There are some Wakings that come like storms Electro-swarms in magnetic forms Dancing On the tips of Hathor’s Horns The Temple Priestess ReBorn WideEyed and Me-oh-my How Time Flies inside the Mind Wandering Womb releasing Blind sides of Ancient crimes Buried within these patient Tombs There are some Wakings that scream like pain Neurolinguistic nails impaled in veins Bleeding And Seeding Stories in silent Shame The Holy Harlot Risen OpenHearted as freedom Parts The Seas of Self and Dwells in the Art Of Body’s Bliss Burning The rotting dross from the Fixed Cross As the Flame is taught to rekindle the Kiss As Magdalenes Grail Returns Opens the Urn Blood flooding in rivers of nerves As the Impaled Heart And Mind Are Healed and Heard…. The Chironic Wound sutured With the Salve of Spoken Words As Pluto and Venus Sharing the Shroud Awake and merge…. Heiros Gamos Blessed and Bound In Sacred Sound Dance In Red Velvet Underground As New Life Stirs.
I am perched upon a precipice of power Am peering patiently into this passing hour The tocking time that tics up my spine Staff of sovereignty claiming Heart and mind Of the fluid and fluctuating seams I was born Hermes psychopomp between the worlds I straddle horizons between wake and dream Am flowing in glowing neural streams The initiation of Jestation in Times domain Quicksilver deliverer who delves into Pain Flow inTense Knowing inSense Saturation I humbly accept growing adept in Saturns Fixation Am making my Vow to die in Battle, reborn The oath of Thoth, from the womb Torn Messenger who travels thru Linguistic threads Of synaptic rapture as bliss of bodies embed Mind and Time and Space and Rhyme I spin the serpent staffs in waves of Sine Am oozing thru this glowing glue of fluid truth The ether twists of Knowing age and youth Trickster Playing games with pure perception Who pries open I~s asleep to deception Sews and grows the stitches and seams The flowing roads to the richest of dreams Patterns the passions and purpose and pain Into Mattered Moments moving thru Veins Faces and games and containers for rain And mysteries magic sacred and profane Names and numbers for all but the One I am the messenger who delivers the Sun Am the swift footed father of playful Pan The temptation of sensation of magic Man Initiate to mind as it moves thru Ether Who loosens the noose of Io~s tight tether Twists the fists with his serpent staves Matter in patterns of particle and wave Into lifetimes and light rhymes and bold Spaces for grace and beauty to unfold To honor the throne as Jester to the king Play is the way and light is the plaything The maze is a stage for unraveling dazed Neural pathways entwined in minds haze Codes imploding from outmoded games Awakening hearts shaken from shame Within this shared cocreative dance As the quake of the year breaks the trance Lunar reflection, the Mage in the mirror Nodes of infection engage the terror Square and circle , point and line The marriage of heaven and hell in time Spin the wheel and find the center Of Beings great Beauty, now Enter Plural passions are all just passing Roads of fashioned masks of Essence That make you forget your Eternal Flame Begin This Moment and ReMember your name And even the Time of unveiling will Be End and Beginning, infinitely Free In joyful prelude to a new swim in the See Twisting Tendrils of trickster Hermes Synods of souls Alive in the Flesh Again and again our minds enmeshed And I am the psychopomp of pain and play Again I Am, Jester Gestating the New Day.
Charleen Johnston 12-31-20
First word in each line makes a fractal of my rhyme
… so this is for us. This is for us who sing, write, dance, act, study, run and love and this is for doing it even if no one will ever know because the beauty is in the act of doing it. Not what it can lead to. This is for the times I lose myself while writing, singing, playing and no one is around and they will never know but I will forever remember and that shines brighter than any praise or fame or glory I will ever have, and this is for you who write or play or read or sing by yourself with the light off and door closed when the world is asleep and the stars are aligned and maybe no one will ever hear it or read your words or know your thoughts but it doesn’t make it less glorious. It makes it ethereal. Mysterious. Infinite. For it belongs to you and whatever God or spirit you believe in and only you can decide how much it meant and means and will forever mean and other people will experience it too through you. Through your spirit. Through the way you talk. Through the way you walk and love and laugh and care and I never meant to write this long but what I want to say is: Don’t try to present your art by making other people read or hear or see or touch it; make them feel it. Wear your art like your heart on your sleeve and keep it alive by making people feel a little better. Feel a little lighter. Create art in order for yourself to become yourself and let your very existence be your song, your poem, your story. Let your very identity be your book. Let the way people say your name sound like the sweetest melody.
So go create. Take photographs in the wood, run alone in the rain and sing your heart out high up on a mountain where no one will ever hear and your very existence will be the most hypnotising scar. Make your life be your art and you will never be forgotten.”
BlissNinja 