Mother-in-law

Words are the Mother of your mind.Their authority alone is like warm milk to the baby,and seeds for the birds of the air.
Words adress our reading skills,and makes us feel intelligent.Words are symbols which  in correct combination,produce their own truth.
Truth is a beautiful combination of syllables,like love and chokolate.Truth is worth a big place in our lives.Like love,it often puts smoke in our eyes,so we see very little what goes on around us.
Because we are simple creatures with a one track mind,we need Truth to justify our model of reality.
We say this is true,and that over there are lies.A pointing finger works like a movie projector from the old smokey Cinema.One needs a strong sense of humour to walk through life with ones head in place.The ability to break into laughter or tears,is a godgiven one,and should be honoured in its daily presence.This release valve must be oiled with our tears of both joy and sorrow.

Love is the golden ticket to the cinema of the heart where the featured film  is always a surprise event,without exception.

Words produce images in our minds, adding special effects to further enhance their "truth."

The movie of your mind needs a good actor that can be truly  himself in every part.

So go no forward into the world,and say what comes naturally,and rest in the betweens.

Practise practising,for the sake of mockery,perhaps,and old fun,but watch the watch and pay attention to:........

Be not this or that,be without direction,and enjoy the greatness of simplicity

Listen to the angel and the voice of the winged child that inspires and terrifies.

The key is not on the board,but IS the board.

Use the keyboard to unlock thy minds potential.

Know that wisdom comes and goes like the wind and the rain.

So listen to the rain and the wind,and if the sun shines,enjoy its warmth.

Are you still not at peace you say ?

Tell yourself that you are at peace and listen to the silence.

Have you bushy eyebrows,you say.Be not depressed.Oh, and have you sore knees,cry not.Instead, lift your head and move onwards.

Be both tough and yielding and  give space to yourself.

Live in your dreams and visit the grave of the ancient one.Leave rich offerings for the ghouls.


Stay in touch with reality,but don`t let it go to your head.

Leave rich offerings for the spirits that never sleep.

Don`t laugh in improper situations,restrain yourself.Build muscle,strengthen bones.

Reckognise stupidity in others for the sake of relief from your own.

Reckognise misakes in others for the sake of thine own ingenuity.

be a bastard to thyself and bark in the night until you awake from the noise.

Stay on your toes,then fall back on heels,then repeat.Leave rich offerings,bread and bubbly drink,by the toomb of thy ignorance,and embrace that wich befalls thy fancy,that wich inspires and intoxicates thy soul.Embrace it.and expand inwards.

Don`t listen to drunken gibberish,lest thou become one with the drunkard and his foolish drink.

Make love to language,like a lover to its beloved,and rest in the softness of heavenly abodes.

Banish the old lies from their haunted mansions,and bring sunlight into darkened corners.

Know that the soul is a treasure,like gold,and many are in want.

Be a vessel for the ghost and roll eyes in head.

Be a friend of bees.

Dance lightly across  the floor,celebrate the flatness with every limb.

Adress the earth with your wholesomeness,and be like the wind to the pollen and the seeds.

Question the absurdity of any writer,and see beyond the obvious lies.

The word of God vibrated from his very soul,and then his eyes rolled in his head.

The ouija board is an ancient keyboard used to communicate with others both living and the not so dead.

His soul was torn from his body,like a fish from the water by an eagles claw,and then he beheld the greatness of the lord of life,and the lord of death.

Then there was a great silence,corrupted only by a distant radio that played old classics.

She laughed in his dreams.

He laughed in her dreams.

Laughter came and went,visiting others,before it returned through the old rusty vent.


Like a child with a ball in play with the universe.

roll eyes in head,roll eyes in hands,eyes forward and backward.

eyes that look within eyes,beyond the seen,beyond,beyond.

beyond lives wholesomeness,in all its simplicity.

embrace the beyond.fall backwards into the deepest of your dreams,and vanish from the sight of land.

because,you see,Alan Watts is there.And he is not just there,but everywhere.But always as himself.

Eyes again.Remember  eyes.Rolls like balls in a bowl,parallel worlds,acoustic- mystic -optical visions.Hypnosis,trance,and and and.

Be careful with your words,but care less for their claims and their obvious flattery in mind.




Guard thyself o man,from thyself,and pay attention to the reaction.

Be attentive in all ways,and reveal the unrevealed as thou traverses the plains of secrecy.

listen to your own uttered words,derive therefrom the wisdom to your own happiness and also the pain.

Be  an  oracle of thyself o man,and discover the hidden,the occult knowledge that softly lights the inner temple of yours truly.

Reckognise that no man knows another,nor does any man know himself,and all that man say,are but excrements of  himself and none other but himself whom he knows,but scarcely.

Listen therefor not so much to what man speaks of,but rather observe his obsession with words.


Walk in silence,but sing if you must.Restrain yourself,but not always.Give yourself some space.
Loosen up,for Christ sake,and For the sake of the holy saints.Be ye a receiver and a vessel for the holy ghost.Amen.

Let no man come between thee and thy sword wich is thy pen.


Keep thy pen to thyself,( o` man ) but share what may come on unbleached paper or wood,or etched even, into fine and rare  metals.

Rest in simplicity,but do keep an eye in the triangle.The one eye that never closes,always watching your every move,from here on and  into eternity.

Listen not to men and their slander,but tune into your own mind,and listen to what you hear in there.


People love to talk of changes and transformation,but really changing is just for the heros in their dreams.

I know because i am one of these people of wich i speak so arrogantly.

I am that of wich i speak,and all who speak are of what they speak,and so we continue forward into the world with this in mind.Conscious of our own utterings and the power of the words that we spew from our fontanelles  of truth.

Joyful

They called him Joyful on certain days,and on other days they called him with other names.
But he always answered to their calls,like a wolf to its pack,or the Rooster to other roosters,near and afar.
And then there was this boy who came down from the hills,with a story that gave those who listened the chills.There was an odd light in this boys face,and so sincere appeared he,that one where hypnotized by what he had to tell.
For where he lived,deep inside a  mountain cave,there was a  hole  from where strange beings emerged,everynow and then.Mostly out of curiosity,but sometimes out to answer the calls of people,who perhaps unaware, had summoned them into their homes.
At night,his candlelight would suddendly blow out,and leave him in complete darkness,only the creepy chorus of the wind , when the strange beings came out.
One night he remembers like it was yesterday.One of the shadowlike beings came very close to him,searching him all over,for something,but then left disappointed,and sighed, as it returned into the passage and disappeared.
He got himself a flashlight,and waited for the moment,when the wind again would start to howl through the passage,and he waited until the batteries went dead and darkness again engulfed him.
Then he heard that ghostly huff of wind being squeezed through miles of tunnels in the deep,and when it entered his cave,temperature fell to zero.He had to rub his hands together,fast,and moved his legs up and down to keep circulation going.A shadow emerged from the passage,it made a humming sound that made the whole cave vibrate,and it filled his head with a tone that seemed to deafen his mind,making room for... some..thing.He could feel  parts of his brain being replaced with other parts and some other devices,of wich he had never seen the likes.Odd mechanical devices,flowers within flowers,and fragrances that he never knew existed,entered his nostrils and went straight for his brain.
So one evening,out of sheer curiosity, he decided to crawl into this hole,and see where it would take him.
Little did he know of what waited for him in the deep of the mountain.But he was tired of sitting around.It was time to test himself,and probably get stuck somewhere in the darkness  and suffocate in the attempt.But, he was tired of sitting around, waiting to die.
So slowly he croached into the hole,and on his knees,he started to manouver himself ever deeper into the mountain.For a long time, he could move with some ease,and then the flashlight started flickering.It was not funny.No humour could he find to alleviate the dreadful fact that it was the end of the light,as he knew it.The flashlight flickered a full five minutes more,and then,it was over.
Perfect darkness enclosed him,and made the journey onwards pretty scary.But he had come too far.And a voice in his head told him to continue.So he did,and then he heard the familiar but haunting chorus of wind. reaching ever closer to him,and he could feel temperature fall like a carpet of ice on him,freezing his blood and mind until time itself stood still.
Some..phenomena  moved subtly  before him and felt like  moving in and out of his body,looking for something.Like a thief in the night,he thought to himself.And it stopped.!.As if it heard his thoughts.
"Who are you ? ",he questioned the being in his mind,and received an instant reply that gave him the goosebumps.:((I am you in a world where time does not exist.I am the eternal.))
He closed his eyes and saw fire melting blocks of ice into a pool wherein he could see his own face,reflected.and melting as it where,in the subtle waves that moved cross the water.
Upon opening his eyes,he gazed upon a vision of another world,not taught of in school,not heard of in history,and never seen on ordinary maps.For a moment he was part of this other world,and he could make out lights glowing in faraway windows,and distant smoke from odd chimneys.
In the corner of his eye,he could see whole rows of trees not blowing in the wind,but dancing,elegantly,with moves that made him question reality.
Thats when the vision ended.And he was back in the cave,together again with himself,like a seaman returned to shore,on the back of  a whale, perhaps.

*Imagination can be  a springboard into marvelous vistas,full of beauty and danger,from every direction.Even underneath ones feet ,and perhaps hanging from above,like old cob webs.

Imagination is an ancient and mighty dragon that spews fire and flies upside down,if it wants too.
And, whoever tries to capture the ancient one,will soon find himself being captured,and strung to a pole,and stripped of the flesh,perhaps.Or kneaded by giant hands,and molded into something else entirely.

Imagination is an 0ld creaky door to another world wherein you may get lost

like Alice

and not know witch is wich.

yondertown

Words are but the excrements of our mind,and should be regarded as such,for the sake of familiarity and love.Excrements are symbols of past feastings and ideologies,and also the things we don`t speak of,but just love to happen,like sleeping or breaking wind....
Language is actually a very primitive way of communicating, that have developed from delightful gnarls and groans,into even more gnarls and groans with added soundeffects,often using bodily members to express it in this way, or that way, and so on and so forth.
Listen when people speak,and you will hear what they had for breakfast,and dinner.Its all there,for the keen and observant eyes and ears.Its the Other language, within language.Yes.
The real truth -behind- the cover up of special effects, the untamed animal,with its natural instincts dictating its every move.This,our mask of the beast is hard to remove,if not impossible.
Masquerading our true purpose is a treat we share with many species in the animal kingdom.