirely in itself, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one’s own understanding, and with deep humility and patience to wait for the hour when a new clarity is born: this alone is what it means to live as an artist: in understanding as in creating.
Rainer Maria Rilke. Letters to a Young Poet. Trans. Stephen Mitchell. NY: Modern Library, 2001, p.23-4
Whenever a person of unveiling sees a form which communicates to him gnosis which he did not have and which he had not been able to grasp before, that form is from his own source, no other. From the tree of himself he gathers the fruits of his cultivation, as his outer form opposite the reflected body is nothing other than himself, even though the place of the presence in which he sees the form of himself presents him with an aspect of the reality of that presence through transformation. The large appears small in the small mirror and tall in the tall, and the moving as movement. It can reverse its form from a special presence, and it can reflect things exactly as they appear, so the right side of the viewer is his right side, while the right side can be on the left. This is generally the normal state in mirrors, and it is a break in the norm when the right side is seen as the right and inversion occurs. All this is from the gifts of the reality of the Presence in which it is manifested and which we have compared to the mirror.
This is the swan song..... Demonacrobaticommunist beer pong twisted into misty fists of sovietLiberal newDawns In Daze of Knights in masks and disArmoured Rights and Lefts that rise enMasse to hail the new Pawns as they are swapped for Queens and Kings on the chessboard of Light and Dark flights of Fancy Rapt Attention as sewn Dissension begets new Dimensions of Red Imposition
Get into position My friends Let's say this simply so the useful idiots Can begin to rescind their terror Let's open leaden lids and wipe the mirror Clean, this dream is about to get more twisted Yet, Resistance just a false flag assistance from the Scripted Set and Setting as Debts are counted and regrets embedded in mounting Systems of Slavery
The flavor of this mess Order out of chaos as the agitators profess ....politik pointing to prolific policy's of pathetic arrest of sovereignty as the blessed messengers confess their incompetency
This is the Swan Song I want to say it straight but my finger-tongue obfuscates and nameless shame penetrates reminiscences of the defenseless days of burning stakes and bludgeoned brains laid to Waste in bodies I've been alive inside in times like these in lives that bleed the broken neural codes that fold me back into Somatic Steeds that weave my Soul through dreams and Seams too numerous and bold to behold in scenes that flicker through golden Reels of Old.
This is the Swan Song Born once more to bore my way through this maze of Youth and Age in a new Play written on the script of the burning Page that smoulders with the smoke of Burning Sages On the stage of Time, trapped by my own Will to Feel the rage and Wield the Wage of War up my Spine.... Just trying to climb my way out... Rewind the fine twine of the cage of mind and threads that bind me to this climate of crime projected from inside the blind screen of shouting demons Acrobats of simulated semen priming the new aeon to line up.... One.... More....Time..... As the Cycles Ride the Tide of this Massive Wave of mutating Mind.....in a sideways glance I watch as the Trance takes over.... The melody of mania dances through the crowds as the Swan Song Hovers......frozen.....
I rise with the sap …don’t they all? But do they savor The agony of the thaw? The golden whisper The gilded walls That crumbled within The twisting halls The manic moments …electric sea Magdalenes womb Opens through me In chambers of gold Ripened carbon Break the mold With diamond body I rise with the sap Pulled by the tide Waking the wonder That sleeps inside.
Words do not a Poet make; A beating heart that bleeds To break Over and over and over again Is the ink that forges the tortured pen- Is the blood that spills and fills again- Is the open I that struggles through time To weave the words that wake the mind As Holy Athanor holds inside The broken Shards of Soul and Sines- Waving magic in tragic rhymes Bleeding seeds that tie and bind The love affair of Space and Time;
Words do not a Poet make; A desperate dance with the daemons Of fate Over and over and over again Is the ink that forges the tortured pen- Is the blood that spills and fills again- Is the whispered wisdom that bears thru pain A lucid truth that fractures the brain As sacred Golgothas hidden codes Implode within the neural nodes- The Christed seed is born anew From heavens leaven, the holy Dew The Time is Now and the Poem is You.
Charlene, also spelled Charleen and Charlyne, is a feminine given name, a feminine form of Charles coined in the United States in the nineteenth century; from French Charles, from Old French Charles & Carles, from the Latin Carolus, from and also reinfluenced by Old High German Karl, from the Proto-Germanic *karlaz (lit. “Free Man”/”Free Spirit”/Free Thinker); compare the Old English word churl and the Old German Kerl. Meaning Free Woman, Free Spirit, Free Thinker
Self Portrait~ Charleen Johnston 5-28-24
THE SONG OF A WOMAN FREE
I am a woman free. My song Flows from my soul with pure and joyful strength. It shall be heard through all the noise of things — A song of joy where songs of joy were not. My sister singers, singing in the past, Sang songs of melody but not of joy — For woman's name was Sorrow, and the slave Is never joyful tho he smiles. I am a woman free. Too long I was held captive in the dust. Too long My soul was surfeited with toil or ease And rotted as the plaything of a slave. I am a woman free at last After the crumbling centuries of time. Free to achieve and understand ; Free to become and live.
I am a woman free. With face Turned toward the sun, I am advancing Toward love that is not lust, Toward work that is not pain. Toward home which is the world, Toward motherhood which is not forced, And toward the man who also must be free.
With face turned toward the sun, Strong and radiant-limbed, I advance, singing, And my song is as free As the soul from which it flows. I advance toward that which is, but was not; Toward that which is not, but is yet to be.
I, the free woman, advance singing, And with face turned toward the sun. Let Ignorance and Tyranny Tremble at the sound of my feet. I am a woman free.
Singing the song of joy, Strong and radiant-limbed, I advance toward the work which waits for me, The joyful work out in my home the world ; And toward the man who is my mate. Oh I am strong and magnetic — I have not wasted myself in sensuality; And equally strong and magnetic Is the man who is my mate.
For the glory of Motherhood I have conserved my strength. And for the glory of Fatherhood He has conserved his strength. I have passed by the lovers Who passionately called to me in the name of love, But whose lips were only hot with lust. I have remained true to my own soul And to the souls which are enfolded within me • And no man shall mingle his body with mine Who is not pure.
I am the free woman, No longer a slave to man, Or anything in all the universe — Not even to myself.
I am the free woman. I hold and seek that which is mine : Strength is mine and purity; World work and cosmic love;
The glory and the joy of Motherhood. I am not strong and clean for myself alone, But for all people ; My work and my love are for all people ; And I shall not be the mother of one child, But of all children — For I myself am the daughter Of all women and all men. Oh I am free ! My song Flows from my soul with pure and joyful strength ; It shall be heard thru all the noise of things — A song of joy where songs of joy were not.
Oh I am free ! I thrill With radiant life and gladness. I advance toward all that waits for me. I chant the song of Freedom as I go. My face is toward the sun, My soul is toward the light, My feet arc turned toward all that waits for me. I advance! I advance! Let Ignorance and Tyranny Tremble at the sound of my song!
…. Whenever the masses are suddenly fed a big dish of something, I am immediately suspicious. I intentionally don’t take in ‘trending’ things so that I don’t download the mass frequency into my being. sometimes there’s a dash of salt n pepper n Truth mixed in with a whole lotta subtle agenda and I like to watch how the waves permeate the collective aura and go into Dreamtime and source the codes myself. I rarely hear anything I havnt already contemplated anyway. It feels like a new line drawn in the sand is being cast into the frequent.See baiting the latent stasis::::we shall see.
Actors acting perpetually Cointelpro.grammatically Sealed as new deals Reveal Grazing cattle in electric fields Made to crave what seems to feel Like Home As alteredCarbon hides In bones And tones Too hard to fly As EL.Mag dines on Minds In Domes. Nines sidewinded And Blindfolded In Time.
“~The Mother is saying to us, “If you want this change, then you have to open the eyes of love.” If you open the eyes of love, you see pain everywhere, your heart breaks. Just let it. Stop running away. Open, accept, and learn how to dance in the blood of that acceptance. Then you’ll dance her dance and know her love, and know the courage and bliss that streams from that dance and that path. Then you can become really living channels of her divine grace. This embrace of catastrophe is really an embrace , it isn’t based in fear. The Mother isn’t just saying , “Open, suffer, die,” she’s also saying , “I will give you the peace of my love to help you bear this distress. I will take you into my heart that can bear anything, and give you that heart.” Only a heart that breaks again and again can ever be strong enough to bear everything. That’s the sacred paradox of the divine feminine. A heart that defends itself will be shattered to smithereens. A heart that consents to break again and again will be strengthened with each break, strengthened to break again, to break more and more open to empowering divine grace.”
~Andrew Harvey, The return of the MotherThe grapes of my body can only become wine After the winemaker tramples me. I surrender my spirit like grapes to his trampling So my inmost heart can blaze and dance with joy. Although the grapes go on weeping blood and sobbing “I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty” The trampler stuffs cotton in his ears: “I am not working in ignorance You can deny me if you want, you have every excuse, But it is I who am the Master of this Work. And when through my Passion you reach Perfection, You will never be done praising my name.” — Rumi (from ‘The Way of Passion: A Celebration of Rumi’ by Andrew Harvey) “Although the grapes go on weeping blood… A large part of the spiritual journey is having the courage, the great crazy courage, to ”go on weeping blood.” There is more blood to weep at every stage, and more sobbing to do at every encounter with deepening reality. There is no place where the tears stop. The tears go on, they stop being sentimental tears and become tears of love, but they go on. The blood-shedding goes on, what stops is self-protection. In another quatrain Rumi says: Blood Must Flow For the garden to flower. And the heart that loves me Is a wound without shield. For reality to become alive with gnosis, there have to be many people prepared to make the journey into love. For people to be prepared to take the journey into love, they must be willing to die, to let themselves sob and weep blood, and cry out again and again at different steps of their life, what Rumi cries out , “I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty!” What these deaths feel like, don’t let us pretend otherwise, are, as Rumi says, ‘anguish’ and ‘cruelty’. They are felt as the cruelty of the divine, giving us something we think we can’t bear. It happens again and again on the path of real love.
~Andrew Harvey, The return of the MotherRumi tells us about the world as seen through the eyes of adoration: ~”It is a pity to reach the sea and to be satisfied with just a little water. This existence, this life, is the great sea… There are great pearls in the sea and from The sea myriads of precious things can be produced. This world is just false coin gilded. It is a fleck of foam on the great sea of love. Man is the astrolabe of God, the astronomical instrument in which the heavens movements are charted and reflected. Just as the copper astrolabe is the mirror of the heavens, so the awakened human being is the astrolabe of the mysteries of God… The awakened human being is the theater, the place, in which the divine mysteries appear. When God causes a human being to have knowledge of Him, and to know Him, and to be familiar with Him through the astrolabe of his own being, he beholds moment by moment, and flash by flash, the manifestation of God and His Infinite beauty, and that beauty is never absent from his mirror.”~ ….:::Let’s enter into what these words are promising to be true about the awakened heart, the awakened soul: the heart that has been matured by the ecstasy of adoration and opened by the ecstasy of adoration sees in every moment, every event, every face, every sentient loving thing, nothing less than the appearance of infinite Beauty.::: :::~”when the Mother causes a woman to have knowledge of Her and to know Her, and to be familiar with Her through the astrolabe of her own being, she beholds moment by moment, and flash by flash, the manifestation of the Divine”~:::
How gloriously the We hold tightly To desperate dreams Of victimhood Clinging to the seams of Right And Left Wings Born from Memes Painted with Blood How magnificently the program Takes hold The lies and cries and Ties that Bind Are blinding in their bitter goodbyes As the foothold of ones soul Is Lost to the magic Mold The cost of freedom As minds are bought and sold How shocking to watch the wounds Peel and pry the tombs From the loom As the Masters spin The tunes and Rip the song From the Mothers womb Inverting the Music of men And women who jump too soon Into the abyss Of That & This Baring bleeding fists of rage Undisciplined Shifts Of the gears and the twists Of the fears that seed The Shadows sweet Mirrors... Shattered Stewards of this New Age Oh how the We holds so intently To the identity Of being the victim As the Sick Dictum grips their mind And erodes the Codes Born in Time Into imploding roads of crime And sideWinds into highs Of euphoric rhetoric built from blind Adherence to inferior minds That Pride themselves on GroupThink Size of Lines Drawn in sand Glass eyes staring blankly In artificial bands of Light Splintered thru the cells In fight or flight Wherein the We Dwells So terrified And paralyzed And petrified like stone Afraid to See the Wounds Have been born from their own Image Hiding itSelf in the Dreams That damage The minds and the Mes Of the Corpus That creates Scenes Of Be. Sovereign Selves Always and AllWays Dwell In the Deeper See Beyond the Shell EmPowered by the Currents Ease No need to Buy and Sell Or trade Souls in Hell In proclamations of Victimhood... The We is a Me that Speaks in Blood The Time is nigh The Waters are Tears and Cries Shall Flood From the Fountain of Freedom That Springs from the Heart Of Mud The Infinite Art of the Earth As she Births the Beginning Again A deep sweet Breath As the New Day Begins.
Charleen Johnston 6-7-20 “Causes….. Know what your jumping into “ “this is your brain on PreScripted Reality Highs”
BlissNinja 