SHE

Somewhere in a book now or in a swaying pine

The song sings to itself when no one listens

Maybe your one of the blessed ones that can hear

The thousand songs of silence through the brides veil

Married to the soul of the world

Whose beauty is sound and sound is beauty

Whose weathered mind repeats itself in moods and dream

Keeps rowing the curve of the soul

Raises the island into the continent

Through pumiced night clouds of oblivion

In hollow branches of lonely wind

Memory and death float merge

Among the stone walls of long sounding desire

The sea cavern echos

Syllables from the deities breath

Grappling with your amnesia in the ocean of stars

Lapping waves pulse in the wrist

Fingerprints of time that held you

Worn to the spine as artifice

Until time cracks

And numbered prisoners fall

From their circled pacing

Shards of the past, present and future

Are swept carefully

So as not to be cut

On the remains

Sometimes time is distant

Sometimes time is close

When it leaves you

You love it the most

As she draws closer to you

Moving Flowers through Stone

I have come to know things, then un-know them.

 The sun splinters when the rain falls upwards.

Malleable truth is recognized in the storm forces of nature, they serve the earth.

Find balance within one’s nature and the mystery.

Don’t forget our star collisions and supernovae while having breakfast.

On another note… When The ground and center of life is lost.

Anything can still be irrationally justified – within and without.

When the unwanted deity refuses to die, it menaces amnesiac or careless worshippers. Needles you in your dreams and hides your precious things.

Spirits have their needs and want support just like us. The good the bad and the ugly, we all have to get along.

If you don’t sow in this garden, the seeds inside you will rot.

Without reciprocity within the big relationship – there’s no sustainable harvest.

There’s little time left for a footnote, but the worldly linear reality is on shaky ground.

It always has been.

Plan accordingly.

Religions compete for your soul.

Schooled and garbed dogmatic authority, pontificating to your vulnerability.

The priest wants to recruit you wearing black and the smallest square of white.

You of course make up your own mind.

Did you know, independent thought is becoming squeamish these days.

There will be witch hunters again, and they will round up artists, poets and environmentalists. In fact anything or anyone who doesn’t conform, including cats and rogue centipedes have had their day.

Governing powers are pressing for self delusion, fantasy and escapism. Do you think they`re winning? Things are made up.

Puppets of ourselves, to explain ourselves, to explain life.

Who drafted all this up?

Genius formulas of the “Mad Hatter” have seized the day.

Coyote sharpens its fang on a bone of guilt. I think you know, that if you talk to the dead and the spirits, you might be taken away without an “Amen.” If this should happen to you… Amen in advance…

By the way… every time you think you’re ahead, you fall behind, and vice versa.

Then you make a philosophy about this with leaky holes that fill you up.

This is called sanity in modern culture.

In summary, an imploding selfie.

Interesting that the wise are burdened to be very wise. This is wise or not, but it’s the way it is.

Look in the mirror beyond the face, it might save you decades of narcissistic delusion. Don’t worry we all have been birds in a cage, it’s just some are more comfortable there. Their wings have become institutionalized.

All the many years of steadfast, raw, disciplined spiritual work is unwanted. Abandoned for quick fix attention.

Sometimes we disappear away from the world, from others, and ourselves…Good – It’s a better way to find oneself, and not always be in the show.

The all informative reasons are there why the masters went to the caves, deserts and mountain tops.

Why solitude and the spirits in nature inform every part of our being.

Being jaded is our own fault, individually and collectively.

Sometimes karma or fate whacks you over the head, and now you must walk and not hide your limp.

We all have some form of a limp, make it work for you or be the perennial victim.

The story is yours, you own it, how you tell it is how you’ll walk it.

The world is in crisis, we have been indoctrinated into dysfunctional paradigms.

An uninitiated peoples, we are self promoting, promoting for other peoples assets. Capitalism, competition, the gods of ego inflation, money, greed, fighting, groveling, envy…

Let me catch my breath.

This is all noble and strong to some, an anathema to others.

Integrity at all cost on how we make our living.

Economy over humanity, fear propaganda has driven virtues underground.

brians blog

Lightning Flies up…..photo credit unknown

Let’s lighten up. Light attracts light, begets light…

No this is not a new age jingo to feel good as we go back to our rote patterns of behavior. When we grow up we wake up.

When we pay attention to our dreams in this darkness…

When our dream fits and serves this world, and the otherworld. – Our dreams will pay attention to us.

A story of holding the tension of the crossroads inside us every day.

To stay inside- stay in this center is not easy in a fast moving dark world.

But here we are informed by all roads with an aerial view.

This embodied story comes with sacrifice. But the other life comes with a gnawing emptiness.

Once again your choice – what reality carries the most value and meaning. You can always change your mind at deaths door…

Good luck on what school you’ll be going to next.

Let’s be frank, I’m just a disembodied voice.

A renegade of convention.

A holy fool seeker of bones, stones and bird sounds.

Seeker of the meteoric utterance of the creator –

Pollinating a vision within.

Abiding the ancient contract to the deep and elevated places –

Of immutable time.

Tilt my ears to the lantern of wandering stars.

The riddle of oracular powers.

The unfinished poetry of the elders piercing dream instruction.

Divining with dew drops and pollen in the ancestral stream.

The compressed seeds of primordial memory.

I am flint firing the spirit alive.

The shaped holy bundle of my life.

Bringing life to life each breath.

Moving flowers through stone.

 

flowers jaep kees Reitsema

Flowers through stone …Photo credit Jaep Kees Reitsma