The greatest goal of my own, personal metaphysical spirituality was always to witness extraordinary spiritual manifestations. There was always the hope that such manifestations could even be created, given enough information, faith and spiritual energy. I achieved those things, very successfully, a number of times in my life. There almost seems to be danger in dwelling in that small field of metaphysics, because once achieved there really doesn't seem to be much reward in continuing the pursuit. This can all be called dreams, visions, hallucinations, creative imagination, or it could just be as simple as what somebody sees in the clouds. It's not how you see, or what you make yourself see, that makes the process so important. It's the weight you attach to your revelations that cause the machinations of religions and medicine and analytic reasoning to spin on their heels and take notice. If you see mice eating grain, in the afternoon it might rain. If you see seven legions of demons eating the souls of innocent lambs, it could be red skies at night, and possibly lots of fright. Snacks?

Bored now... until later.

The Heavens Do Fear

Reaching out in the darkness,
So over pompous until confronted with true unknown,
Endless non-glottal gibbering echoes,
In the spaces beyond sight,
Down where the air pockets give out.
It's so simple that impossible just became real,
Nobody seems to have a problem with it.
All vocal analysis fails.
Meaning can't possibly exist in the tones.
Night fell, and the lights failed
Halfway into the first room beyond the first air shaft,
With only dozens more beyond.
Inside our minds the lights go even darker,
The place where seeing means freeing,
And darkness means never getting out.
Standing, breathe, cast aside need for tangible,
But the stone is there, the oxygen, the pain if one needs it.
The void likes to trick,
But reality is too quick for it if calm hearts and strong minds listen
To the beating heart,
To the world love creates in every moment of life.
The soul seeking passage beyond the pale
Will shut off all recognition of comfort, security and concrete existence:
There is no end,
Falling, nothingness, empty, all that is zero.
The leap into the great beyond breaks the barrier,
The wall between forgiveness and retribution.
Peace creates matter.
Thought creates the power,
And the sun rises in time for all to grow
Nourishing the wellness that will not let one fall from grace.
[Unless the one seeking passage
Could not find the inner peace
To leap into freedom from that dark place,
And the heavens do quake
At the thought of that.]

Fever Dreams in the House of Madness

Sequence 1a.

Ceiling higher at front
slopes down behind bed with rising
sun blanket and crush velour
lion pillows, and a hippie girl
deals cards on a footstool
[well at the foot]
dealing seven, wedded heaven,
the oceans rise, the sky falls
the star in her eye is the reflection into another room
one where you do not exist.
The face in the mirror
in the wall beside the door
the entrance to the goat's womb of indifference
the unrequited lover does pine
in carefully staged visions
blood soaked with fantasies of revenge
betrayed by the endless truth that
she drinks success
and it makes her other lover more sweet
and worthy of her adoration

Sequence 2a.: Hounds at the Bay

Seagulls scatter to the wind in terror
As the hounds' howls break the morning still.
Atlantic winds whip the hunt's finale
Uncertainty tears from the ground into the sky.
The earth feels the coming onslaught of a deluge.
The beast is cornered in the grand birch thicket,
In the cemetary's fence by the old sailors' graves.
The predawn twilight never saw it coming,
And the shadows gave off tones of red in the still limbs.
The features of the creature were truly frightful
As it snarled and charged the branches ends
Along and vicious, and back and forth all threat,
Too clear to be mistaken,
The deep cavern badger,
Ashen and red fluorescent,
Face a horror show of anger and impotent rage,
Scowls as it glowers and spits.
The hunting dogs have finally won the battle.
Many lost pups and mothers of terriers rest easier
When the beast is brought down and slain.

2b.: Spatial Distortions

Time residue gums
the camera
blurs shadows polarize and
capture life, perform skits
for nitwits who sit unblinking and unthinking,
overreaching neuralyzed psychic vampires
smiling from the video's other side
the hidden world comes alive
no evils can be denied, no transgressions,
for in that place they've a sickening pride in existence,
even fleeing visions beyond light,
humility un-keeled rolls on decency,
and never kneeling falls dead
killed by something it shouldn't have said.
Nobody wants to know or hear
It's not at all pretty,
And the picture is oh so crystal clear,
It's me, it's you, it's all of us,
But shed tears and learn,
Slide aside the useless veil that was to have protected modesty,
And it's plain,
Blackness is smiling,
But it's because of jealousy
For what WE have.

2c.: Sculpted and Frozen

Cratered by the rain:
one tear hardening
glance and dismiss
foolishly floundering
no way to beat the subtle, nuanced admonition
ignored on the outskirts of care,
she cries.

Forgotten love left icy wastes
All through her heart
Where the dreams of blooming flowers once lingered
All the time.
The children played
And happiness, now so transparent,
Was never in short supply.

Her lonely sob forever wrenches itself
From the pit of her wistful and unfilled heart.
Time stopped,
Only to be stirred by the sun's first rays,
But that golden moment turned black.
The pillar moved no more,
Ashen before the realization
Of what her sons had done
In the name of war
In the burning garden no more.

Sequence 3a.: Rampant Eidos

The words get even smaller
the snail's trace glimmers duller
the thoughts of man glisten in the sun
salt for the weeping grass, cut by blades and regrouping
grown sad and stoic from the loss of all loved ones
Theory, conquest, decay, regret, failure
Defeated, pitied, forgiven,
Reborn of flame kindled when the oldest trees
Were the tops of distant horizons
When metal bent beneath cold unforgiving hatred
For the nothing in the caves before the burning and the blades.
And all perished who followed that path,
And all who will, hatred swallowing even the darkness.
The tiny laughter fights on regardless,
For the other way leads to nothingness no soul returns from,
And the reawakening soul finds humor,
Amused by all the transparent lies.

[Just new stuff... about five more pages after this]

Early Words

Sometimes it takes me hours to finish writing about one topic. Rather than leave one of these items hanging on another post, or waiting for the end of the day, I decided to chunk them out here. Yesterday was such a waste... Okay, then. Onward.

1. The Occult: I use that term sometimes when what I am really referring to metaphysical spirituality. That really needs some explanation. That's the bulk of what I'm addressing today. I never intended by using the term to conjure ideas of dark arts or magic, but just the idea of obscured knowledge.

2. Work: I can imagine doing anything until I feel how crippled I am. Given enough whiskey and pills I could go back to logging, but perhaps it would be in my best interest to stick with writing. That may upset some people I owe money to. There's nothing I can do about what I can't do.

3. Vow of Poverty: I took one in 1988, and have so far found no problem (zerooooo) adhering to it. As soon as I make it up to poverty level I intend to stay there. I'm in what is called sub-sub-poverty right now. I have a time share on lighting with the cars driving down the street.
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Related written works at Angelfire, Sex Symbols, Cymbals of Silence.Repent or Die