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dre-gPoems
i'll tell you something: every day people are dying. and that's just the beginning. the death which spreads its fingers on their lips is nothing but a window. once they step outside the pain, then anything is possible. the universe is just a big old vacuum and no matter what you do, you’ll never stop the constant spark: the entirety of all existence. forget about your birthday cakes, your lakeside strolls, your speeding tickets and project deadlines -those were all just vibrations that came out of the light. and i’ll tell you something else: on the day you truly die, you will plunge into a lake of dancing triangles. and when you swim through violent ripples melting to a bonfire drumbeat, and you reach the rocky shore, you will find yourself a squeaking pup in a fuzzy wolf litter, a striped shell collecting erosion from the golden spiral, an infant of a Lithic tribe whose members scooped you out of the harsh winds and left nothing but afterbirth poured like puddles in their foot steps along the Bering Strait.
0
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 10:21 PM UTC
liberation through hearing during the intermediate state
i'll tell you something: every day people are dying. and that's just the beginning. the death which spreads its fingers on their lips is nothing but a window. once they step outside the pain, then anything is possible. the universe is just a big old vacuum and no matter what you do, you’ll never stop the constant spark: the entirety of all existence. forget about your birthday cakes, your lakeside strolls, your speeding tickets and project deadlines -those were all just vibrations that came out of the light. and i’ll tell you something else: on the day you truly die, you will plunge into a lake of dancing triangles. and when you swim through violent ripples melting to a bonfire drumbeat, and you reach the rocky shore, you will find yourself a squeaking pup in a fuzzy wolf litter, a striped shell collecting erosion from the golden spiral, an infant of a Lithic tribe whose members scooped you out of the harsh winds and left nothing but afterbirth poured like puddles in their foot steps along the Bering Strait.
Written by
dre-g
Greek
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 10:21 PM UTC
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