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Stream of light at God speed headed toward the sun. No struggle to stop, free falling…...Recirculation, entry way, an exit once was. Paddle wheel is spinning, while allowing access. Medium of motion vibrates: carries pulse waves from one place to another and tells the prodigal returned that he is not alone in this place. Fragment syllabics carried from Cartesian coordinate point on three dimensional planes to a second effectively zero light years away, time passage to travel just as negligible. Communiqué accepted, rejected, spewed forth out of one form and accepted back into the other. The syntax offered for consideration. Dilation then constriction pulsated in a stream of molecular matter. Wavelengths familiar, sinusoidal motions locked away, pinned down in neuro-matter memory unigrams by permanent physical alterations.
Moon glow shimmering in silence, hazed behind a mask of shadows haloed by the same: traits of both demon and angel given by a lone influence. Split down the middle and divided goat and sheep along the rift, chasm, dualism made evident in this schizophrenic shift thereafter beside itself always revealed in the incomplete thought, the incomplete image. Lunar orb shines with a light that’s not its own, I know the feeling.
Now lightning and thunder descend atop the streaming band of vomit, ambient light for an instant imbues: pillars of salt all in the snapshot created. Whitewash tombs that had been dark only to flee again, wallow in the dishallowed halls of Hades. Impact of the image of light upon, always forces change of form, solid, liquid then gas to light. The once- solid pillar melts and is taken up in the flow it had hindered split, ignoring that the current exists, causes capture within it. Rebellion from any given set of standards causes strict adherence to another. Difference negligible at best, end result the same. Following the bends of the liquid always and selectively or else mindlessly, water seeks its own level. Middle ground tricky business subject to reproach. Comprehend? It’s a never-ending story. Therefore go: go and let the liquid guide you but never lead. Follow the rivers of consciousness along the lines known best. Only then can one rise as a gas. Come to me again and again and again and rest, I might grant you choice remains, choice of how to remain. Choice of return to yours, but watch out the carrot dangles on the stick....
Reply, perfunctory in nature, given as forward momentum continues. Law of inertia: an object in motion tends to remain such as one at rest tends to motion resist. Cliché followed by cliché... point made in passing. Platitudes. Worse it could be yet that is true of most all. Could be worse, the me, universal or solar at the very least. I Wish to lie down: to come forth naked from my mother’s womb. Return. Look on the dollar store shelf and become someone else with ease. Perhaps if I had been designated the messiah just once? I only condemned so that He could forgive. Always want to give more to that special someone than you have to give and still the thought runs through the mind that someone else might be able to offer more so why not me? Salvation not an option no matter how much effort I put forth. Tried my damndest. I can now apologize. Out of sight, out of mind, good by cruel world. To the gates, an archway of ninety degree angles, and these gates of a heaven open though far from the pearly gates promised. I once spied the Promised Land, looked incomplete from where I stand. Then spews the flood, with blessings I will shower you. Slide open, shafts glisten dancing in a dazzling display of liquid light. Step aside. Gravitational pull incessant. The flow improper to be caught in: destination incorrect, not my star. NOT MY STAR! By Jove, into the tram of heavens, cable tied to the Night sky, tower of babbling at any hour. Choose your destin(y)ation. Twenty three, psalmist numerical equivalent well known, who is my shepherd. Who? I rose up from green pastures. Oh, but you don't know about the raging rivers there. When the sun is gone color fades. Valley of the Shadow of.. ..Breathe, last. Sigh. Inside, the gates close. Momentum shifts upward. All have fallen, let fall, seventh inning slump. Self-induced autism, the outside is dead, universe of Om wind preferred. Solipsism effective in the confines of the sons of men. Convince the mind and the perception of reality (which is dictated to be reality by the definition of the said term, therefore the perception of can be removed without recourse for more accuracy) will then follow. Rewrite definition for space currently occupied by several inch think sheets of the written word; now transmuting to nothing/absence of. Close the windows so the impression on the inside fades while blocked by the blinds. Reopen... Claim there’s nothing there say there’s nothing there even believe there’s nothing there. But it’s there, still. Beliefs contrary but kept in confines of that lowly three brained creature, it could still change, always probable, never possible.
Numeral: second in sequence of generally used illuminates with pale yellow amber replacing the light grey of instants ago. Motion continuing upward, like a waterfall in reverse, Turbulence in the windless shaft to the heavens: trust lacking in many therefore. What if there’s a fire, prolonged stop, severed cable? Coffin made, trapped within a box while the world falls apart outside. No better place to be: hear it all as it comes down. Will the last trumpet be heard, or will it have to be spelled out for you? T-e-m-p-e-s-t. Yes the end is here, but do you need to be hit on the head?? I took them as far as the physical could possibly go. I pushed the envelope, brought the light to the tiniest point of void, to the tiniest quark. A courteous player death proved to be: grace of a long drawn out illness with end in sight, modern medicine allows clear picture of the final day. Not always, an instant sometimes, such a tragedy we never saw it coming, how could we expect this? Suffering is inevitable, but so is its end. Told life will flash before the eyes just before then. Bright light bulb, cameras strobe flash set to one last exposure, rather than drawing in images vomiting out the ones passed. Wonder where that started: who died so that they could say their life flashed before their eyes? And somehow live to tell about it? History possibly able to name a few truly dead and resurrected but by now they’re dead all over again. Ever stop to think and, remembering to start once again, consider that maybe the life running before and into your soul’s windows did so because you didn’t die? You never tasted death? Glad for second chance? Your own Second Coming? Know then, I will not have a second coming, don’t have time to wait for. It won’t be long now anyway. All short stops on much longer trip, awaiting the honeymoon. But it’s only a dream, bring the consciousness back to reality, it’s all in the dream….. If there is no marriage then how will that follow? Honeymoon, dream, it's not real. Bridegroom and bride drink from the river of life, it’s but a dream....Next Arabic symbol highlighted with the same color as the last. If one then two, and if time allows then obviously three. So on, so on, soon however the sequence is not indefinite everlasting. Upper bounds, limit as x approaches infinity. Rules, universal language, the specific dialect founded by a man (and concurrently by another) who watched an apple fall. It’s the definition of a derivative. A universal, therefore applied to all things: limit of a singular human life as it approached the undeniable (given time, denial being a psychological stage of slowly coming to accept most difficult facts of existence) end. Sometimes you win, others you lose [always with others], but the game is ultimately played by all at some point, paradox indeed, outcome being the same for everyone yet victory for some defeat for others. Only two options really, a no decision not being at issue, just a stalling for time. Win. Lose. Last moment before the eyes close, determining instant if opportunity reflection given. Look back? Inner dialogue flash then the regrets flow. O my God what have I done with my? Or more along the lines of Yes, yes if only I would have done this or that…. If Woody would have gone straight to the police… Pillars of salt all. Who knows: light at the end of the tunnel (which one is that?)...maybe blackout only? The gates of heaven open once more and...Not yet my stop. Enter another. Another path, number, choice, highlighted option in amber glow. Hello, he says in monotone. Nothing offered, nothing gained. Let alone ventured. What is to be expected does in fact follow,
lips mine open to whisper, a fragment. Deception tasted so sweet…Deception...I needed only point in the direction, why not that? It was your creatures who divided their brains into three.
Hello, under breath evocation of air with little/no substance behind. Summoning, invocation...of a sigh formed in two syllables. Eyes drop how can the head be so heavy when in one and out the other is possible? Grey matter lacking where? Indifference observed as more evil than hatred. Suicide bombers therefore the lesser evil, they are still passionate, the greater evil being the indwellers who remove themselves as part of a society. Ignoring something or detachment is worse than destroying it: any structure can crumble from indifference just as simply as they can be destroyed by detonation. Velocity the only anomalous factor, speed the variable. Constant: destruction assured. Once my sole domain, I embodied putrefaction, I embodied the gloam, kept a third dying to secure the belief in the limit of death.
Further up, silence now. Still, quiet shaking of the aether: in exhale. Time passes well enough on its own, beyond ability of anyone to add or detract. Perception only changes. Constant beat, 4/4 series of quarter notes, constant tempo seems to vary if circumstances change. Immutable, 4th dimension just as constant as the first three, same rules apply. A mile will always be a mile but it can seem like less (walking as opposed to taking a ride in a car for example).
A funeral dirge recounting the circles ran before it: rising to dramatic heights, reach for the Apex, climax, yes!; swooning thereafter to the depths of the ocean, pulled under by a riptide; recanting, march on, stop? no! Proceed instead for the (less than) climatic conclusion. More stories end with an air of resignation than a melodious bang. Brief reflection, ambiance fading and then gone… still frame of Kodak moment, joy/sorrow/tears/laughter. A flicker, a whisper, a sigh...everyone lives so why can’t I? Some will live but all must die. If A is then B will come but B may be present in the absence of A…. 14x + | 15 | = | 71 | a hundred thousand beginnings may bring about the same end (in select cases have even been shown to coincide with one another, life and a life at the same instant). The start doesn’t matter because everyone knows the ending and how to get there. Denial, still, on some level in all: shades of grey or gray. May darker or lighter be, yet the windows of human brains are cloudy to begin with and therefore lack accuracy; I directed them all to the abyss. All possess some degree of color blindness, monochromes all. Fade to gray...Chemical imbalance, three brained creatures, content to live the superficial life of sense, genetically impaired, born between intellect and will, where is the love?
Mathematical representative of incompleteness (origin of evil) displayed. Six, Sex, Sin. And don’t they all chase that beast? Relationship drawn easily noticeable, I recognized it first, and then created linear thought. Base for faith is evil, not good (if there is no evil, then there is no sin and if there is no sin there cannot be need for redemption, if there is no need for redemption, there is no need for confession and if there is no need for confession there is no need for salvation, if there is no need of salvation there is no need for men of the cloth; with a lacking need for clerics there is no need for religion and therefore faith; if there is no wrong then all is right by default). My consciousness quivers with remembrance….all the deceptions unfold and the word made straight…I deceived with delight, tempted, then pointed the accusing finger….I was the anointed one…carried the light....forced them against their will to see the light...e=mc squared. Abracadabra, squared cm=e arbadacarba, they could only perceive it as destruction. If A then B, if six then seven. If----blank, then----blank. If evil comes good will follow? Opposite shown in creation story: inherent perfection given, corruption followed; contrarily shown in ending story: evil taken (by force rather than coercion or choice, free will, freedom?)Free will stopped?? Replaced forever with good? Obedience to precept is a new concept for some... The fear of god is the beginning of wisdom. Love multiplies when it is divided. No one can plan farther than they can envision, God help us with the eternal perspective. Gates reopen. Left alone now. Left to my home, presumably, perhaps to another’s. Nobody wants to be alone, even the arms of a stranger, leaves you wanting more. Companionship ultimate goal. Reunion is always joyful event. Joining another and becoming one. A best friend is the one you can stay with for eons, and never speak a word. Awkward silence never the issue. A companion who knows all of your weaknesses but only shows your strength. Shoulder to lean on something to be desired. Someone to share with, darkness or light that’s not what’s important, only need a split second of sustainable light...to feel eternally loved. Sturm’s theorem in play now, revealing the roots.
Final turn, first cow on the right, straight on till morning (nearly, seems eternity to go further), what is affectionately known as homestretch (how condescending!). Drought brought to climax, only a few fragments remain, the sum total of all the parts now discerned, stream motioning still from incline downward. Does that Savior call home my orb as well (more accurately, call home what I did not)? Wary of asking as most here wary of strangers, even more so under the shroud of darkness. Why not? I cast the shadow of doubts, and stand long and tall does he. The eternal flame of truth beckons me… in the ink black aether of void; distinguish one from the other daunting task. Still the eyes say nothing, in between new moons, away from amber glow, night turned to day reverts to the animal self, my purpose achieved. Matter of perspective is all: see what you want to see (you don't see me) do I even see me? Truth be known it was a game of sibling rivalry and I was none the wiser. Next dash of amber reminds me it’s not such a small world after all. The eyes say different, yet how is difference apparent? When the only shade is grey, black and white strangely absent from this picture. Two colors meant separate, poured out one atop another and left for the rain. My blood Red and money Green lines once so lovely to feel, once so lovely to be, fade to gray. Black and white that I no longer see and only the giant sphere of light before my eyes is real to me. Return to the first station, return as the anointed cherubim. The prodigal son returns, burn off the dross.
The stream of light crashed into the sun. A strange phenomenon, the stream of light danced around the sun, splashing in and out, diving, and looping, a sigh of resignation, and then it was completely absorbed. And the sun grew very quiet.
'I am' at play
How can there be, but circles of.....see?
A perception of nothing’s … infinities
what is, what was and what ever shall be
inverting illusions… spec dualities.
Boiling hot light; waves tiding in dance
inversely freezing… in thermal romance
end rationales where ‘there is’, never starts,
palpitates, racing in soon to be hearts?
Where every word of this mystery
whispers "Just what can I be?"
Springing forth from the fountain,
of what magic 'might be.'
Confused? All’ is nothing! Full’s empty! … Aye! …nay!
Full… yet so empty, this ‘is’ I am “at play”
Birthing the Lucifer star Page 42
