or, Steal this Western Esoteric Tradition (hey, it was yours to begin with)
We live in many worlds, over many hours and many days.
Who we are is not the same at any one time or the next. There are always, at least, micro-fluctuations in response to stimuli and the ever present aging, running down of the body.
And our minds truly are legion, housing all sorts of characters in changeful interaction - battling for control of the 'I'.
Whispering words: the fighting kind and sweet nothings, attempting to direct the outcomes in reality portended by the royal 'I' that must become the royal 'We' and unite the disparate forces of identity in order to come to wholeness.
All the people we meet, pass on the street, and the ancestors passing down their influence live on in internal presence.
It seems there is some sort of mirroring going on here, when we look out our eyes, hear with our ears, feel with our flesh - smell and taste. The inside and the outside are liminally united and we are the surface between two drastically different realms, the laws of which we know but little.
Let me call the consciousness, the 'Eye', to include the confluence or stitching together the current sensory input into one unified experience of the present. Effects, events, states find themselves placed before the 'Eye' according to the internal structural state of that 'Eye' and in the contrary direction, the external happenings are reflected in an internal changing of the state of an 'Eye'.
In order to cause a change, we are "closer" in some respect to the internal side of the Eye, which manifests, if you can call it that, as mind - hidden and obscure. We can direct the mind with but little required force, though much finesse. There is a part of our mental apparatus that constructs the reality in which we seem to exist based on patterns identified by the senses - and the body of the (human) world is truly that of man.
Through trial and error, events in repetition are cast in to memory and thence cast forward, outward into the world which confronts the limited self in the mirror of being. There are various levels to the subtlety of the patterns that may be discerned, some of which can only with difficulty be communicated due to the inability to "point" and for lack of a name.
The structure, however, of pattern is ultimately geometrical - the world our minds form is in many, if not most, respects a geometrical creation, or presentment.
Thus to be able to recast the world, the external world, in a new form requires a sensual and living mathematics of transformation, to be aware of the base forms into which the sensory data is organized and given meaning, and how those forms may be variously (inter)converted and rotated amongst themselves.
The possibilities for action in any space are determined and limited or extended by what the formal structure of that space allows.
No wonder there is but little magic in the common, work-a-day world.
the game of everything falling into place
this is a true story. one day i was accosted by 3 wayward travelers. they stopped me on a walk to now/here, asking for directions. we'll call them jubela, jubelo and jubelum since at the time i didn't dare/care to ask their names..
in any case they asked me for direction & of course i misdirected them knowing their lack of sincerity..similarly, they must have intuited my intentions for the next thing I knew i was in a hospital bed;
dead or alive, I knew not.
...
as I slowly recovered, crawling my way in agony out of the maw of hell & across the abyss of oblivion, it eventually dawned on me that the ill usion feeds itself..
that breath is the distance between life and death..
that the only way to really(..?) live is to be true to yourself..
that we are the truth, the way, the life & yea, the very death..
for if we're not?
then who f'ing is..
Free-fall is the admission
Ask yourself:
Who is to blame,
for participation insistently gravitating towards struggle?
Still
- it’s all in your mind, and for yourself?
Why do you need release?
The shadow will eventually cave into itself,
So give in.
Put up your feet – but best buckle up.
Straight into the yonder.
The only way to ride that ox is to become calmly unified
with anxiety.
Herded ‘tween flag an’
flame -
the only choice left
for me, was shame.
Hit me between the
eyes,
Or we gunna have it
out again.
Untold absolutes absolve.
Winds from shore growing old,
ain’t nothing we’ve never been told.
Conduit is all I feel
sands of soul, all I breathe.
All that I see is myth.
Scattering temples -
doesn’t invoke a throne.
Stick to the steel.
Sweeten to their campaign,
But when their peace overtakes you
-
you’ll run from it.
When you’re conditioned not to peep,
you can only scream.
As the slivers of land slowly let go -
The stone stands alone.
And will atone.
.
Everything with unity is precise(ly)
unaware.
Step out our (wit)hin.
A line.
A consequence.
Like there was a choice?
If only we could invoke our dreams…
…now who was it…that chased them from our minds…
and lock us into our heads?
I don’t cast the
shadow
I merely appear -
within.
An unearthed sub-human
beauty has overtaken me.
The waves are still
infinity.
