Lasting Impression

I was being under the impression,gazing at its highly detailed construction,when i noticed a flaw.
There was a loose screw, & a burnt fuse,that reeked of melted plastique.
So, i swiftly replaced the barbequed ignitor  with a brand new,& upon connecting,i got the stark impression that everything was a.ok.
There was a deep buzz & a short beep & then all the lights turned on,revealing  mysterious text that was etched into its lizard-like body,of wich no man hath seen,but in dreams within the living embryo of the unborn Gods.
Impressive,was my first impression,& upon reflection,i could see my own transfigured face  in the clear,almost transparent surface, of this,this,creation of that wich cannot be,yet there it was!
There was no doubt about it,but an aura of confidence & energy to do great magic.&, before i could catch a second breath,before my two eyes,& somewhat butted nose,the impression shifted from a perfect stand still, to a slow revolving spin that appeared, only to speed up, as i stared,wild eyed.
The wind began to set the trees in motion,& soon they all danced to & fro,swaying,so & so.
The earth began to tremble,& i trembled with the earth,& all things upon the earth,& under the earth,
trembled also,but only for a second or two.
Then the impression lifted from the ground,paused in mid air,& i could see the mysterious text,glowing like red hot coal on a fireplace.It seemed to be a message of sorts,&, as i tried to read it,a voice in my head, explained the text.It was about me, hearing a voice in my head, who explained everything to me.
I was like,Wha..Huh?
& before i snapped back to my sense of  I,the impression shot off,like a mosquito into the air,
& it was no longer there,but a lasting impression, within an impression,that appeared to remain on my optical screen for hours.

It was something,i tell ya.

Sometimes are moments not mentioned on our ordinary timetable,& surprise us,rocks our boat & rattles our brains even.Sometimes, we have no better word for it,yet it communicates this unknown dimension in our daily schedules,where time does not move according to our ideas of proper direction.

so make no plans,but let sometimes do the planning for ye
& kiss the monkey.
Feed the donkey & bless the little birds.
Whistle with all thy might,or whistle to thy own pleasing
but Whistle!
& Let the shrill of sweet music from thy heart
be a joy to the ear of air
& her beloved who`s very name
is Everywhere

Sesame- sesame

Open that rusty old door of your mind & let it guide you to another place in  time,where chances are,that you will meet some very interesting people,whom you never imagined existed.Once they start to chat ,your perception of thoughts,will never be the same again.You will come to realize who, & what is fueling the loco-motives of thought,& you will understand that, what psychology have told you, about the mechanisms of the mind,are but  a picture of flowers in black & white.
Once you start to listen to these people, who are beyond what we conceive as time,your old maps of the world are slowly added colours,newly discovered countries,breathtaking landscapes & jeweled cities within cities.
&, once you start to act, according to their jaw-wobbling information,you find yourself doing things, of wich you only dreamed was possible.&, when that happens,you will reveal  that you have awakened in the midst of a very good dream, more real than you had ever dared imagine a dream could be.


We learn to close our minds when we grow up, & join  the adult corporations.
Open minded ness, are oft likened to a childs behaviour,& something we learn to be ashamed of.
When this happens,we close our minds,& settle with a narrow perception of reality to fit in.
Returning to open minded ness, can start,once the cold shame, of having a playful imagination,seizes to block the mind from recieving impulses, from the Open source.
One daily practise of efficient power,is the freeflow of words, from whatever corner of your mind, that you are in,& then when ,upon reckognizing, the value of that particular corner,use that reckognition, like a spark to a firecracker, or a gnist of flint onto spilled engine fuel!
True values are subjective, & found upon digging,dancing,rock climbing,singing in parties or in a beautiful memory of a summers day that suddendly plays itself again to the thrill & ecstasy of the soul.

The mere act of writing,adding a sentence of words before another,acts as a springboard into the unfathomable  recesses of imagination, into wich timeless tales have drowned together with their tellers,only to make them a beautifully haunting part of the great untold myths, that swirl all the way to the bottomless pit,& up again.


The bermuda triangle of the mind is very much a real place to the experienced psychonaut.
There are places on earth,wich are governed by forces of wich we know little.Oracles that speaks in tounge,& in such an provocing tone,that one may easily suspect being the very inspiration of their oft vile utterings.
There are giant creatures moving around on this earth,of wich only mad people & seers in caves,dares to mention.&,should you care to ask them to describe their  soulshaking sightseeings,you may regret upon doing so.There may be parts of their stories, that doesnt compute with your program,& creates a hole,into wich all kinds of unexplainable fairies enter with a peculiar freude.
But then again,
you may be amused of your new inspirations,& leave them to play as they see fit.
You never know when they may come in handy.There are times & then there are times,but somewhere in between,there are moments wich are not made of the hours,but of the presence of Spirit.
The experience of time, not slowing down,but stopping alltogether,creating a mysterious feeling of being in a vacuum, that cleanseth & restoreth one in whole.Divine intervention is another colourful expression, to communicate this happening,so far out of the ordinary.
This is where the mind learns of a place, that is not limited, neither in height,nor in width,& if one should happen to look down,there would be nothing to speak of.
This is the open source,where anything goes.This is where the mind learns, that the only way of being open,is to maintain that splendid view...that space of being,where time cannot enter,but a delightful feeling of freedom to create absolutely nothing at all &, yet,in that void of nothingness,is the power to create anything of  one`s hearts desire.

Move now forth, & think not about Thy workings.But work,& let Thy mind rest in Thy creation.
Create Thou,that wich alerts Thy Genius to parttake in Thine art,& be joyous of its excellent company.
Also,be Thou charmed by its splendid guidance,&, with a childs wonder,be awed of the wonderful inspirations that flow from Thee.
For it is in that very awe of affection,that utter bliss,that Thou knowest not,yet knowest all.

Plunge Thyself headlong, into the abyssmal engulfment of nothing,& listen Thou,to the silence of the present mind, as it devours pains of Thy past &  worries of thy future.

Noidi

The old noidi took her drum & slowly started to beat.I laid back & relaxed,closing mine eyes.

Soon i was under its  hypnotic spell & fell deeply within myself.

I could feel something coming,approaching from out of nowhere,& then i saw a shape, hurrying towards me, but in slow motion.A horse, or perhaps a large dog it was,dodging its head up & down,nearing me with every forward leap.Then there was a loud crack,pulling me back to my room with the old noidi.

A powerful wind forced itself on the walls of my cottage,threatening to flatten it.
The old noidi pointed his finger on her drum.There was drawn a dog with horses mane, running.
In the same instance she removed her finger from his drum,the wind stopped,and it was silent again.
I listened for a while,but there was no storm roaming outside.The old noidi hid her face,but i could nevertheless feel him smiling from behind her cover up of shadows & light.
Somedays later i would find myself working with great energy,& Lo! In my dreams i would run across great plains,competing with gazelles & wild horses.
It also did occur that i woke in the dusk of morning, with sore leg muscles,& the all too familiar horses breath.
& there was more,but  details of such privacy,that i aught not reveal them here,lest i be corrupted by temptations of my imagination,Nay, worse,the  lingering ecchoes  of my egoic eruptions.

Cats & winter

In the winter when the weather gets dull

the cats gets bored & find

nothing better to

do than

follow me

around

watching

my every move

like i was

a mouse

to their

feeding

it can be pretty
intense

i even have
a cat roaming
the roof
above me
tipping to
& fro
like the
second floor
neigbour
you  didnt
realize
you had
but have
& appears
everytime you
open the
refrigerator
door

hoping i will
fry som delicious
chicken
again
like i
did the other
day

cats remember
stuff like
that

it lingers
in their memory
until
they forget
about it
wich can
take
days
until
their
next
special
treat
day


so there ya
have it

my days
are cats day
everyday
during winter

they are full
of love
and spirit
& teach
me of
patience
& beyond

Ode to coca leaf

The purity of your heart has moved me


& for this


To fight against the utter darkness


That lies in the depths of Pachamama


To endure the cold


Hunger


& the sadness





Of the hearts separated from your father



I`ll give you a gift for your brothers


Ascend that high hill


Where you will find a small plant


But of great strength


Store with love her leaves & when you feel


Pain in your heart


Hunger in your flesh


& darkness in your mind


Take them to your mouth


& with gentleness


They will draw out your spirit


That is part of mine



You will attain love for your sorrow


Nourishment for your body


& light for your mind




(author yet unknown)

flow

A flow of words from somewhere other, than what is usually thought of, as being usual.

A wide open  space, before mind,before time,before,before & before that,wich leaves us...not even a speck of dust.

Yet,in that elevenfold hollowedness of nada,somewhere,someone is communicating,exchanging brilliant thoughts & ideas,with the extraordinary quality of altering perception of worldly matters as is.

Someone, who`s existence, unbound by material affairs,is free to explore the endless depths of the universe, without a single movement of bodily hairs.

A name, would only be a bondage, of such and such,because & therefore.

So, nameless is he, who`s body is fruitful earth,breathing air,flowing waters,fire & burning flame.

Yet,known amongst those who`s minds have merged with the All,who`s greatness is such

that none may speak of it,lest they be so ordained.
There are certain symbols,certain combinations of words,&
sometimes, that wich is spoken of,murmured in dark alleys,or sweetly sung about,have messages, wich are, beyond the reach of understanding,yet wich accumulates within the maturing personality,& emerges, in time,with subtleness,until one`s understanding is such & so that it  encompasses more than previously accustomed to.
But-But-But, not   All   the time.
Be cautious therefore,& when.But also,let go of thine urges to dwell with cryptic syllabolism,& the fancy waving about of hands.There are signs & then there are signs.He who`s eyes are kept awakened, before the thrones,shalt inherit the kingdom through his eyes & be  a rich man in the streets,in deep wild forests & even when, upon crossing the great sea in a small boat,benevolent forces of the wind,will surely carry him safely home in loving arms.
For is it not written,or perhaps it was spoken aloud in a crowd of people;"that, he, who`s tounge, slippeth not from his mouth,upon being seduced by the idle,shall be gladdened thereof & thereby,inviting the good lord of miracles to pay a visit in the hour of hours with that beautiful dog,who`s name is dearest".?
Or was it but a whisper of the wind, from a dream beyond the reaches of time?

Those who say they know,hath not yet appeared
& those who know,sayeth it not,& have shut themselves up in the infamous fortress of silence.
But,somewhat hidden amongst soothsayers & claimers of great wisdom,
there are those who know,not knowing that they know,yet speaketh with the tounge & with the mind of someone who`s name is everything & who`s spirit is Love.

Kelpa

Reality of man is  a repetion of itself
in an seemingly endless
progression

one way of
interrupting
repeating
patterns
is to
simply
avoid doing
the same
thing
everyday

instead
to the surprise
of yourself
enter a hidden
realm
where forgotten
treasures
are  found
under
gross
layers
of
dust
& cobweb

one of them
being the very
memory
of yourself
before
the world
as you know
it now
was
created
by repeating
the previous
day

reactions
from various
sources
are to
be expected

one of these
sources
being
fear
of change

change
can be
likened
to death

a strong taboo

in a reality
based
solely
on repetion
of ritual

talking
about change

is like
talking about
food but
abstaining
from tasting
it

it can be
jolly &
full of
colours

but changing
reality
will not
come without
strange
reactions
& the
reactions
thereof

& those
are the signs
to watch out
for
& to applaud


when people
around you react
on your altered behaviour
take it as
a suresign
that reality
have been
stretched
wrapped around
itself twice
& folded
in the middle
forming a slightly
sideways pointing
arched
tip

the signs
& omens
are subtle
& unreckonizable
by the brute mob
but perceived
in visions
by the sensitized
who
in a rapture
from everyday
hypnosis
finds a higher meaning
& power
in his or
her great
work


reality is but a subtle
fluid that moves
unseen
but once this
fluid has
been discovered
by a wakeful
mind

there is
no end
to the possibilities