Unraveled Hypnotic Centuries

white shaman

The Awakener – Brian Brogan

Unraveled Hypnotic Centuries


The spirits have gotten inside me

I drag my avian leg behind trying to fly

Into the undergrowth of the past

To learn more of our future

I disappear into bird language

Speak of things I don’t know


I rise to see the deeper echo of everything

The hidden moments

Under the dark branches of NOW

Shadow creases of alien forms


In the birdhouse

Here is everywhere

The dead live here

But something else too


Subsisting on the rare beauty of its consciousness

Scraping a new vision into the caged geography

Ancient markings incarnating on the vibration

Of invisibility separating and expanding my wind body


I bear the blank of existence

In my disintegrating human mask

In the levity of my hollow scapula

I ferry the unwritten plumed letters

From the tower of cloud maps

Into the book of moons

Reversing the calendars

Void of all things


Cloven human voices in the tooth of midnight

Human detritus driven into vacuous walls

Repeat I exist I exist into the furrows

Of my humming receptors

Frozen stuffed animals in winter trees

Stained wrappings around the holy

Erasing the passage of time


Dead leaves falling into the gray of each day

Unraveled hypnotic centuries

In the continental drift

Deceptive creations of light

Made transparent by the primordial whale

Underlying enveloping presence

Speaking from the bones of the mountain


“Watch everything die

Maybe it will bring out the best in you


Gnothi Seauton coherence

Between karst and karin plane”


Dark stars at my back

Long fire words of the ancestors

Slowing metabolism into the racing future

Ash rest and communion waters

Shimmering on the walls of my being

Warm patch of light unfurling

Old feather knows home

Has fallen away to another route

Traveling nature consciousness


Lost Logos Exhumed

The Lifebringers 2 BEST

Lost Logos Exhumed


Lay the memory stone of the forehead

Across the emptiness of forgotten beauty


Magnified in the teardrop’s clarity

Our inflated short story’s immensity

Drafted from uninhabitable weeds

Of the subconscious garden


Lost celestial kites in the skullcap

Descend from colliding paradigms

Broken mythopoeic lines

To the summoner

Of creation, destruction and rebirth


This fleet pine needle wand poem

Cone pitched

El Nino wind over sea smoke

Ripened incense spike

Atoning the condemned

Blue spinning earth

Gird your roots footing

Into the metamorphic clay rune

Croon sepharic notes

Into chopped green extinction

Ponderosa bough aura


Turn the fluorescent beetle right side up

To solar power and eros of heightened senses

Invoke old spirit words from your dense tufts

From bloodroot blossom scraps

Angel wings torn loose in predator talons


Grow backbone greenery and velvet

Around shed antler leaching minerals

Into the drying ink of the living word


Exhume lost logos from the purifying urn

Burnt sticks and mined ancestral bones

Ancient cracked sinew of wilderness heart


Lift your shaman headdress for the deer dance

Chant a blood line through the umbilicus

Of disembodied identities

Phantom shells tethered

To the unnatural history museum

Repatriate this living poem

Back to its fecund terrestrial lair

Incorporeal soul animate

back your earth body fertility


Microorganisms at the village gather

For the community healing story


“Caterpillar burrows through the limestone schist

Transforming  the massed dead marrow

Assimilating silica and vines of the body fiber feelers

Radical positive ions of silk sensory awareness

Enter nerve and plasma of introspection

Antenna in the buried thorny shadows


Brimstone butterfly fly’s out

From the crust and mantle

Alluring fossil flower shaped voice

Emitting magnetic gravity

Pollinating sage and wild sweetgrass poems

Into trade winds of wisdom and clarity

Presences to perceive and pursue

In the numinous pulse of nature”

The First Word


The First Word


I lived here a year before I was born

Under the earth inside a luminous malachite stone

Assimilating the underworld  in spirit medicine tillage

First Word beginnings and endings disseminating Bohdi seeds

Germination from primordial strata


Dream images press through the forest floor

Incoherent vines and knotted wood

Crossing over each other

In tumescent perfumed death songs

Devouring lyrical life down to zero


Break-ground excavate, radio carbon date the missing colors

Of aquifers, caves and graves of the aboriginal word

Light of the earth inside the earth of my body

Sentient refugee word from the dying world’s conscriptions

Minute engines without holy oil in the scrub habitat

Lost Word calendar rusted frozen in my mineralized skeleton

In liquid iron shadow play of perception

Right and wrong life and death no and yes

Of the eternal moment and void of history repeating

Short circuiting the sun over black ice


Through the emperor moth’s eyes

I still see my animal tracks above me

I stalk myself through nerve fiber and solar poultice

Penetrating the pumice darkness with my palette knife

Carving back into the light of day the multiplying first word

Revelations of beetle shell and hoof print

Orbiting planets and stone book burning

Sonorant haiku doorways through my eyes


Translucency of the first word

Follows itself through the animal howl across the field

From below the permafrost inside the mineral darkness

Soul longing in the moon stillness pupa

Reflecting in the wet leafed nest of fallen pine

All that matters is fading

And blazing beneath the surface


Hummingbird Hues of Eden

Healing Goddess 2

Hummingbird Hues of Eden


I don’t know if it’s enough to speak in tongues anymore

“To be a poet to the point of ceasing to be one”

To utter divergent permutations of ancient becoming

Into slag heap and charred tree stump

Smoking monochrome of daily life

Sears fragile consciousness


Tears the shared garment of the earth

Body from soul

In detached anesthesia

Severed umbilical distress

Textures indecipherable in mass



In the hoariest house of Genesis

I am translating the remains of sanctuary

Painted poetry demands solar halo songs

From the bleached fox skull

Hexagrams of honey in the eye socket

Melting frozen grief of creation


The house of slow death is hustling diligent

Ejection and collisions in the asteroid

Belt holes in our story

Live everywhere

And everywhere is nowhere now

Unblinking eyes without patina

Shutter behind the mask of days


Wavelengths bent limp in magma shadow

Our density splitting light scattering transparency


Have you thought about what you’re going to do

When you die

Remote viewing

Will get old


It takes a bardic contortionist

To bring talus back to its tectonic thrust

To alter the xylophone skeleton back to clear harmonics

Incantations from the horned earth ministry

Drift through my hummingbird coat

Permeating flora sounds of conjuration

Honeysuckle scented memory

Blooms in the temple of black tears

Arouses the square spirals of stalled time

Spinning silver illumination back into the synodic

Lunar calendar breathe into our dark side

Din of the dead world reveal

Unsnared  life from scavenger predation


Messianic  shy creatures of wisdom return

To their underground ceremonial rooms

They change their holy names

Every time the wrong hands get to close

To ownership


Blue-tufted starthroat

Bronze-tailed comet

Black-throated hermit

I am dissolving into the cathedral of your beauty

Pigment of luminous  plumes

Iron oxide script in ancestral blood

Trustee of your abandoned sacred messages


My nature lures the ambient crescent pictograms

Back from the waning gibbous

Tidally locked in the dark deer body silt

Plants grow without human names

Over the cool earth of my head

The gray heads of ghosts

Fill the streets of our unconscious living


Chromosomes phase into inert factions

Vainglorious keep walking

Spinning hamster wheels for attention

Popularity this might not be your poem

I don’t know if it’s enough

To speak in tongues anymore

Arcing dissonant divergence

Over conductors of this consensus reality


Stylized Lizard geometries

New trendy commodities

For the commonplace


I don’t know if the flesh doors of the earth will remain open

Radiating the banished light of celestial azurite

Open strings of ultramarine

For the whale in the mandolin

And buff tailed bee in cornflower pollen


Humming iridescent stars reflect on turquoise waters

I strike the tuning fork of equal temperament


I read turtle shell divinations walking slow through the reeds

Indian yellow jaguar paws in the bronze sun

Ruby throated

Galactic blue headed

Hummingbird portents


To be fully present it takes courtship dives

To read the migrations of the soul

Keep questioning

The answers remain the same

In the underworld guise

Sirens in the cave hands without bodies

Sketching ghost ice crystals

Repeating its ghost self shape

In cirrus clouds of memory


Invisible friends

Without sound or symbol of themselves

Stick figures trying to fill themselves back up

In the empty portal


Stems drying from the smoldering fire

From the charred trunk

Green graft yourself for the growing

From the black hole of each thought

For each part of the leafy body on loan

From the star sapphire its golden apple

On the incandescent axis

Refracting our inclusions

In the maelstrom garden

Carbon breath emptying ones essence

Over the floating hues of eden

The absence and the seeking

Transplanting stakes in the ground

To ripen from toil

Embroidered Hoop of Falling Stars

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She menstruates the underworld

Amniotic fluid over the bedrock

Bodies within bodies constellate

Around her all seeing eye

Her embroidered hoop sings

Of burning falling stars


Fertilizing silence of the abyss with primeval song

Chariots of intoning birds cover the earth

A lasso pulsing with creation and desire

Wielding sentient powers in a visionary spell


I anoint and don my hummingbird coat

Effervescent greens you haven’t seen

In the translucency of my many selves

The nectar of her intercellular signals

Command the bird in me to move to the forefront

Inside her ovum’s unwritten ancient codex


I speak through her and she through me

I am

Who she is

I embody the self diffused through eternity

Her breath through my breath

We talk to the darkening night through my avian head


Another half circle of everywhere

Subject to governing spirits

Astrological movements

Black mist ink


Penetrating the membrane of earth and being

Handwriting a new creation she fills the abandoned mine shaft

with diamond words to show the pain of high priced comfort

Anvil cells in the crystal lattice of this prophetic passage

Rich clear satellites of the self

Blindly exceeding and retreating from depths


Our life giving solar organism

Both blinds and generates

Cannot see its own sunspots

But feel its magnetic waves

Tendrils widening to ray

Beyond its own bounds

Is the flight of the Promethean soul

To the last page in the mirror


“She makes roads on the water”

Plies open the fossils of eternal youth

From the frayed map of wounded terra


Rigid linear spears inside the earth

Twisting  the flesh of earth Inside

The chthonic shadow of ourselves

Aberrated  displaced projections

Ascending the hedonic skin ladder

Unraveled holy garment

All that is left is the white

In our eyes at sickle moon fullness


Serpents grow out of another death

Seeking distorted centers inside the grief

Of unconscious living unlived myth

Transfiguring psyche regurgitating

Habitual expression

Non compos mentis



Cawing hooded crows in the cave of smoke

Watch the drifting dusk pearl images of future past

Say nothing can keep us from disappearing


I am a memory of myself after the extinction

A vision of the infinite instant dispersing reappearing

Inverting my wings in the upstroke

Small movements constrained by my skeleton

Dense material planes of cold numbed light

I continue to see enough to read the begetting symbols


Inhabit the center seeking itself

Nothing can be read twice the same

Sacred pattern of designed instances

Each one bleeds into the other changing

Spectral emissions of zodiacal light

After waves of light rose and magenta horizon

Fill the storm before it happens


Verdant hummingbird cries through the lifeless walls

Encircles our incarcerated mystery

With beauty and voice of piercing corona needles

Illuminate this dark night of the soul

Plumed creature ignite your song shaped heart

Curators of Light

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Curators of Light


The sacred road layered in mythic night-falls

Generative turbulent incubations

Wandering the great rift of the milky way

Unresolved stars of the galactic plane

Sweat us through the mountains backbone

Supernova remnants discharged

Into initiatic subterranean earth


Sky falls into your cave

Into the fist of your soul

Fractured light of collapsed altars

Captives of the living dead


From the disintegrations

Forgotten dreams still linger in your body

Springs, sinkholes, megalithic tombs

Animal scratches, cold fire

Cloudy ignitions of vernal longing

Shards of the holy


I cultivate the habitable zone

Beyond the statue of your thoughts

Vaporous mirror of consciousness

Landscapes of the soul


To weed the riddles of your slow death

I consult the poetry of underbelly illuminations


Time warps as I learn to conjure

Sparks from stone and dark matter

Translate the ghost languages

Many colors of wound and womb


I put my animal head on

For the cosmic hunt

My animal hands collude

With the carpenter ant

Rides the drum stick tip

Aligned with the sun


Intoning into the assemblage of your identity

The clay window of your eyes crack open

Dark stars, empty hives, opaque halos


I sweep conch blown symbols

Over the deep center of your being

Your nature cut off

Scree falling thud click clack clattering

Drifting in eroding memory tides

Pelagian bird skull, coral and plankton

In the breaking wave a flash of equinox light

On my drum stick axial tilt tenor

Magnetic wave poem sweep over your arid isle poem

Permeate your bronze sands copper hinterland

Raising the charcoal anchor from your fixed event horizon

Black hole of your iron oxide vessel moored to silver blue clouds

Abandoned bandanas of pink feminine winds


Yggdrasil wood pigeons coo through the falling leaves

Dead twigs running in the culvert splash rain sun rain

Navigating the ebb and flow of grief

“We cut a road for the soul

For its journey through death”


Calling us to see our world clearly

The zoetic ancient tomb

Slides down the hill towards us

Enclosing us with holy organizing powers

Collecting souls from mineral and ash


They walk through their invisibility

Walk through my ears, eyes, mugwort smoke

My white whaled drum swims through their pores

Into arterial tributaries sculpting prayer currents

A power song rising from the vibrations

Guttural sleet winds pins and needles

Nuptial plumage under the skin deepening presence


In your dream I see you entering my conch shell

A whorled spore in the plasma of primordial memory

Returning through the lemniscate back to source

Sky of the domed tomb moving

In spirals of space and time

Failings and forgotten designs


Wait for our other selves to arrive

Hold the many hands on the cave wall

Feed the hungry shell middens

Chromium oxide green

Renewing sap of inanimate ancient holy words


Sandstone bear of my heart growls

Calming waters softening stone

I shake the gourd rattle into new stanza

The fire gleams I feed it more fire

The fire sings I feed it more song


Curators of light open the dolman door

Rings of the tree return to center

Shaking the Vision Branches

Earthrites-The Earth Cord

Preamble to the poem Shaking the Vision Branches

Who knows where stories and poems come from, plenty of writers have written in response to this question.  For me the answer is non-linear, a synthesis of my deep affinities, and soul relationship to the spirit world, earth and humanity.  I write before I know what I’m writing about, often scribing strange phrases that come through in a subconscious stream, I write with my being (versus the heady thoughts) –  scratching lines down no matter how odd or meaningless they seem.  With my editor’s mind absent I just let the raw primal stuff have its babble outpouring.  Often it kicks off from feeling, emotion, tension, a meditative deepening space within.  Sometimes I will read a little poetry to jump start past my faulty ignition.

Lines or phrases come through dreams and through the hypnogogic  and hypnopompic state. They come through my Qi Gong practice, time in nature, and in drumming vision – I describe what I see.  So the poetry is an amalgamation  of who I am, the work and the connections I make… the relationships.

The scraps of writing are later stitched together by finding the narrative embedded within the erratic stream.  The editor mind then steps in to weave the stronger threads together to find out where the story is going, this process often expands the story.  I need to be in a similar state of consciousness, in the editing, to keep the integrity of the story intact while it grows, seemingly by its own accord.  Sometimes I’m lucky enough to get the poem wholly intact without need for editing.  Often I am one of the “lost children of the stars” fumbling in the dark.

My long abiding affinities and learning experience with indigenous peoples of the earth is reciprocated through the spirit world, in dreams, shamanic vision and Qi Gong meditation.  They enter my poetry and paintings, and the healing work I do.

There are nebulous leads of interest I follow in my writing that occasionally bring me to research.  The words below – that I used in this poem needed some general reference, these definitions are from wikepedia.  Whatever cultural errors I make are through ignorance, but in utmost respect all the same.  I have no interest in “cultural appropriation,” anthropological exactitude’s, or language police.

Traditions stem from source, and many traditional peoples would say traditions are made for flexibility and change – this speaks to the demands of modern life and sustainability.

We are to create new living myths and rituals that serve the world in a viable way, and in this vein of the muse I claim my poetic license.

Huracan:  “Mayan God Huracan[1] (/ˈhʊrəkən, ˈhʊrəˌkɑːn/; Spanish: Huracán; Mayan languages: Hunraqan, “one legged”), often referred to as U K’ux Kaj, the “Heart of Sky“,[2] is a K’iche’ Maya god of wind, storm, fire and one of the creator deities who participated in all three attempts at creating humanity.[3] He also caused the Great Flood after the second generation of humans angered the gods. He supposedly lived in the windy mists above the floodwaters and repeatedly invoked “earth” until land came up from the seas.

His name, understood as ‘One-Leg’, suggests god K of Postclassic and Classic Maya iconography, a deity of lightning with one human leg,[4] and one leg shaped like a serpent. God K is commonly referred to as Bolon Tzacab and K’awiil or Kauil. The name may ultimately derive from huracan, a Carib word,[5] and the source of the words hurricane and orcan (European windstorm).”

Tatewari:  Huichol God and “first shaman” ” Tatewari, in Huichol folklore, is the god of fire, called by them ‘grandfather fire’. He is also the shaman of ancient times, the patron of all shamans. Amongst his actions are burning the fields so that they are ready for the planting of crops, he helps the Huichol hunt deer and, as the representation of fire, cooks food. As part of his shaman duties, he accompanies shamans when they go to cure a sick person. Feathers act as his messengers, which are generally worn on the stick of shamans.”

Icaro: Medicine Songs from South America “Icaro (Quechua: ikaro) is a South American indigenous colloquialism for magic or alchemy, or any esoteric modality by which a practitioner attempts to channel their energy to manifest their will.[1] Today, this term is commonly used to describe the medicine songs performed in vegetal ceremonies, especially by shamans in ayahuasca ceremonies to induce a profound state of healing, awareness or amazement.[2][3][4] It is also commonly used to describe a traditional artisanal pattern of the Shipibo tribe based on the visions induced by ayahuasca.”

Bullroarer: Ancient musical Instrument  “The bullroarer,[1] rhombus, or turndun, is an ancient ritual musical instrument and a device historically used for communicating over great distances. It dates to the Paleolithic period.”

“Various cultures have used bullroarers as musical, ritual, and religious instruments and long-range communication devices for at least 19,000 years.” “Almost all the native tribes in North America used bullroarers in religious and healing ceremonies and as toys. There are many styles.”

Crackle Fire Agate: Mineral

Howlite: Mineral

Ammonite: Extinct/fossilized marine mollusc animal

Hag Stone/Adder Stone: Stone of magical power

Dan Tian: “ Dantian, dan t’ian, dan tien or tan t’ien is loosely translated as “elixir field”, “sea of qi“, or simply “energy center”. Dantian are the Qi Focus Flow Centers, important focal points for meditative and exercise techniques such as qigong, martial arts such as t’ai chi ch’uan, and in traditional Chinese medicine.”




“I the one legged lord from the windy mists

Skilled in the permutations of emptiness and void

Bring my serpent lightning leg down

Splintering all banal exhausted forms


Rote popular paradigms of vapid mediocrity

Traditionally sanctioned materialistic living


These  trivial and decorous relationships to soul

Are veritable life deformations


“These endings wait for your beginning song Tatewari

Sear purify the human wound with your bullroarer torque

Seal the thinly controlled madness into twisted wood

With ritual care toss it into the cooking fire of cackling old women

Wearing young women masks”

Whining timbre burning undertones

Undigested shadows turbulent in their opiate unconscious


Defrost there deliberate frozen bodies of light

Soften with vulture feather scalpel and obsidian ritual knife

Hardened formations of thought, pock marked grim and truculent

Orbiting  the golden façade of the sovereign empire

Lost children of the stars breathing shadows and dust of the body politic

Hiding in holes in the temple of rain

Traveling the deforested primitive path

Through the inner jungle



“I hear and attend your call Huracan

I Tatewari first of my kind, cast the curing invocation

Psychic antitoxin to the medicine peoples, shamans and spirit surgeons

Masters of quickening, mending  and resurrections”


Ancestral voices amplify and flag around me

Feint anguished cries wander the vanishing moon traces

Searching for home in torpid floating sedation

Fitful agate crackle fire blood, howlite fray of emotion

The gossamer gauze of sheep who never made it through the wire

Snared in cunning indoctrinations, barbed spider webs of the times

Corpuscles severed from the earth’s harmonizing phonetics



“I sing the moments Icaro through the moving earth mirror”

A few lines of the primeval verse whorl into vacuum

Flood, fire and shelving ice

Shrouding the all seeing hazel eye

Snow capped breasts, corn hair

River valleys widening schisms

Outcasts with visions of a desert garden

Gestate this death ode wild mother


Resurrect the elder voices and ceremonial places

From the hole of the hag stone throat to the lower Dan Tian

Undulating bardic utterance of the kundalini serpent

Arise from the abyss give shape and form

Comb through the light years of calling

Across the electrochemical visual cortex

Neural pathway, sapphire veins, ammonite eyes

Driving a wedge through the air


You finally reach through me pathfinder

Your hands return with palms of new life lines

Your body return to flesh

Consciousness from the grave

Blood relationship renewed in the earth’s sinew


Dead star lights who found their way

Through nuclear reactions of duality

Through silence, solitude, obscurity

Those who followed the difficult but necessary call

To cook their being in underworld initiation

Transmuting through the ancient lineage

Past lives multidimensional lives


“I Tatewari resuscitate those in arrested development

Those who have zooed themselves restless

In rapacious ghost hungers of mind

Reinstate yourself into the many selves – the not I

The many faces in the blue light between moving clouds


The tree of life keeps weaving your empty nest

Your squat vessel strengthened by my shifting wind

Directing stick, clay, skull and tail entwining

My conch vertebral invocation

Coupling through walls of smoke, guises of reality

I sing with the rattle gourd seed in round black hollow

I sing solar letters illuminating the earth’s foundations


Embody the word

Move the wooden bookmark forward

By scent and aural trails of memory

Knowledge and allegiance to the penetrating totemic signs

Piercing greed and parasitical scheming

Salt body shaking the vision branches further out

With my hives, tiger bells and pitched whistle

Into the pine grain, tumbling shale and falling bark

Slash, dot and curve of the unused sacred letters

Scrawled in stone, cuneiform, vellum tattoo of the creators story


Seated at the right hand of the breaking wave

Crest of the eternal holy poem plunge into the heartwood torso

From the lower abdomen bellow to pressured sternum

“Sacrifice for the world trunk I sing, burdened earth fading people


Sink into the silt and mud crack, the blade and crown of grasses

Know the arrowwood’s spindly polarized consciousness larvae feed on

Sink into the corn meal, ash and palo santo wisdom

Be informed by disintegrated rock dharma and humus kinship

Slow honoring and prayerful cultivation of earth mysteries

Gather reverence for nature for the medicine bag


Rise from the many places you come from

Meteoric debris underground still radiating the energy

of your long spiritual passage”

Crawling soaring with insect, eagle and cosmos

Homing beacon of terrestrial spirits receive you into community

Transmitting drum crack open your presence from the death tunnel

Calcium, nitrogen, iron, carbon the imploded star dust

In the watch tower of awareness

Healing microbes work through your opaque dirt

Green shoots from the dark

In service to the world