Outside In

Outside In

 

In dreams I follow strange corridors, endure within weird architectures, meander through odd pathways, always purposefully purposeless as I wander restlessly onward pursuing circular destinations, freely cornered in surreal designs, accepted impossibilities of form and structure, never exploring quite enough yet still experiencing these odd worlds vividly, vitally, fulfilling my childhood yearnings for secret chambers, hidden passageways, dark desires enhancing my bland predictable reality, frustrations of limited living released into profuse, abstruse geometries, angled views of lilted tilted hallways, protean dimensions in crazy extensions, journeys through familiar properties magnified, sprawled into endless variations, metaphors as doors, searching for a way out going further in, reactive subtraction of meant intention, expectation hanging in a place of bizarre space, a spread of infinite neural possibilities visualised as brick ‘n’ mortar bourgeois domiciles that trick navigation, multiple levels beyond my reckoning reach, shifting the very fabric of location, walking to get somewhere anywhere nowhere yet I’m still there, here made shockingly queer, the magical palace of my mind, avenues of uncharted associations recorded as fantastical, elastical hallways, peculiar rooms, all so oddly even, such rigidly reasonable abberations of wall and ceiling,,,,,
Where candles weep
Fortunes creep
Yesterdays keep memories forgotten
Deep complexities of psyche raw to explore
Sleep awakening mistaken actuality,,,,
All that should have been wrapped, trapped in what was yet was not quite so, proportions slanted, granted new perspectives, stunted expansions of claustrophobic tenancies, never quite right, orders intermingled, sequentials jumbled, the organisation of conceptual blocks half broken but still functional enough to create a viable universe, all within the bounds of house and home, where I am destined forever to roam, so it seems, in dreams,,,,,,,,,,,

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Thoughts Walking Down A Busy Street

TROTI Keep Calm.svg

 

Through fleeting familiars we see ourselves, knowing others by empathy. Embarrassed by such intimate recognitions we practise obsequious politeness from within our privately arrogant bubbles, fearful of the full contact we so desperately crave. Fascinated by the variations of form we observe on each face, we experience the one eternal self so closely that we fail to distinguish it from its myriad transformations.
We linger to feel restless, then rush to crave relaxation, always losing the temporary peace we make with ourselves the moment we are aware of it. Such is the state of consciousness, to crave the pure unconsciousness of total concentration wherein time is defeated, but living on that knife-edge where the manifestations of this powerful focus continually offer an infinity of unique and original distractions that thereby destroy their very genesis.
Awareness always leads to contradiction because, by being aware of itself it fills the perceiver with a new idea that instantly changes the nature of the perceived, which in this case is the perceiver, setting up a continual turbulence of futile grasping at that-which-is-not-that.
Surely this consciousness malarkey is the anomaly? A mistake, a one in a zillion alignment of circumstance that has created me myself and I. Am I the most extraordinary improbability?
These abstruse speculations are simply too much to ponder. They absorb my whole psyche while leading absolutely nowhere. They famish my spirit that craves meaning just as much as my lungs crave oxygen and my stomach food.
Maybe I understand too much. Maybe we all do. It can be seen carved on the faces of everyone who has reached the age of discretion that they are somehow acutely aware of these most perplexing issues, although most of course try their best to ignore them with the multitude of distractions available, especially in these most modern of times. Yet distraction, as we have already seen, kills the very absorption that would solve this existential angst, leading us through cruel circles of self-manifesting temptations that never give what they promise while denying us the pure presence of lonely satisfaction.
Us hive creatures are not designed for this self-sufficient philosophising, which puts us at variance with our fellow humans, and ultimately with nature as a whole. By being aware of awareness, conscious of consciousness, we stand apart from the universe that we are a part of, reaching enlightenment at the expense of love.
And so I carry on walking, purposeful in my purpose, trying to escape myself as my thoughts seed and breed in ever increasing complexities to the rhythm of my footsteps, fuelled by the ample blood supply pumped up by my marching thighs. I must have somewhere to go, so go I do, to come back again, hopefully tired enough for the little death of sleep, the blissful release into nothingness. It has been said that nothing comes from nothing, but here, on this tiny planet floating in a vast emptiness, it seems that everything I and we have ever known has somehow come from nothingness. So now we move from incredible improbability to absolute impossibility. Yet here it all is, on this crowded, busy street.
Never the same moment, the same situation again. All is eternally new, a variation of history utterly particular and peculiar. Such is the fascination that prevents us from going completely insane and eating ourselves up by our own tails. We fall from experience through experience by experience, mercifully juggled quickly enough not to rest on our own improbable impossibility. Perhaps this is why music is so universally appealling, because it sweeps the receptive soul along through the beat of time, continually leaving each moment behind with one foot in the future. Rather like my steady walk, weaving through the obstacles of my mind as I rush through the crush of sundered souls, blundering my way through the race of space.

Yoga Morphs

Yoga Morphs

 

I am stick insect, long stiff flexible jointed, angled praying mantis poised, alert, springy grasshopper, reverse thighed, green blending, rigid bending.
I am cat, soft boneless supple, Zen still, sleekly self sufficient, indifferent, cool and composed, tiger potential, death dealing Shiva.
I am lotus blossom, rising through murky waters to Buddha-bloom in perfection, clear and clean, leg-folded practised position, soles up body yoked.
I am wonderland, Alice riddled mushroom throned, logic leaning meaning word absurd, sitting fittingly, psychedelic schizophrenic.
I am birdbrain, compass guiding migrating global airways, following seasons, swallowing reasons, wing armed charmed, eagle eyed, sparrow voiced, swan dignified.
I am man, monkey paradigm apotheosis, Vitruvian proportioned, god animal, top hat punctual, the least beast.
I am world, fat, full, Pickwick wise, rotund, gravity bound in ocean sky blue white cloud gown, space suspended globerock.
I am fish, waterstruck, gob-faced dumb glug, gill frill streamline fine, shark swift, salmon determined.
I am wolf, plain roaming, atavistic howling, hunting in packs, terrain knowing, fearless, desperate, hunger driven, dog natured, hyena hysterical.
I am amness, consciousness aware, flesh transcending, moment existing, one as One to be, star dust mud lust weaved together, thieved from nothingness to ever digress.
I am Yoga, primal discipline, thought pointed, body sculptured, youth fountained sweat suffering through man-measured imitations of all Universal form, spiritual protoplasm, physical soul.
I am robot, bio-machine, Nature programmed, urge splurge surging, pre-conditioned, vain predictable, metal muscled, plastic skinned, synapse soldered anatomical machine, mind vehicle.
I am self-denial, pain stretching pleasure, discomfort searching for comfort, holding hard soft counterforce, breath counting my life away, rigidly giving, bitterly forgiving, wrapped to snapping point.
I am let go hold on, restless rest, unsettled settled, lazy constant effort, intelligence manifest, excessive moderation, pull push, trying to much not enough, a fiction of contradiction for real.
I am serpent spine, chackra risen, Ajna wise, knowledge temptation, sublimated seminal power, energy flowing growing through esoteric method, vision beyond, wonder meditation.
I am all, nothing, everything, never and forever, here and now, there and then, future fast past pleasure, unmoved my movement, unaffected by affection, undone by doing, released by my bondage, freed by my fetters, Sun King, Moon Queen, Earth Child.

Pure Purpose Power

Pure Purpose Power

 

By total focus on One Pure Purpose a potent power arises in your body and soul, enabling all necessary tasks to be done, all relevant talents to be developed, and all inevitable obstacles to be overcome. The full matter and energy of the universe works in your favour, because you are working in harmony with the One Purpose, which is to achieve ever higher, grander, deeper and more beautiful complexities, in stark contradiction to the so called Second Law Of Dynamics.
Without purpose entropy does indeed increase. But when directed by Mind, the very vibrations that form the Stuff Of Existence tune in to an Idea, a Vision, a Conception, and align their waveforms to the Purposed Paradigm, increasing their energy exponentially by sympathetic interference. Things are made real using the infinite supply of power and substance readily available. All these need are direction, focus and guidance, rather like the disparate players of a symphony orchestra needing the singular construction of a composer to work together musically.
The will of man is weak, and surely breaks after a period of egotistical application. But the Eternal Will goes on forever, having the strength and stamina to do anything and everything. To use this potential one must first surrender to it instead of trying vainly to harness it. Then, like a picture projected through a lens, a valid design will be amplified with no effort required from the designer, except a continued concentration on and belief in the conceptualised form. The cosmos craves order, expression, aesthetical and mathematical proportions – this is clear to see throughout Nature. Of course these structures are continually decaying, their own perfection containing the seeds of their destruction, but this is only to allow further, even greater impressions to become manifest from their residue materials, all to the Glory of God.
When you sing in the key of life there are no wrong notes. When you dance to the rhythm of the stars you are the beat, complete as and in yourself and itself. When you examine the World-As-It-Is a staggering intricacy is apparent. Each individual cell in your body is vastly more elaborate than anything we could ever conceive, let alone create. An incredible number of these miracle machines auto-generate every second. Nothing comes from nothing. These structures are made by some sort of Inherent Intelligece and Pervasive Power. Even if they make themselves, they need a source of fuel and architecture to realise. All we, us Artists, Musicians, Athletes, Yogis, Builders, Leaders, Writers, Champions Of Freedom, all we Original Begetters need to do is to tap into this process with our own archetypes. Then the very Fruits Of Fate will fall into our laps, ready ripe as our plans dictate.
When you truly know what you want but do not know how to get it, it will come and get you if you let it. This is where faith comes in. Without belief you will interfere with the Course-Of-Destiny, and frustrate the Inexorable Flow Of Manifestation. Indeed you will externalise the very unbeliefs that you do believe in – as you conceive, so you receive, exactly as you believe (or not). However, within the Fountain Of Faith you can go with the flow and watch your clear vision gradually but definitely be imposed upon reality, as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow.
This brilliant process can even work if you do not know what you want, if you are unsure of your Meaningful Mission. This is because the aforementioned Creative Knowledge knows you better than you know yourself – after all, it made you, who are simply a materialisation of the idea of yourself that exists in this Ubiquitous Understanding. So with faith and presence, by following the Signs of Fortune, you will surely be pursuing your One True Purpose, whether you know it or not. Such is the certain way to success. We create all our own failures by setting ourselves apart from the Tide Of Necessity, creating a destructive dissonance. So just go with the flow to know where to go and how to get there.
Such is The Power, The Secret, The Way.

As It Is

As It Is

 

Each scintilla of mud matter
Splatter, thud or screech
Spin or stop
Operates as it should be, could be, would be if not that
What at Fate’s decree is where it ought, there caught
Thought in form
From the storm of chaos
Om
Dross gloss will fulfilling, thrilling, killing
Still through motion, new devotion to the dance of chance
Every circumstance precise nice move the goove of destiny
Stirring, purring by my kiss of bliss, apotheosis by my shy surrender free
By sly ego ending all pretending falling back to One
Zodiac undone, eternally recurring rhythm of creation
High vibration, prism symbolism
Humdrum coming, turning, learning to forget
Again then when the old quartet cold north, warm south
The mouth wide west, the feast of east reach, teach square opposite
Fit the scheme of little latitude
Dream of gratitude for ordinary miracle
Redeem the circle neat
Particle complete.

The Angel Of Suggestion

The Angel Of Suggestion

 

I met her again at a Hypocrites’ Love Festival. We were both wall-flowering on the fringes of this gush-happy charade, mutually drawn together by our gentle alienation from such vapid values and the harmonious resonance of our shared ingenuousness. Awkwardly sitting together, apart from the throng, on peripheral chairs, our palms-under-thighs with calves penduluming irregularly to punctuate the boredom, she suddenly affixed my face with hers, holding me bewitched by her radiant goodness. I stared back, surprised and hypnotised, as she enthused on the subject of The Power Of Suggestion. She beamed, her pretty girlish apple face full of the Wisdom Of The Ages, as she joyfully expounded her profound insight on this world-moving force, this ruler of human affairs. I instantly knew the Total Truth of her sage words, the seductive sense of her bright right enlightenment.
Yet why was she telling me this, here and now, without prompt or context? I drunk her winsome form, the absolute poise and perfection of her slightly plump, primly petite physique and neatly fresh, symmetrically proportioned features, and instantly fell in love. But my naive nobility kept this passion strictly Platonic. For she had promised herself to a Devil Debonair, one who I did, and still do, regard as a Fine Friend. They had met in a previous life through my connection, their milieus up to then being separate from each other’s but both overlapping my spheres of influence. She had just previously pledged her lasting loyalty to him, adamant that he had now been changed into a conscientious and virtuous husband. So I left my thoughts to drift back into my deepest desire, unexpressed and unfulfilled.
Subsequently I have often thought of this unexpected, vividly real episode. What was she actually suggesting, this expert on suggestion? I knew myself the Better Man than her current choice – did she know that too? Certainly she was showing a razor sharp perspicacity under her child-pure soft-round innocence. But the situation was also compounded by my recent conjunction with another angel cum devil, my Lazy Crazy Lady, who had recently saved my soul at the price of my freedom. This Not-Quite-Right liaison was however Good Enough, and I was in no mood or position to play games.
Women speak their hearts in contradictions, hints, chance glances, and indeed suggestions. I often wonder if I lost my One that day by not following through. But she was not offering that permission and I was not looking for it. Her partner, whom she had just cheerfully devoted herself to under my witness, was soon to arrive, and again resume our Favourable Fraternity. He had always offered me honest hospitality, and I had lodged many times at the humble home he shared with his Angel. However in retrospect I wonder at the cruel machinations of Nature – I feel that she deserved more than the slightly unhealthy, decadent and unclean man she had. Had she found out too late, both for me and her?
And would she had been right for me? Although I loved her, I loved myself more. She was a passive, receptive spirit, who wanted a more conventional partner that I could ever be, me who ultimately follows my Mad Muse come do or die. She knew this too, so what was she suggesting?
The years have quickly fallen since that most poignant episode. She is now divorced, with two children from her Charming Cavalier, and I am still keeping the largest portion of my love to myself and my Art. Yet she would have made me a proper wife, and been a marvellous mother to our hypothetical children. Sometimes this realisation almost breaks my heart, almost rips the essential being from my body. But I could not reciprocate, then or now. How hard is fate, who mis-matches our attractions and mocks our ambitions? Still, the Power Of Suggestion lives on, controlling the Universe. What am I except the amalgamation of images, gestures, jingles, phrases, values and fictions that I have inculcated, copied, or imbued? What is left if all these ideas are stripped away?
Perhaps she gave me the greatest gift of all. Now I can take this Power and remake myself in any image I want, discarding the old formulations just as I wish. Is this what she was suggesting, or something more? Or was she just spinning ideas, sharing thoughts with my receptive psyche? After all we both felt so comfortable next to each other, so at ease together. So with every gain there is always an equivalent loss, and here, perhaps, I lost something infinitely precious. Such is the Flavour Of Fortune throughout the Eternal Tragedy.

As You Ride It

As You Ride It

 

Flashes of past glory
Dash before me
Fast, contrast
Quick reaction on slick traction
Speed and metal
Proceed, settle
Sweat and tough puff get enough yet late arrival drive survival mode must wait
Trust to fate
Straight road go
Weave the grieving jam
Car struck drama scram aligned behind
Stuck dysfunction junction wind
Find the route to beauty bound
Ground skim land swim slim fit round
Wit acute scoot through who knows
Flows of fantasy free prose
Wheeling, feeling, stealing space
Race the place
Destiny by numbered time
Unencumbered paradigm
Sealing my bicycle rhyme.