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To boldly go where no mind has gone before.

We are soul-sailors,
Navigators of the spirit.

In altered states of awareness
we will explore consciousness
to the limits of our understanding
and beyond.
We know not
What we might find.

Were existence a sandbox
and the psyche, our playground.

We charter the ever-renewing realms of mind
in our perpetual journey
to define this phenomenal life. The true psychonaut
can weather Absurdus, accept it
and venture on.

Life is chemical;
Welcome to The Entheon:

In transcendention we become
champions of the empyrean.
Our purpose is entheos,
For in our very being
the greatest of discoveries will be made.

We would travel to the hallowed temples of beyond,
A metaphysical pilgrimage (some with use of the compounds).
Our places of worship have no words, we name them:
The Empathion,
The Psychedelion
We pray to them, with them, in them.
They are processes, places within which we can comprehend,
A modulation of mental activity, configurations of mind.

Please remember these two things: choice and ceremony.
Dedicated to Shura & Alice Borodin.
Nathalie Sep 24
The tapestry of
all moments woven
together, edging
me to surrender
The alchemy of my
soul growing me
closer to the
blissful awakening
of my heart
The intuitive
calls resting in silence
lifting me higher

Chicken Sep 22
Some hatred
Some anger
Put it all into the fire
Put it all into the fire
Cook up a tasty storm
Tomorrow being another day
Another chance to create
Beautiful form.
How to deal with feelings? Have them. They are supposed to be there and if someone does not like them? Tough!
annh Sep 17
They spoke to me of evenfall and dayspring, the solstice and the equinox. They sang of eras, epochs, and eons. On indigo nights, they whispered in the owl light of alchemy and enchantment, wreathing my cot with an iridescence which illuminated my dreams and begentled my slumber.

At Hallowtide, they scribed lyrical pathways in the air and sculpted rainbow arcs. They celebrated the vernal majesty of April and October's autumnal reprise with moonglade pageantry and sunset flourishes. They conjured blackberry winters and gypsy summers, and laughed at my amazement, as if to say: ‘Told you so!’

As the years departed my second decade and encroached alarmingly upon my third, I began to question why they had chosen me; why we walked together apart and apart together. I wondered where the magic ended and I began, and I realised with the bone-breaking chill of the unwelcome inevitable, just how lost I would be without it.

‘Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars?’
- Nora Roberts
Chip Wheatly Aug 20
The Alchemist made potions
he had a workshop, mysterious
it was ever in motion
the atmosphere, serious

the walls were covered in books
tomes of questionable origin
apparatus to cook
and a rusty old storage bin

spoked wheels spun
pistons reciprocated
condensers did hum
solids liquidated

viscous and translucent
solutions illuminated
slightly florescent
masses accumulated

he will put it on heat
and add a caustic injection
hit a switch at his feet
and pause for reflection

all the ingredients
for his ultimate goal
he could finally achieve it
turn iron to gold!
jayebird Jun 4
After all i've earned them
the subtle pull
and swift replacement,
    the golden gain gifted
     from a soul dentist
I accept the strange medicine and sense
Suddenly my core forever
chasing the great
sulfur in circles as I fall adrift
    The wanting sleep which
     closes all eyes after end of sky
Behind mine observes a screen of
Out-knocked teeth and offput blood
Pft out in a porcelian sink
The glass just above
displays swollen
  tears and my
Soul transforming from
Learned lead and
cold iron into
August and
Nothing bleak like my
Now unique two front
It takes awhile but
I have a new smile at me
Twist the
Brass doorknob upside down
on it's axis and
Walk away from the abuse cycle owning
The tired metal middle
of earth cracking
Outer mold revealing a
Levitating ball of God who
Now unbound
Seeks six-thirty post midnight
High plains and
Holy painted solace
With bruises yellowing
I scream drive
into tunnels where the
warm streetlights racing in
my periphery
know I am the glowing go of life
And will never grow old despite
Losing a couple given ones
This is a vague story about someone who had their two front teeth knocked out by a punch from someone close to them, and now has two golden teeth. It is a poem about accepting their self as beautiful and worthy after an abusive relationship. It is about renewal and resplendant transformation. The subjects perspective has also expanded past their story and looks to the sky and universe for their source of love. I hope this inspires anyone who has been through physical abuse and knows the struggle of finding their peace again.
For once
Inspire me
While crossing my mind

And guess what?
You will
Turn out
To be an unapologetic

Remember that
Genre: Romantic Inspirational
Theme: Nothing beside Vibes
Chicken May 1
Air be like a cesspit
Before the other side of the moon
The draining of the drudgeries
It could not come too soon

And someone else hath wrote of it
Where it glittered, it festooned
They wrote about the silver lining
Of that moon shaped pool

Come what may within the cycles
With each fleeting side of the moon
The knowledge that it does not change
Tis’ no folly of the fool.
The solid, true self, it never changes... because it is the truth.

Therin lies the gold, which the fool sets upon in his journey and stumbles across, shining so brightly that it cannot be missed, no matter how dark or light it gets.. the golden inner truth is always there. Unshakable. Always present. This does not change.
Give it a hunch of happiness
See how gracefully
It blooms

Give it vibes of pain
See how carefully
It hides
Genre: Observational
Theme: Examined Life
michael Feb 25
an ancient moon collides with shadows on the yonder;
wander the forbidden forge, soon stars will blunder,
the All, scourged with lore from daemons ashore--
it breaks and roars as we dance forevermore;
free your core from the chains wrapped around the golden door,
see sand drift and shake becoming nothing for
man has left his kingdom and begun to soar,
and Malkuth was always such a boring chore--
consumed by things that ought to be deplored;
watch as i cut my mortal cord!
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