The aesthetic finish calls up an image of genteel elders passing serenely away. This is not at all what I mean by “aesthetics.” The word roots itself in a gasp (aisthou), a sudden short intake of breath in the face of wonder, or horror. Aesthetics begins in the startle of surprise, the breath caught, held in astonishment. Aesthetics arises from an epiphanic image, the full force of character revealed as in a work of art.
Can a person become an epiphany?
Can we entertain the idea that all along our earthly life has been phenomenal, a showing, a presentation? Can we imagine that at the essence of human being is an insistence upon being witnessed–by others, by gods, by the cosmos itself….and that the inner force of character cannot be concealed from this display. The image will out, and the last years put the final finish to the image.
It is then only natural that we become more like apparitions, already sepulchral effigies, stand-ins for ancestors. Visits to us become ceremonies; gifts, offerings; conversations, liturgical repetitions. We are left as traces, lasting in our very thinness like the scarcely visible lines on a Chinese silkscreen, microlayers of pigment and carbon, which can yet portray the substantial pro- fundities of a face. Lasting no longer than a little melody, a unique composition of disharmonious notes, yet echoing long after we are gone. This is the thinness of our aesthetic reality, this old, very dear image that is left and lasts.
James Hillman, the Force of Character and the lasting life
Besides the muscles needed functionally to chew, kiss, sniff, blow, squint, blink, and twitch away A fly, most of the forty-five facial muscles serve only emotional expression. You don't need them to bring in food, to beat down an enemy, nurse an offspring, or perform sexual intercourse. The ventriloquist proves they are not needed for speaking. Nor are they essential to breathing, hearing, or sleeping. The extravagance of facial musculature is all for expression of major emotions, yes; but even more for such peculiar subtleties of civilization as supercilious contempt, wry irony, wide-eyed fawning, cool unconcern, smiling, and sneering. By means of these muscles, our faces make pictures. The psyche displays aesthetically its states of soul. Character traits become intelligible images; yet each expression is characteristically different, and the more complex the character, the more individual the expression. "There is nothing average about ex- pression. It is essentially individual. In so far as an average dominates, expression fades."
::::::
~Faces need to be used~
A face is something that is incomplete; a work in progress….faces need to be used because they are not finished images, says the Chicago art historian James Elkins. Aging as a progress of the face. If you consider your face as one more part of the body, then it withers, crinkles, blotches, and falls away like other parts of the body. If youimagine your face as a phenomenon with a different significance, with its own destiny, then all that goes on there, after sixty especially, is a work in progress, building the image, preparing a face that has little to do with the faces that you meet. What's going on, rather, is the progress of a portrait, toward a memory.
"Faces need to be used." How? Out there, weathering and leathering, actively engaged with world? Should we engage in full-face confrontations, get in each other's faces? Another way to use the face is aging. Aging uses the face every day, and it is these traces of use that cosmetic surgery sets out to repair. Without any effort on our part, quite passively, even in the solitude of a monk's cell, even in an immune-protective bubble, the face is being used. "The aging process,” says Levinas, “probably the most perfect model of passive synthesis. " A face is being made, often against your will, as witness to your character.
~James Hillman, The force of character and the lasting life
Woke several times and Re-entered right where I left off. Several prelude dreams, leading up to immense lucidity and I decide to wander around. I peek inside an opening/window to old building that at first just seems to be dilapidated and run down....but Im drawn to it and I go in, and I realize its actually some kind of catacombs or burial ground....with protruding rectangular tombs in geometric patterns....its very old and dusty yet well kept....I can feel the energy is very intense, and my lucidity grows, I can feel my energyBody rev up and Im super excited to explore. I feel almost like I was summoned.
I start to wander around and there is a vast underground network of tunnels and corridors and rooms. Much of it grey and simple and dusty. I pass no one, see no one. After wandering and exploring for what seemed like hours, seemingly going further underground in descending spirals/ mazelike corridors....I come to another entrance.......it says 'Le Museum D'Arabesque' on it. Its reddish, and bright, and almost has a carnival feel, with all kinds of geometric art and patterns all over inside it, walls, floors etc, but other than that, uncluttered and bare.....but beautifully ornate. This is extremely exciting, and I feel like Ive made it to some secret inner sanctum. I think to myself 'Wow, I am so very lucid and aware, and Im pulsating with such velocity, I must be sure to maintain my focus and not get distracted, or pilfer away what astral energy I have, i do not want to lose the chance to explore this. Maintain sobriety and yet dont get lost in detail, as that will swallow me out of this Astral Local'.
Im rubbing my hands over the beautifully carved patterns in the walls, I can feel the energy in them. There are so many different rooms and configurations. Some seem to be small living quarters. Each one very simple however. There are more open larger 'public spaces' to, very ceremonial in feel. Here and there I pass people, some of which take no note of me whatsoever, i am unsure of whether they cannot see me (i.e im not vibrating on their frequency) or whether they just dont care as they are not threatened/I am allowed to be there......but some seem to immediately be aware of my presence and stare or seem to wonder who i am and what my reason is for being there).
(((( SEveral times I awaken during the night, to pee, etc, and go STRAIGHT back to the same place as soon as I go back into Dream, like a honing device )))))
At one point I start to feel aroused, as often happens in a deep state of lucidity, and often signals to me a need to refocus my energy or to recalibrate, because my energy body is asking to be able to hold more of a charge so i can have more awareness. I begin to look for a particular room as by now I have pretty much explored most of what I have found in my immediate vicinity, and I remember there is a hidden room and I want to go into it to 'engage my arousal ……but as i am walking along the corridor an asian woman and young girl are walking behind me.......they are looking at me, I try to go around the corner quickly and I pull open the art panel/wall piece that I know exposes a secret slot that leads to room.....and I crawl thru, but not quick enough and they see me climbing thru and pulling it shut......they are peering in at me thru the crack they are now aware is there (they seem to have not known about hidden space).....the woman is surprised and suspicious of me. I try to convince her that she should just go on about her business, but im also aware i dont want to alert anyone to my presence in case it causes alarm. The room i am in is small and has a rectangular bath space in floor filled with water, its a sacred bathing room or something, there is little else in the room. By now I realize i will not be able to accomplish my original goal and even though they leave, I am glad...because I feel if I had dispersed my sexual energy or relieved it, I would not have had enough Astral charge to continue my explorations. So I realize their intrusion was to my benefit.
I leave the room and continue. I run into three men who seem to 'work' there....or have something to do with the place...guards etc. I speak to them and I manage to convince them that I know that there is more to the place and I must discover whats going on and why I was brought there. I talk them into helping me. I tell them to meet me at particular spot after they take care of a few things for me, so that we can proceed without hassle. Upon return, there is only one man left, who tells me the other two were 'not up to it' or something, alluding that he was only one courageous enough...he seems to have big ego and kind of annoying in his self praise, but I find him harmless and definitely will need a sidekick who also knows the corridors and layout. My excitement is thru the roof now, because I assess how much time Ive been in the Astral and to that degree of lucidity, and its been a while since Ive managed to 'be out that long'....so I think to myself that I must hurry and not waste ANY time because I may begin losing my awareness at any point.
We end up in this very large room, and there is a middle age woman with dark wavy hair dressed vibrantly in geometric pattern dress, sitting on floor at a stone slab table. She has tarot cards in front of her. When she sees me she seems taken aback, as if shes surprised, yet aware of the possibility of seeing me....almost as if she knew about me but didnt really believe Id 'make it that far' The whole thing feels like some game/test/initiation, as if I am being led thru some kind of inner labrynth to find out whether I am worthy of what it is that Is Calling Me. The woman smiles at me, and I kneel next to her, with the man behind me standing. She says 'I shall read for you', and she pulls two cards. The cards are very unfamiliar. They are glowing. She seems tense as she reads them, and mumbles a bunch of mathematical and geometrical stuff, some of which makes sense. the rest which does not. She is moving her hands over them and fingers in patterns, as if she is literally 'reading ' them and communicating with them. I accept her reading, but then say 'I also read cards. And I would like to pull one of my own'. Again, she is surprised, as if no one had ever asked/requested to do that. But she allows me to, reluctantly. I pull the card, it too is glowing, I can feel the energy of it. It says at the top, in a beautiful cursive writing, that seems not to be english but I can read it or at least intuit/understand what it says 'Continue Forward On Your Chosen Path'.........I exclaim to the man 'see!!!!! I am going in the right direction!!!!'. in the center of the card are two images, on the left is an image of the original catacombs I discovered and came thru, that led me to this place way underground. on the right, is an image of 'le museum d'arabesque' which I am in. At the bottom it says something I couldnt quite make out, or remember, but that referenced each of the places......almost like it was a tracking device/coordinate code/something plugging into my Awareness so that I could find my way back to that place AStrally, again. I give her back the card. She wishes me luck and blesses my journey.
I tell the man we must get supplies. I now know I can proceed with full Intention. We find our way to a room that has clothing in it, and I dig around, trying to find something that will be suitable for the adventure. I pull on a black dress, halter style/almost like a gothic short patchwork warrioress dress....and I wonder to myself, whether I will be able to climb if I need to, fight if I need to, jump stones and streams etc....I see image in my head of doing all those things and I can feel my agility and I decide it will work fine. My hair I notice is dark and is pulled back in dreadlocks. I feel strong and agile and capable and ready and excited. Feels like my whole life has led to this. I know in myself i will not fail, whatever it is. I was called here, 'they'/someone' is expecting me, but I must prove myself. We leave the room. IN the corridor there are 6 or 7 books propped against a stone slab bench. All glowing with their own light. I know that I need to choose one, that it will help me on my path. But I must choose wisely. I look them over without touching them. several seem to be blank journals, but thickish and possibly heavy. There is one that is full of large grids, like graph paper but with very large graph squares. they are varying sizes. I am called toward a rather thin one, hardbound, old, that seems like a story book. I pick it up and we look thru it.....there are some blank pages, and there are some pages with poems on them, in different languages. Old. There are some pages with snippets of stories on them/ almost like 'chapters' but it is all put together in such a way that none of it seems directly related to each other. One of the pages has a 'story/info' about a particular TYRANT and I gauge that it is sorta like a myth. I tell the man “This is It.”
I know these stories and poems will help us decipher the puzzles and riddles we are sure to come across. We can use the info in this book to help direct us on the way, and we can use the blank pages for notes or maps'. I think to self then, that the writing in the book was surprisingly steady and consistent, compared to many 'dreams'. where the writing changes as you look at it. Right then, as I am about to head off on the Adventure, I am woken up by R and its time to get up. Noooooooooo!!!!!!!! I was so ready to keep going!!!!!!!!!! Feels like the coordinates of that 'place' are embedded inside me now, and I plan to try and get back there.
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.....
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.
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”
since the Architect knows that a small percentage of people won't accept the Matrix, he gives them an alternate universe to live in: "real" life in Zion....and they don't even know that they are really still in a larger matrix. They just keep occupied fighting an enemy instead of waking up.....
.... The Critical Degree... The Chasm....the Force of the Spazm thrusts us out into a new Day, a new Game to Play....choose Carefully which Script you want to Read....the codes have been downloaded unbeknownst to you Over Aeons and Aeons and now corrode the Truth of Who You Are..... Don't accept their Paradigms..... Don't Play out the war crimes that are being Triggered in your Mind as you try to Find the Line of Least Resistance.... The Trick of Blissful Existence is to Keep the Tension Taut.... Don't seek comfort nor Sloth.... Dare yourself to Break the Shell of your Wildest Bare Self ...Birth thru Maat and Thoth the Kind and Joyful Embrace of All The Lost Pieces....Stepping off their Preconfigured Grid locked in with the beast ...laced with poison and dreams deceased ....they are dependent on your Imaginative Juices to Burgeon All Yous into a Solid Groove of Threadbare t r u t h
Crossing to Avalon, Jean Shinoda BolenWilliam Styron , Darkness Visible Dante’s Inferno
🌱Viriditas🌱
My bedtime reading a reminder of the lush greening and the moisture of aliveness. Venus in the glory of bountiful natural juiciness of expression in abundant hues of green. Taurean fertility and adoration of the sensual world that saturates and quickens the blood. The Power of the Greening. That which is alive is wet, is moist, and as Time takes it’s toll, demands payment, it is in moisture, removed……Saturn is Dry. It contracts and dries things out. As moisture dries up, Life dries up. Turns to salt? Saturn is salt. Salt is wisdom. The journey from Green Venusion birth into the sensual realm of aliveness and bodily experience. Ole Saturn, through Time pulls the moisture out, condenses, constricts, makes dry and brittle and rigid. The wisdom that comes from embodiment and disembodiment in patterns and cycles of knowing and forgetting, being, and letting …be. Saturn is melancholia. The darkness that overtakes when the moisture of life has gone. The Melencholia of intense depression states, the complete loss of all the juice of living. If you know you know. Saturn is a harsh task master but always wise. If you’re worth your salt, your worth your sea as the womb space of psyches dream pulls you in.
Went to bed with these contemplations. But never slept. So eventually re/lit my candles, and grabbed a book that had been in que. William Styron ‘Darkness Visible’ about his descent into Melencholia and Madness. Saturns initiation. If you know you know. Read the whole thing before falling sleep. The journey of Saturns slow wicking off moisture from the body and mind and heart. The seemingly inexplicable dance with the leaden realm that makes the Viriditas ever so sweeter when the waters return. Saturn and Venus and their dance.
I went into a laughing fit that lasted probably ten minutes, towards the end of Styrons book. One single paragraph seemed to me so hilarious…..he spoke so articulately sardonic and it was so metaphoric of how little the ‘system’ understands the ramifications of Madness of Melancholia when Saturns slow shrivel has dried up every last bit of wetness from the soul. (See photo of the excerpt).
“Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, Ché la diritta via era smarrita” ~Dante
I awoke to the sound of the pouring rain outside, could feel the earths reception of these heavenly waters as a tonic for her thirst. Ah. The greening. And the wet juiciness of life. The green hue that surrounds my house a reminder of the love for living that Saturns dark lessons make New and make pertinent. Knowing the hot dry temperatures coming up in the next week, I felt myself relax into this rainy downpour that quenches the parched earth.
BlissNinja 