I've been the fish,
I've swum the dream.
I've been the explorer,
The King, the Queen.
I've been the slave,
I've waded the stream.
I've been the dust,
I've been the ash,
And I've been everything in between.

There will come a life when this is seen for what it is,
When one simplifies their deeds
And no misgivings will give,
When one realizes the Grand Illusion
In which they have lived,
When one pours forth their infinite essence
And filters the impurities through the sieve.

One must transform their leaden clang
Into a Golden Resound.
Until this goal is clear,
We're all just ******* around.
*
Alexander J. Ziatyk

Oh Gods on high,
I’ve heard thy musings.
As you are above,
So am I below.
But why am I below?
And who hast placed thee on high
Aside from my perceptive imagination?
Your adorned fire illuminates all of element and void.
The Mystery is laid bare before thine eyes
While my dull and hard ember
Barely reveals what is inches before me.
Of what heinous crime have I been indicted
To deserve such a life of ignorance?
Reveal to me the exact pomegranate of which I ate
And I will prove to you
That I can master the Art of Evolution.
Tear from me these vestments of corporeality.
Free me from this prison of time and matter
For I wish to join thy ranks
Of illumined Consciousness,
To see all there is and Beyond,
To be all there is and Beyond.

I am but a piece of mySelf,
A fraction of my whole soul,
The One Soul.
My mind has been divided into countless fragments,
Isolated perceptions seeking to be reconnected,
Floundering so alone in the vacuum of infinity.

And if you are truly above
As I am below,
Then you must share in my suffering
And I am reassured
That my pleas fall not on deaf ears
But on open hearts and whetted appetites
Eager for my ascension into utmost Awareness,
My triumphant return Home.
But if Thy Spirit is indifferent,
If Thou hast turned Thy back toward me,
Or if Thee truly do not exist,
Then may there be a swift end
To this ceaseless and pointless dance of atoms
For I would rather have no experience
Than to play games in the Grand Mistake of Creation.
But this is the resentment of a frustrated child,
One who feels abandoned.
Make known to me Your power and presence
And I will live a humble and devoted life
Or You will lose another exiled child
To the Annals of Hell.
If I am the Devil, then the Devil I will remain
And wage war eternal against Thy Throne.
But if I am truly Thy Son,
If I am truly Thee,
Give me an unmistakable clue
So I may wake from this nightmare
I have built from earth, water, fire, and air.

Oh Gods on high,
Why have I done this to mySelf?
Why have I caged my mind
Only to seek what was already known?
Why have I made this Labyrinth
So nearly impossible to navigate?
How might I lift the Veil from Isis’ face
To gaze into mine own eyes
So that All is known
And All is at peace?

Underneath this yellow dwarf,
We are dwarfed
By its magnitude,
But mostly by our attitude
Towards it.
It can swallow us ten thousand times
And still be hungry,

Yet we are suspended from it
By a gossamer thread.
Goldie Locks,
Between scorching obliteration by pure light
And the deathly cold emptiness of the void;
Thus are the ingredients for sentience.

What luck!
What coincidence!

My feet pad the earth,
My wings cut the air,
My gills breathe the water,
My eyes are enraptured by the dance of flame,
And my mind moves all for the Unnamed.
Untamed by Chaos,
Tamed by Will.

We are living, singing sunlight.
From dust to rock,
From rock to plant,
From plant to animal,
We are.

You know, you can’t really
See what you see,
Hear what you hear,
Taste what you taste,
Or feel what you feel.

You’re relying on lightning
Generated by nerve endings,
Through your spine’s cable
It’s sending
An encoded message:
Translation pending.
At the end of the line,
Your brain picks up the horn,

“What do I do with all this noise?
Perhaps I’ll give it form.
A pleasant odor here,
A river over there,
A rain cloud in the sky,
Maybe something pulls your hair!
Oh what fun it is to gather
All this vibratory chatter
And change it to solid splatter!
Creating a world from pitter patter.
If my trick is found out,
It surely will not matter.
I’m just a human brain,
The universal Mad Hatter!”

While your brain conducts this orchestra,
The real symphony is underneath.
If the world were made of music,
Would you die of disbelief?
Your electricity is unreliable,
Your brain just a go-between.
If you tune your mind and listen,
You can hear Creation sing.

Blinded by illusion,
I am inundated by the Many.
To rise above delusion,
I seek a former clarity.

There’s fire in my being,
Also water, earth and air reside.
This quintessence I am now seeing,
No longer from me can it hide.

I found a light that shines within,
No different from the one without.
The sun above will breathe its life
While spirits below remove all doubt.

With senses five I sense the earth,
But delude me not, I know my worth.
My sense is one, I sense the All
On my demand. I beck and call.

I will not sit idle,
Nor wait for God to speak.
I will raise my inner voice,
And His interest I shall pique.
He does not want slaves
Bowing down on bended knees.
He awaits an equal,
And for this I hold the keys.

The knowledge burned up,
The wisdom became chastised,
The secrets fall on deaf ears
And are hidden from mine eyes.

The wanton flames of Caesar’s fleet
Swallowed the Library.
The outraged mob
Raged out the Serapeum.
Politics as usual.
Swallowing faith by the spoonful.

I shed a tear
For the sweet Hypatia,
Long gone
But never forgotten,
Mourned on
But teachings begotten.

The elliptical paths
Of the Wanderers
Buried at the hands
Of the Squanderers.
Such imperfect shapes
In God’s creation,
The audacity of defying
The circular relation;
A reflection of humans
And our imperfect gestation.

Now here I stand
At the bleeding edge of the future,
Prometheus in mind
While Epimetheus is crucial.
A gift for mankind
For Nature’s love to be fruitful.

Pandora’s Box
Unleashed Hell on our plane.
What’s needed is a delicate touch
To clean the mess that was made.
But where do I turn
With ancient tomes rent asunder?
Such foundation destroyed
In the name of faith, pillage, and plunder.

My mind reels in itself,
Eyes wide full of wonder,
My full heart pours forth
But empty promises do flounder.
There’s a new world to be built,
An age of peace yet to flourish,
But our banks of wisdom dried up
Like the last drop of milk in the cat dish.

But with a powerful intuition,
I find the knowledge and euphoria;
I turn my mind within and read
The Lost Scrolls of Alexandria.

Spirit sleeps in the stone,
Awakens in the animal, and
Dreams in the plant.
Inside of every seed
Lies the blueprints for
A blooming tree
That, once born into the air,
Will dream its wild dream.

I sit at the base of an ash,
Its roots move around the rocks,
Rarely do they clash.
The spark behind this choice
Is the same spark in me;
Intelligence born from discord
To create harmony.

The dormant seed is the lead
Of the alchemist’s soul,
With attention, love and care
It will transform into gold.
A vibrant being that fruits,
Abundance of energy abounds
To fill the stomachs of beasts
And let happiness resound.
For an empty tummy begets a selfish mind
And this weary old world of ours
Is running short on time.
What better way is there
To lay aside our differences
Then by feeding one another,
Sharing with our brother,
And nurturing our Mother
So that the Mother
May nurture us.

It’s time to join the Omnibus,
The infinite works of the Universe,
To respect plants as the Earth’s lungs
And we humans as the nervous system.
The Earth is just a person
Rolled up into a ball,
Not be controlled by few
But to be shared by all.
If your kidneys cut down the alveoli
In the forest of your lungs
So they could build a city,
It wouldn’t be long before you were gone.

With Spirit awake in us,
We must take care of our Dreamers.
Mine is not a generation of the greedy,
We are the world’s cleaners.

The intonation and vibration of these steel strings
Resonates through my lungs making it easier to breathe,
Resonates through my blood so I can see the unseen.
All I have are these songs of sweet melody,
Of clamoring hardship,
Of cold steel tearing open my heart
With terrible and beautiful violence,
Of warm lips pressing against my ear
Singing me to sleep,
Of beats that drop like bombs in an empty desert,
And of cool water that flows over my feet
Resting these two weary wanderers so tired of the gravity
That wrests them to the coarse earth.
More beautiful than the notes and words,
The space between,
The vacuum of silence
Where one can digest what has been heard,
The freedom of silence
And the restfulness of infinity in one single moment.
The stillness between the movements is where I yearn to be,
But I must create the movements for this stillness to be reached.
The composition evolves from dissonant to harmonious,
From chaotic to orderly,
From nothing to nothing with everything in between.
The spine splitting wars of notes out of tune
Are corrected by the Wise Composer;
Not a single chord contains a weak link
When the Work is perfected.
All I have is this music.
All I need is this music.

I open my lungs
Wider and wider
As the sun-warmed air
Fans my inner fire.

We ignite in celebration
The incensed funeral pyre
So that we may become greater
Than our past’s failed desire.
Oh, it burns and burns
The fragrant bones of the dead,
Then rains down like feathers,
Ash upon our heads.

Amidst the rising smoke
Our eyes behold a figure,
A paragon with spreading wings.
We’ve not one moment to linger.

We empty our lungs
And dive toward the flames,
Some sacrifices burned alive,
But not burned in vain.

The rest of us breathe deep
Of the smoke imbued with light,
Filling our lungs to the bursting point
With this glorious Phoenix Flight.

Some stagger, some cough
As old minds are cast off,
They are dissolved in purifying plumes,
The world is now seen
In more beautiful hues.

The flames now dim to luminous coals
That flicker like stars
As the winds begin to roll.
We catch each other’s eyes,
Some gaze into the skies.
A feeling unspoken
But in each of us resides,
A shared dream of the future,
Evolution by and by.

All will be lost to dust in time.
Even my music,
Even my music will one day be forgotten.
I create and will continue to create
As any true artist would,
But I will abandon my creations
With a noble heart and poignant mind
So that they may take on a life of their own.
I will not form attachments.
Like the Buddhist monks and their mandalas
Made of colored sands,
I will allow my works to be transformed
By the flowing river,
To be deposited on distant shores
Or to be destroyed outright.
When one gives of himself,
When one truly sacrifices,
There is a reward to be had.
Something Lesser
For something Greater.