He lied there groaning
in despair
while hot & cold
spells
coursed through
his fever ridden
corps
where are now
the good doctors
& great healers
with their medicine
he cried out
all the answers he
got was ecchoes
of his own
words
repeating his
question
but then
as he twisted in
his own wretchedness
he saw before him
a deer looking
at him
while chewing
leaves
it eagerly harvested
from a leafy branch
it was but a short
glimpse
but enough to
quicken him
a tad
so he slowly elevated
his loathsome carcass
& was just about
to take a sip
of water from
his bedside table
when he saw
a small black
bear appeared
before him
it licked its paws
& looked up
at him
every now
& then
the vision faded
but now he felt
not cold anymore
nor hot
just confused
& wet in his
hair & shirt
he finally
managed to
have a glasse of
the water
& listened to
his body
as it made its
surkling
way down
his throat
he took
another mouth full
& just as he
moved his head
backwards
to drink
a big shiny fish jumped
out of the ocean
& joined
the water
he swallowed
or so he imagined
as he listened to
it swiming &
basking
down his gut
there was
even the taste
of sea salt in his
water he
convinced himself
in his delirium
another hideous spell
of cold came over
him & he wrapped
himself into his
sweatsoaked sheets
slowly but
surely passing
out
from exhaustion
he awoke
in a forest of a dream
& looked down
his own
chest
to be sure
he was there
but on his
chest where
a big face of wich
the likes
he had never
seen
it was a mix of faces
first it was a groaning bear
& then it was a lion
roaring at him
& then it was a monkeys
face screaming terribly
shaking its head in furious anger
while raising its clenched fists
intimately followed by
a suckerpunch
wich knocked
him flat out
he could see stars
of wich he had
never before
in his life
laid his eye upon
colours of
wich can only
be found
in the strangest
of dreams
& sounds
the most exquisite
sounds making
their own
sounds from
their own
ingenium
then he was
back in his
bedroom
or so he thought
but his thoughts
where like thin
threads
& one by one
they snapped
& he fell
through the floor
& down a very
long tunnel
wich was
the end of
reality
as he knew
it
when he
woke
up,the first thing
he noticed was
birds singing
inside his
head
then they where
outside & a smile
stretched his
sleepy face
& made him
feel good
there was no more
fever
his mind was
clear like
morning
dew
& his body
yearned for
food
torsdag 26. desember 2013
tirsdag 24. desember 2013
Spiritu Sancti
Christmas is a dangerous time of year, they say.Souls of newly departed wander aimlessly about,& may enter the bodies of the living,causing death & disease.
To the shaman of the village,who`s dealings with spirits & ghosts,was a full time occupation,christmas was the Big day.So big was it to the village shaman,that she would climb up a special tree.
When she sat there,in the top branches of this tree,she was equal & could clearly see & hear what happened in the realms of spirits & ghosts.
A lost drifting soul would notice her presence & through her eyes, would she connect & merge with the other.They became one.The shaman then called upon Great Spirit to help her for strength.
The special tree she was sitting on,would stretch itself,taller & taller until it went through the clouds & soon, they where even far above the clouds.But the tree would continue to rise higher & higher, until there was but a great golden light about them.Soon was heard the familiar sound of birds,or dogs barking.People would come too & upon reunion with loved ones,the lost soul was found.
The shamaness would start to cry in relief & slowly she then descended with the tree & remained on watch.Keeping her many eyes open in all directions.
Lest one of her eyes should dry out,she always had a bag of crystal eyes that was charged by her own
& this way,she remained aware of all that moved between this world & that one,but also that wich didn`t move,but appeared to be rocks or hills.
Sometimes she would see a bundle of stones lying about,like they do,but upon close inspection,they would, on occasion, reveal themselves, by moving & or even changing shape.
By inward whistling,she would catch their somnambulant attention,& attracted them to her light,where they entered, by the numbers.
Lest one of her eyes should dry out,she always had a bag of crystal eyes that was charged by her own
& this way,she remained aware of all that moved between this world & that one,but also that wich didn`t move,but appeared to be rocks or hills.
Sometimes she would see a bundle of stones lying about,like they do,but upon close inspection,they would, on occasion, reveal themselves, by moving & or even changing shape.
By inward whistling,she would catch their somnambulant attention,& attracted them to her light,where they entered, by the numbers.
christmas ?
Imagine if christmas
was the time of year
when all the wealthy people
gathered their gold
& gave it to
the hungry
That would be
a christmas
to remember
was the time of year
when all the wealthy people
gathered their gold
& gave it to
the hungry
That would be
a christmas
to remember
mandag 23. desember 2013
Other Times
In the otherworld,the others are always otherwise.&,no matter what you say,no matter what you do,the others will do it the other way around,just to prove themselves & honour the code.
The other fascinating thing about them,is a vapour,or fine smoke that seems to follow them around & keep them in an otherwise protective cocoon.
Oters are furry animals who live nearby rivers & loves to chew on trees,but the others are not at all like that.Others would of course say they where otherwise,& that they infact preferred to live with a good distance from the raging rivers,& when it came to chewing,they held up an otherwise greenish vegetable wich resembled a cucumber,but did a poor job in so doing.
It appeared more like an elongated apple or a pear perhaps.
The others applauded it,stood up from their seets and hailed the little veggie as their saviour.
Sometimes, the others would remark upon,& refer to another otherworld,that sometimes overlapped their imprinted sense of otherness,& puzzled with their senses,like a child,& on occasion squeezing bits & pieces into places, where they didn`t belong.
Other times,they would sit quietly,with both knees tucked tightly under their chins,wearing oblong hats that entirely covered their otherwise moribund heads.
The other fascinating thing about them,is a vapour,or fine smoke that seems to follow them around & keep them in an otherwise protective cocoon.
Oters are furry animals who live nearby rivers & loves to chew on trees,but the others are not at all like that.Others would of course say they where otherwise,& that they infact preferred to live with a good distance from the raging rivers,& when it came to chewing,they held up an otherwise greenish vegetable wich resembled a cucumber,but did a poor job in so doing.
It appeared more like an elongated apple or a pear perhaps.
The others applauded it,stood up from their seets and hailed the little veggie as their saviour.
Sometimes, the others would remark upon,& refer to another otherworld,that sometimes overlapped their imprinted sense of otherness,& puzzled with their senses,like a child,& on occasion squeezing bits & pieces into places, where they didn`t belong.
Other times,they would sit quietly,with both knees tucked tightly under their chins,wearing oblong hats that entirely covered their otherwise moribund heads.
søndag 22. desember 2013
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
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
fredag 20. desember 2013
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.
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.
tirsdag 17. desember 2013
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.
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.
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