Dark Days

My fingers and the words that dress my thoughts abate and falter as I try to find the shape and sequence of letters that can make sense and meaning of the madness in which we live. And why endeavor to impress reality with the algorithm of my thoughts if only for the vanity and novelty of having written something about this peculiar epoch in an ocean of humanity’s predicaments.

 

We read in history that there were Pharos and Kings who built prodigious temples and titanic structures to celebrate their supposedly divine and allegedly very important existences. Once again close to the end of year 2020 there exist men who continue to do the same, who in vain invest personal and public wealth in pursuit of ever elusive and exotic pleasures as well as in combat against what they term ‘The Disease of Ageing’.  Their pursuit for glory and power has come to eclipse the every day lives of us, the ordinary people, and as we huddle together in our small homes, with our small lives, we pay for the result of the avarice and greed of those that have found a way to harvest our very life-force.

 

The lives they lead are fountains of myth, already they make plans to colonize the stars with their own seed, leaving behind a planet of slaves to battle it out for the very last time whilst the rich get to draft a brave and valiant odyssey of their own past.  Who will look back to see the bones of our ancestors and our grandchildren that lubricate the cogs of the machines that make up most of their maleficent existences?  Who will testify to the agony and pain of the war and suffering we had to claw our way out of, the cost we paid for being part of the family of the human race? Who will remember the names of our mothers and fathers, the color of our children’s eyes? Yet these are things that hold no meaning for these men that prepare to do away with our puny existences in order to seize immortality for their own and for themselves. Do not doubt for one moment that the time will come when the human race will fork once again and those who managed to amass great wealth and glory will tread on the broken backs of the remainder of humanity.   

 

I look up at the mold that lines my ceiling and watch as translucent iridescent snakes of condensation pool at the bottom of the living room window.  It is dusk on Christmas Eve and the Reaper takes on Santa’s role this year.  In Westminster our archons toast their wits at making hundreds of millions of pounds each during one of the deadliest pandemics in modern times; the faulty Personal Protection Equipment they brokered and sold our National Health Systems line their bank accounts with the blood money of doctors and nurses they sacrificed in the name of greed and profit.  We were made to send our children to schools knowing what awaited them there was certain death, perhaps if not for them then certainly for grandma or sick uncle so and so, yet we still kept sending them off, avoiding the truth, that we are all just simply fodder and grease that keeps the engines of the establishment spinning. A grotesque carousel where only the wealthy and privileged get to ride it out on the backs of the rest of us dressed up carnival mules who are only allowed to do what we are told.

 

The sky ripples in near sonorous blue, so deep it is almost obsidian.  Great shapes take hold on the veil that surrounds the stage of life on Earth.  In the heavens celestial intelligences watch as our sitcom is being played out, nothing can be done to stop the cameras once the rolling starts. Our identities have been hijacked, our lives have been cultivated and harvested, our potential buried in the dark coffers of the plutocrats as we swipe left and right and sell away our data, our ‘Super weird substance’, the most powerful ingredient in the creation of our reality. 

  

We wax and wane in our uneasy stupor, we drunkenly bark our discontent, we rattle words of ancient knowledge and howl at the dark night, and spent in our middle age, we place our heads on pillows that rob us of our dimming fires.  We fall asleep as the waters of time push us forward regardless.

 

I watch as the seconds turn into days.  The chair I sit in remains immobile whilst time dissolves all round me. I shed my thoughts and shed my thoughts again as days turn into weeks.  I cannot stop what is to come. 

 

It recently occurred to me that my consciousness is a by-product of Life, what I consider ‘me’ is in effect a stack of transient memories, changing and mutating every time I call on them to validate my thoughts. It seems to me that my consciousness is meant to be the treasure that I toil for, as I suffer and learn it evolves and grows and in return it feeds my soul. My body plays it’s role on the stage of creation and I am rewarded with knowledge for my psyche. Perhaps the scholars were right in stating that life is not the end all, but in effect a stage for our minds, like shadow play puppetry.

 

The strong find and establish ways to rob the weak of their wealth, their REAL wealth: the dew and nectar of our consciousness. Not only are we subjected to a lifetime of slavery, poverty and misery, the very jewel of our existence, our souls are also being mined by the greedy and the rich. 

 

Twice enslaved, twice confined, never to be free, always to lift the yoke of the wealthy in order that they prosper from our pain.  In our little homes, existing in our little dwellings we scratch a meager existence in order to make it through our little lives in relative comfort, avoiding the fact that we have been deceivingly and knowingly lied to.  We accept this trivial life as doctrine reality because the truth pains and eludes us.

 

Already the world is in its third wave of this virus outbreak, for all our scientific and technological innovations it seems a tiny parcel of proteins continues to claim lives.  The leaders of this world choose commerce and profit above human lives, but this time the magnitude of deceased required to support the wealthy, to support ailing companies and closing department stores is not something I think we can look away from, in fact it is reaching the point where each and every one of us on Earth has lost a loved one to COVID-19.

 

Politicians and scoundrels have made billions, some trillions, during these dark times, and I think it is safe to say that we have found ourselves in a stupor, a moronic, imbecilic state of inertia, happy to take cheap dross and glass bobbles over the truth.  Our life and the importance we stake on it has been grossly overvalued in our imagination, the truth is plain to witness, just take a stroll down your local mall.

 

We are not a happy species, our potential is not being fulfilled, we have simply become accustomed to slavery, to the point we willingly sacrifice our offspring to it.  We are delusional and have convinced ourselves that things are the way we want them.  We lie when we tell ourselves we do not crave wealth and affluence, the only reason we deceive ourselves about not coveting the wealthy is because we know without a shadow of a doubt that it is pointless, this is simply our lot.

 

The money of the wealthy is stored away in off-shore banks and swiss accounts that render it impossible to detect.  The rules we created and reinforced made this a damning eternal certainty, a fact not even wars or revolutions can shake. This division is only widening, soon only the privileged will be able to afford the technologies that save and augment health, intellect and life, the emersion of a braver new aristocracy is unavoidable by proxy of their wealth.

 

We will be vaccinated en masse and the devastation this virus brings will halt.   It seems this time round we managed to escape annihilation but the world continues to revolve and the stories it spins are only golden for it’s one per cent.  From where I stand these days look dark with approaching storms on the horizon, it seems humanity is facing another strange epoch in its growing pains.  I too am transforming in these dark days, my eyes grow wider as I watch, my breath often falters, but my heart beats like a dull ancient drum in constant time, waiting for the moment we will be called to finally face ourselves.

 

 

 

 

News of the World

Nearly 180 day after the whole world stopped in the shadows of a virus that threatened to annihilate our entire race, I sit here listening to news about the Russian Politician Alexei Navalny who was poisoned whilst on a flight from Siberia to Russia.  For those of you that do not know about this event, it follows a long line of global poisonings that the FSB have a habit of leaving behind like a twisted calling card. Mugabe’s was a bicycle spike through the urethra of his opponents, Putin likes to watch them scream as they bleed from the inside out.

 

About 6 months ago most governments around the globe imposed strict lock-downs on the movement of nearly all the worlds population in an attempt to push back a deadly wave of disease and death that is Covid-19. We nearly did it.  We nearly made it through, and then the greed and ignorance of those in power released an even bigger event of mass infections as those with money and power went on to capitalise on our misfortune.

 

Personal Protection Equipment was delayed to nursing and hospital staff, whilst the friends and families of those in power set about giving themselves government contracts in order to profit.  This resulted in undue delays and the deaths of many innocent people whose demise could have been prevented by a simple mask and gloves that fit.

 

Violence and abuse started to spark within communities. George Floyd, an innocent black man in Michigan, was suffocated to death in broad daylight whilst on lookers pleaded with the officer to stop kneeling on his neck.  George died pleading to his dead mother for help.  

 

I hate this world sometimes.

 

The story goes on.  Three days ago the body of a 16 year old Somali refugee washed up on a beach not far from where I sit right now. America is contemplating on “helping” Afghanistan again by sending in BlackRock staff.  This security firm has a habit of employing ex military staff, people who are used to shooting at other people without remorse, their men have a habit of being trigger happy, particularly when it comes to women and children.

In the meanwhile China is keeping over one million Uyghurs in work camps in order to ‘reform’ them.  Last time this happened the world was plunged into madness and darkness, this time we call it conspiracy theories as China makes our cheap shit cr-Apple phones and plastic vibrators on the low.  It seems like the bad guys got the algorithm right this time.

 

Now I watch as the tides bring forth more news of protests and violence in Belarus, which cannot seem to shake off it’s dictator, again with the support of Putin. 

 

So in the year 2020 A.D. we live in a world overrun by plutarchy and crime syndicates.  The world is headed head first into unprecedented destruction and fascism, with technology at it’s helm.  Little did the makers of Matrix and Terminator know how close they would strike to the truth.  It’s mental and there is no escape.

 

I recognise that history has taught us there is always another way.  We have ancestors that changed history through perseverance and revolution, they must be stirring in their graves now because we are headed towards no escape from the complete conquest of Evil.

 

I am not a harbinger of anything, let alone something as big as the end of life as we might imagine it, but I am tolling the bell on the beginning of millennia of corruption and degeneracy.

 

The body deceives where the mind is hijacked, our pleasures have been the stepping stones for monsters, they target our love for our children, our fears of tomorrow and our broken relationship with death in order to place themselves as masters to the beasts that we have become.

 

I reserve myself for the moment and watch as darkness descends  on man and his children....

Interregnum...

I will not start with something as heavy as  ‘finally’, as finally is such an indicative word, meant to be telling, to be absolute, although it is really not.  As a concept it  is empty and void of meaning, there is no finally, eternity will go on forever.

Instead of finally I will chose Interregnum, for the meanwhile, as the journey still continues and in between we steal moments to take time and reflect.

In the meanwhile, I make a pact, the Shell that is me, Michelle as I was appointed in my youth, here at the shores of the endless black ocean that engulfs time, with the spark that is my soul, endless, formless, individual to itself only through me, part of the Monad without.

I make a pact, the Shell and the Divine, for as long as I exist to serve you so too I deserve to know you and all that you know.  What does it matter if by result I fall from the Light of Illusion into the Twilight of Dreams?  I understand my destruction is absolutely guaranteed, preferred to a lifetime of lies.

And just like that it is settled, all that is required is that you arrive to this exact point in order to make the choice to take the blue pill and say yes to that one drop.  So mote it be.

A bit of a blur here to be honest, please do not compel me explain this anymore than I have laid it naked in my thoughts.  On we go.

A small dot, a fragment of the imagination, a blue bubble suspended in the Void.  Regard it as it spins through time and space, mesmerising and fragile as it cuts through the Milky Way, on its way to its four and one half billion year celestial date with Andromeda.  The  galactic tides turn and who knows what happens next?

And what of Gaia? What of the Billions upon billions of lives and stories lived?  All the tears and tales, tragedies and victories?  I guess it matters not much at all as to how the stars perceive us, or what the truth of our fundamental nature is, to each person that has arrived here through the bloody gates of birth there is given a spark of life to do with as she/he pleases.  I guess that’s all we will ever really have that is ours: our own lives for ourselves, superstars in our own cosmos.

In the meantime we continue to spin.

The  power and glory of this alchemical union between spark and dust is sacred and secret to each, the unveiling of the mystery ensured though life and death.  Go with it, flow, be honest to yourself but at the same time follow your heart. Often times your heart will betray you but you will be fine if you do not betray your own heart.

I guess interregnum I am done.

The World Stops

I picture the time that humans will look back at history and come across millions and millions of peoples personal experiences of this generations plague.

Since December 2019 a novel coronavirus made headlines in Wuhan China as it mutated from reptile to mammal to man then to the entire globe.

Initially we foolishly chose to ignore the signs and then we chose to hope it wouldn’t reach our shores, but we forgot we are all connected, that  everything was and is entwined. So Italy, then France then Spain and then eventually everywhere was struck with the impact of this tiny thing that we need an electron microscope to actually glean.

The entirety of humanity is now in lock down, we isolate ourselves in hope of reducing its spread.  Currently millions solely communicate via the internet alone, and as confinement progresses we document our experiences, hopefully for the benefit of future generations if we did it right, maybe just for the sake of our sanity if we fucked it up.

So, spawn of our loins, you may be asking yourselves a number of questions regarding how global isolation has affected both our realities and our minds.

To this day that I am documenting the event many people still chose to act like it has not impacted their lives to the degree that they will never assume what they knew as normality again. But Culture, Art, Social Welfare, Education, Human Relations, and above the Collective Numinous Psyche has forever been altered so completely that we currently remain in a steadfast chrysalis which does not give away its transformative result.

Unfortunately society seems to be decelerating around us, it seems be devolving.  Those that have less in our communities are having to suffer the most, but as we are all focused on our screens, our digital kaleidoscopes to the outside world, the suffrage and inequality that permeates our realities is beginning to rear its gruesome head; violence, abuse and tears have grown as exponentially as the virus itself.

Daily we read stories of brave medics and nurses who selflessly laid down their lives in the service of others and I can’t help but think there could have been more steps to prevent these needless deaths.  But you know what?  Those that sit on the outside of things are the harshest critics.  

Although a scientists, and a specialist at that, I have a spouse who is a cancer patient, and when I slipped that pale sliver band around my finger my responsibility towards others ended there.  And so I serve again in another manner with time enough to permit me to form opinions and ideas.

So if there were things that could have been done then why where they not?  And  the simple reason here is the actual reason we have not yet become gods, or at the least immortals, because we refuse to see ourselves in others, we refuse to surrender duality for bliss.

Our technology was designed to service our fancies, our lives surrendered and spent chasing personal vagaries, illusions sold to us so that we remain in servitude to fake idols and ideals, never really serving ourselves by serving those around us.  

There is an LED lit atlas of the world on the bench, across from where I am sitting now.  The Indian Ocean softly illuminates the room in a halcyon glow, the green that was the old SSR points to the dark ceiling.  A delicate turquoise bubble of a thing from far away 7.77 billion of us now stir in trepidation.

There seem to be good omens, days where the virus does not take another soul in Wuhan, but then reports of recontamination, people becoming re-infected in Singapore and in China and the days till we are free seem very distant.

There are deeper happenings too, events on a spiritual level.  There are reports of intense cluster dreaming, bouts of nights were peoples dreams are heightened. I dream of gatherings and of the time I die.

It's nearly the middle of Spring, Easter was just yesterday, the birds and animals around us have noticed the difference too, which makes it even more difficult for us to remain inside.  Humans were meant to be able to roam and move about freely, particularly on days like this were nature demands it of us, but our nature is being denied us even on this fundamental level.

The night before last I dreamt I was holding a sickle and a flail, the sickle on the left, the stick to the right.  I was walking through high wheat stalks in the dead of night.  I began to fell the stalks and beat the wheat  almost possessed.  Inside me my Mother was awake, Demeter in control, effortless, tireless cutting, beating, repeating.  

     

Black Sun Rising

And so we walk the long mile, humanity all together, a frail small species, a tiny marsupial that managed to dodge enough dinosaurs and hungry bears to build cities and skyscrapers, to aim its viscous and sometimes clumpy genome to the Stars.

Humanity walks its own Green Mile.

I had a Dream the other night that has been lingering, the only way to process it is this, a few words and letters jumbled in my head, disgorged on a screen through my fingers, a motley collection of thoughts and prophecies, an attempt at personal cohesion.  Deep breath.

I dreamt of a Black Sun.  In the beginning I thought it was Saturn but then I gleaned that it had no rings, no definitive substance, no real reflection in places like my head.  It was black and emitted no light.

This Black Sun certainly did not belong in my thoughts, it did not have coordinates or dimensions and much resembled a gelatinous nebulous mercurial mirror.  The reflection of something tangible, such as a looking glass  was the first thought that actually penetrated my understanding, a notion with substance, an actual thing with which to grasp logic.

I gravitated closer to the Black Sun in an attempt to examine it further and something akin to an oil spill shifted on the ebony surface.  Braving my fears I took one decisive step to find myself skirting its edges.

Who in their right mind sticks their fingers in electrical sockets?  Who licks their digits after dipping their hand in a suspiciously unknown medically metallic smelling concoction on a professors desk? (don’t ask)  Who takes candy from strangers?  

The Innocent, that is who.

And so, innocent in my predicament of temporary insanity I stare At God.  Or a god, so to speak.

A singularity, a place where information finds a common axis and all that ever is was and will be amount to One.  Sound familiar?  So you can imagine my surprise when what was meant to be familiar appeared to be the most incomprehensible notion ever encountered. A God and a real thing are actually One and the same.  Notice the semantics in these concepts? This is not coincidental, it is the Truth.

My fingers dare to skim the surface safe in the isolation of my mediations and imagination, and tingle through dimensions.  I watch mesmerised as I dip my hand deeper.  The information that is my hand fingers and nails dissolves like honey diffusing in pool of warm tea.  The data regarding colours and smells, textures and shape fizzles away in strands of codes and numbers, devoid of actual existence and presence.

I retract my hand and find it to be intact, disappointingly lacking in any kind of mutation extraterrestrial, corporal or otherwise.  This all just is and it seems as insignificant as the moment I encountered it but in its attempt to blend itself into the construct of my reality it gives away its presence. If this doesn’t make sense now it will later.

Then I stepped into the obsidian pool within a melangerie of what can only be a personal reflection of what reality and life might indeed be: A process of fragmented Unity, a crack in the fabric of the Perfect, like a fault in a flawless diamond, looking into it you must define the imperfection to realise that it exists in a perfect state.

There is nothing else there but the all, fragmented, the entirety of life a result of a mistake, but absolutely consummately excellent in its integrity, ubiquitous in its nature, the same for every single thing, person or idea that ever happened. It all Is with no ‘because’. A causeless state of singularity experiencing itself within each of us.

Who is writing this shit anyway? Sometimes I read back the things I have documented and question their origin but all these concepts, all these ideas and notions are eating me up inside to the point of eruption.

The Black Sun, the Singularity, the Point of Convergence, a place in my head that I prod at more and more as Death roams the streets.  A Black Hole walking, consuming everything, families, lives, loves and children; the Horsemen ride as their star rises

My Fire

Humanity is on the brink of a complete transformation, transubstantiation, transference of energy that will morph us from one species into another.  

In an attempt to overcome our fear of Death, the ultimate gift of Gaia that we so disrespectfully scorn, we will cocoon ourselves within the confines of what makes us feel safe.

Here in the arms of our real selves we will be force to encounter the Truth, a force so brilliant and so consuming, it will extinguish us from within, igniting the spark that will transmute our very kind.

The Phoenix stirs within us, do not ignore the Flames that will set You Free. 

Randomness

Some randomness regarding this crazy situation.

I was standing in the kitchen when it hit me, the intense knowing of the imminent tsunami of emotion, an obliterating tidal-wave that is getting ready to smash peoples realities to smithereens.  

Death stalks, the Reaper is at large and the clickety-clack of its boney fingers can be heard in places as close as next door; as my neighbour coughs day and night I frantically attempt to disinfect the corridor in a pathetic attempt to keep out air.

Richard calls it ‘FOD’ , fear of death.  It’s something we experienced in the past with our relative cancers.  Both he and I had the luxury of ‘time’ though.  We knew we had at least X amount of time before destiny took hold, and within our small realities with whatever courage, hope and surrender we managed to muster we took on the echos and ghosts of our past actions, thoughts and sins.  

Humanity does not have this cursed luxury though. Humanity is collectively facing the ripples of a gigantic quake within its very core.  

I walked into Sainsbury’s just this morning and found myself in an episode of Black Mirror, a twisted David Lynch scenario where every self was empty.  Just yesterday they were full, this could not be the same place, the same reality, the same Peacehaven, it felt like I had walked onto a  set of some movie.  But I got my prawns.

Back in my kitchen I could feel fear nipping at my heels, slowly making its way up my calves, the back of my legs.  The more I kick, the harder it tugs, like falling in a deep pit backwards, but fall is what I must do.  Struggling will only make it worse, surrender is the only way to fall through the Veil.  And then fear dissolves into Time.

  

Musings of a Muse

Have you ever had that moment of realisation, a moment so powerful it floored you?  I mean literally floored you?

There you are, standing at a window looking out into the dusk of the darkest day of the Year and something akin to a shimmer disrupts the web of your reality.  Almost indiscernible, perhaps something in your eye, but no, it is the realisation that you are a slave to forces much more brutal than you had at first imagined.

Seconds later, a fraction of a second perhaps, and you experience the knowledge of tearing through a veil of Truth.  Your entire life has led you to believe that the ‘Truth’ you have been seeking, the coveted ‘Grail’ you longed for was something that was due to you, something owed you.  Well permit me to let you in on a little secret: If you had any idea what the ‘Truth’ consisted it would lead to insanity.  I liken it to the feeling a moth must get when the occupant of the web she has been ensnared in makes an appearance.

Still there seems to be a degree of strength and some semblance  of intelligence that retains, a little piece of you hidden behind the atrocities of your thoughts.  Everything around you seems alien, IS alien, and you also become alien.

A few years ago I tried ayahuasca.  Fuck that, a few years ago I took a sabbatical and went exploring the world of psychedelic entheogens. I must have taken ayahuasca at least 50-60 times.  Somewhere in my bookshelf are perhaps 23 entry dockets from the condor eagle festival in 2012. Then I stayed in Padre Coche in Peru for over 12 days. And then there was Norwich, which I mention in a few of my blogs. Yeah, so, over 60.

Over 60 nights spent reliving horror stories and processing traumas to the point that healing becomes the only option.  Over 60 nights of Ego Death, then re-birth in the arms of Dawn.  Then you go and do it all over again until you never need to die that death again, or so the story goes.

Life goes on.  You go back to work, you manage a shop, you have kids, heck you get married to someone who has cancer, life stuff goes on and re-reborn you carries the spark of understanding through the tutorage of the Teacher Plant.

But for some of us, people like me who are not convinced that our journey is in fact ‘over’, that somehow we have reached that mythical Kansas, or that promised Ithaca, that somehow after all our quandaries all our turmoil and troubles we are now in Nirvana enjoying the fruits of our sacrifices and tears.  Some people like me press on to deeper waters in order to catch the big fish.

The years go on, one profound revelation tides into the other, all pool into a rushing torrent that can only be labelled as  Life.  And then its over.  What was it all about?

No literally I am asking.  ‘What was it all about?’.

Existentialists will argue that life is for life sake, that it is a result of a long line of reactions, chemical and otherwise, all in synchrony vibrating creating reality around you.  

Within these energy frequencies there is Us, you and me and all the human beings that make up humanity, all vibrating and experiencing Life differently.  And then, before you know it, the Apocalypse is actually upon you.  The actual feckin Apocalypse complete with people you know, and possibly even you, dying.

Just the other day, for the first time in what seems like a lifetime I felt fear.  A deep and resonating feeling, nebulous and pervasive, almost thick with anxiety and dread.  A feeling so familiar it speaks to your primal self, so personal it is embedded in your DNA since the dawn of our species. 

The Reaper walks among us and our leaders opened the door proving that we are nothing but chattel,  fodder, expendable slaves who could do with a good culling. No matter the reason though, Thanatos stalks our streets and I tremble, not because Death claims, but because we let it happen.

“some of us will lose Loved Ones” Johnson said.  Is this how dismissively he thinks of those he loves? So little that he willingly throws them in the path of grief, suffering and for some anguish and endless pain? 

I want my life to have meant something, I have a deep desire to be acknowledged and appreciated.  I believe every person on this planet has this right, so why is it denied us on the most fundamental point?  Why are so many peoples dreams and hopes being incinerated for the few to prevent the even fewer from losing their wealth?

This moment of realisation that everything is not what you think it is meant to liberate you, but how can you become free when all there is to escape to is an all pervasive cage?

Let it Be

LET IT BE

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree

There will be an answer, let it be

For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see

There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah let it be

There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

Yeah let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

There will be an answer, let it be

And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me

Shine until tomorrow, let it be

I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me

There will be no sorrow, let it be eeee

Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be

There will be no sorrow, let it be

Let it be, let it be, yeah let it be, yeah, let it be

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

I am sitting in the dark steaming bath listening to the drops echo on the granite floor and tiles.  In front of me is my friend Sunny observing at me with a smile, curly waxed moustache and all.  He is surrounded by light and I cannot tell what age he is, all I can tell is that it is well and truly Sunny almost as certainly as day follows night.   

He wants to tell me something but I am too melancholy to notice, all I can do is stretch my right arm out in an attempt to touch him.  His translucent hand covers mine over his Heart.  His Dragon Heart.

‘Let it be….’ Echo the walls faintly.  I understand now.

The song is a riddle and the answer is surrender.  The tears stop, they are worthless now, if you have surrendered then there is nothing to fear any longer. 

Now get this:  She is there.  Her.  The Mother.  Always there.  Before and After.  She is there in the hour of sorrow because She is Kali.

Kali saying “Let go, surrender. Look I am beheading you.  This is the End”.  Then you Wake to Mother surrounded by music, the Apocalypse of the Lie of Death.  No.More.Sorrow!! Sound familiar?

To exist means to suffer, to surrender is release. This does not equate to non existence, how can you not exist if you have been and are?

Sunny in front of me, blue eyes laughing, sharing the secrets of the universe and my tears have all but ceased, only the slow drip of the faucet disturbs my ghost.  Like a bright flash I see the Merkabah over Sun-birds water purifier, silver bullets of water collecting in the metal pot beneath.  Our Tears assembling for our Souls to be purified; Our Waters to be Blessed and Returned.

This is Netzach, it is Friday the day Love Conquers Supreme.  

I Love You.

Tentacles of Time

As the minutes shed by and the hours unfurl I am becoming ever so slightly viscous, tacky, a little sticky so to speak.  Things tend to adhere to me, to not flow, almost as if my skin is blending into my surroundings, like I am melting into the background of reality. I pick things up, they fall, I open the cupboard items coming flying out at me, I attempt to close doors but they remain stubbornly wedged into the aether.  This is happening more frequently and more apparent day by day.

Is this what it means to become old, is this what happens? Do we slowly disintegrate and smelt into the dark matter of the living universe?  Thawing into strands of energy which slowly dissolve into the cocoon of death? All our memories stuck, cemented in the past with no way of us taking them with us; as our minds race through the maze of time memories light up our way, but their shine lasts only to the next turn, the next twist of the tale.

Sometimes I feel as if I have tentacles, as if I have tentacles all round me, growing out of my own aura or body.  The older I grow the more prominent they become.  The more prominent they become the more I realise that I was not all I seemed to be, existing in paper thin dimensions I grew too big for.  

This spark of consciousness within me seems to be incinerating my life, it seems to be burning me alive.   Read that slowly:  Burning me, alive.  And what shall come out of this flaming crescendo, this decades old swan song?  I close my eyes and let my tentacles wrap round me. 

The answer is ‘I have no clue’, all I know is that I continue, 

As I write this I search myself on the meaning of this ‘I’.   Once I presumed that I was ‘I’, all that I knew and beheld around me, my friends, my job, my family.  But as the thorns of old age strip at my soft declining flesh and my joints fail to meet the demands of my constant desires, this frail and flimsy body is giving up its secrets as it becomes more and more transparent.  I am dying, but what is happening to ‘I’, the ‘I’ that created all this in the first place?

‘I’ is changing, transforming.  ‘I’ is growing tentacles, can ‘see’ things with my brethren’s eyes, ‘I’ is numinous.  ‘I’ is invincible, immortal, forever, ‘I’ is doing you a favour in letting you die; away with rotting, lying, killing flesh, away with the memories of your awful birth, away with the pain of fear, away with loss and hurt. ‘I’ cannot make the anguish stop, but it lets you know it’s okay, it’s alright, it’s natural.  

'I' is me in the future, it always was.