Where zebra dance
Pale moondrops break the great divide.

Decadent shrubbery gives way
To the rhythmic pattern of hooves
And the ground is alive and fluid.

The air is thick with childhoods odor,
Maturity’s complexion held at bay
As thoughts pure and simple
Make fantastic again
What had become unremarkable.

In a hidden bit of forest
Only zebra could know
Pale mushrooms grow as artifacts
Of the seeds that we have sewn

Reminiscent paths of the things that might have been
With lacy tendrils weave intricate loops through the air
As striped bodies leap in holy communion
Writhing in glory to the nights ephemeral song.

Energy radiates from far and near as the expanding perspective of a speck of dust attains immutable consciousness and a universe is born.

Where linear time is expressed in physical angles tangential to the sum of a whole,

Where the knowledge of life, death, and birth slip seamlessly between misshapen molecules of carbon and nitrogen

And verbose patterns of dusty stars form galaxies unsettled
Spreading as they gather speed.

In the sanctity of silence
The mountains breadth is great
And her teachings salient.

To the lone wanderer who marvels in her peace
Ants stand huge
And clusters of swirling air mob gusts
Upon resilient Green totems
Who whisper to each other
“When will we reach the stars?”

The Sinking sun beckons
And down the valley the noise is impassible.
Tired thoughts skip past traffic
And trying times await.

Anxiously hypothetical,
These dreams that surround me
Are glued together with the flow of time.

They strain the conscious dimension,
Which both separates and connects
The multitudes of I’s,
To flex and bend
Until they touches themselves at every point;
Illuminating to us whispers of infinitude.

As we move farthest from the light
And sink the deepest within ourselves,
Twisted creatures aggress upon us
And glittering sirens beckon us to their embrace.

With the splintering light of morning,
A first gasp pulls you from the water
And troubled footsteps wash away
The glories and nuisances
Of that surreality whose path you walked.
Separated from the present,
by a single moment in a single thought.

Time wasters
Talk circles around my rolling eyes,
Nothing escapes them
But the point
Which is now ground duller than their wit.
Once proud pinnacles of though
Cannot be distinguished from
Littered words crusading for air.
Sunken cities subsist on stale ideas
And move feebly into tomorrow
As they shake the claws of yesterday
Only to suffer today.

But new ideas breathe resurrection
As chaos polishes the rusted ring
And births a dancing star.

Of Burden

I will not be made to forget that I am a beast—a mythical creature of ash and snow—of sunsets and tree branches—of supernovas and singularities—and my transcendence will be not be held at bay—will not be stifled, even by those forces that permeate worlds—even by those entities whose existence straddles dimensions.

I am that I will never again be naught—that my existence has changed—is changing—the whole of creation.

That those changes cast themselves both backwards and forwards through reality, is the stuff of magic and myth but I assure you represents a truth unhindered by the pettiness of perspective—a truth the size of at least one universe—a contorted, pulsating blob, the width of ten dimensions and length of four temporalities… nourished from its own individuality and infected by notions of shared sovereignty—notions of descendancy or dependency.

The creature of that truth is a mighty beast that we have been beset to watch—to be—the gate—the liminiality—the hearth of our existence and the fortitude of our would-be destruction.

Seize yourself. Walk the stunted and corrupt path through the limen and discover firsthand what the footsteps of divinity could never tell you.

Breathe in eons of creation and destruction and exhale the causality you were born to wield. The strength in which we reside is never above—never beyond—never outside of “I am”.

And it is through this notion and unto the world that I cast together revelation and contingency—sincerity and artifice—bared skin and mask—not to see between the lines of reality, but to witness everything at once—the gestalt—the whole of things—the miracle and awe of a conscious universe in which the proverbial neurons make war with each other—with the axons they slide down—with the very entity whose existence is represented by the house in which they dwell—I wish to see it all—to widen the scope of the collective eye—to manifest the spiritual evolution of the whole ******* world into just
One
Single
Thought.

In a moment and an eternity,
Trapped in the crossroads of apocalypses,
I saw peace.
And knew the solace that can be found
In the breadth of a moment
And the terror and awe
Held in the myopia of eternity.

It is an old cliché, to ‘live in the moment’ but a strong truth that is understood by few. Eternity represents the  multitude of moments that ever were or ever will be, the conceptualization of eternity in and of itself generates limitations these moments never knew. Eternity as a concept that represents our attempt to harness multitudes of moments, the very attempt of which epitomizes the limit of our perspective. Our ability to understand these moments fails as soon as we attempt to organize them into a single concept. In these instances our need for rationality seems to outweigh our desire to accurately understand the world around us.

I beg you to leave your rationality behind and refrain from limiting your ability to perceive a moment by giving in to the paradigm of eternity. Time and how we understand it are the backbones of how we organize society, relate to each other and find meaning in the world. So unless you find yourself enlightened and living in a just world you may want to reconsider how you understand time… you may want to withdrawn your investment in the paradigm of eternity and consider the moment for what it truly is

Dizzy thoughts circle as I try to seem like I know why I do what I do. We try to know who we are becoming, to be part of that process which ushers our causality through this world, but I am not so sure we are.

I have often wondered if our own self-awareness and perceived sovereignty are just feedback loops in our large cosmic entity...

Perhaps our thoughts that feel so unique are just another piece of the universe, like everything else, but in our sentience we are cut off from direct contact with  the singularity whose mechanizations manifest as our very souls...

This thought brings me to two conclusions... As expressions of, we are the beast-only we cannot really know it in our current state and that our freedom lies in our observations and what we make of them.

We are moving along the groove of letters carved in stone and though our collectiveness forms a piece of the chisel, it was long before time that we picked the path along which it must move.

So, here we are, observing and becoming, but I stand in corners shouting my questions in places we designed sound and light to falter and I am very afraid that I am coming apart, my loop broken as the illusion of others flees the landscape of my thoughts and I am again left staring into the entirety of the universe, every piece of which looks back to me as father and son, creator and destroyer, other and self, and again I am lost.

The breath of outstretched wings
Beats currents of confusion
In skies of darkening calamity.

To find ourselves we must
Fly down and swim up

When the hand chaos forged this world god was not yet a dream. It was knowledge’s burden that drove us to make in the world what we could not discern from it, purpose.

Now we live in sculpted lofts set in fabricated foundations hiding from the gods we set loose and the freedom that allowed us to do so.

We hide from the responsibilities that come with knowledge, from the possibilities it can represent and from the world it describes and resides in.

We hide in comfortable niches of ignorance and arrogance, where the heavy questions dare not be posed.

We float on the surface of our humanity far away form the denser things of substance, things held deep below by the fluff of our surface encounters—our small talk and our *******—our consumerism and our averice—our sedition and closed minds.

Pushed deep below, these things of substance may starve for light, beg for attention, but they are non disposable,, non removable—fixed—and they shall not be overcome by any level of trifling, but can be addressed, answered and even solved.

We need only to look through the dreams we have woven to see—to be—this reality we have created—this plane in which we are the construct—the point at which we are the alpha and the omega, the point where the stillborn we call humanity finally claws for air and either finds it or vanishes form this earth forever

While I dwell in the present,

Coming from a past where I have never been

I slip seamlessly into a future I will never know

Each moment leaving an impostor behind

For a dwindling moment in each mark of time.