Diktaren er
ikkje slik han
sjølv trur at
han er
diktaren
lar seg ikkje
lure av forestillingane
på
sylvlerretet
same kor mykje
skodespelaren
legg sjela
i rolla
si
diktaren klyp
seg sjølv
titt
i armen
og har blåmerke
å vise til
og det hender
jo at ein må
anten ein diktar
i holer i jorda
eller rett utav
det blå
diktaren
heftar seg ikkje
ved detaljar
men bygg
sine hus
på dei
lik fuglen
i sitt reir
diktaren søkjer¨
på djupet av
seg sjølve
for å finne
noko
han ikkje
har sagt
før
for diktaren
må ofte
møte seg sjølve
i si eiga
oppdikta
dør
diktaren let seg
ikkje hefte
ved detaljarne
men driv vidare
med vinden
lik ei fjør
i ørkenen
og let sand
i augene vere
sand og
ingenting anna
en sand
for
i skuggen av ein
gammal ruin
finn du diktaren
i sitt eige
dikt
på veg inn i
det ukjende
for å gløyme
alt han
har lært
og lære
det på
ny
igjen og
igjen
diktaren
vandrer¨
hand i hand
med sola
og kvar
stråle er fylld
av lyse
ord om
livet som
gror
men også
av det som
spirar
på vår
heilage
trillrunde
jord
lørdag 27. januar 2018
torsdag 14. desember 2017
self medicating
Self medicating vs the popping of pills from a prescription drug. ?
Its the same thing,only self medicating is considered negative,and sometimes even a criminal act.
Why,i ask myself,ready to pop the question in return,should i be confronted with the law.
People get in trouble with the law,for self medicating,and are criminalized and punished.
While at the same time,people go about their daily lives, medicated on prescription narcotics,wich is often sold or given away to friends,further spreading drug use and health problems in schools and society at large.
The zero tolerance for drugs in norway reeks of white lies on molded bread.
People are treated as children by our authorities,with little "myndighet" to make once own little decisions.
Self reliance is the greatest art and should be practised by bending the bow that fires the arrow,and letting it go.
It must become a natural act,that the bow fires upon the target with such swiftness,that it knoweth not what hit it.
Then an archer will have her way in the game,and her arrows and bow will raise brows wherever she goe.
.
Let it not be of dullness,nor of drunkeness and heavy sleep,but of awakefulness,and the observant mind.For is there not so much splendour and detail that maketh up the universes ?
.
Dwell not on thy belongings,but on thy dwelling,and see thyself in thyself.Laugh,if it comes natural.
If not,be silent.Listen to silence,and your heart will respond with gladness and freud.
.
There is too much to say in too little time.Yet with practise,and patience,through simple breathing,time can be stretched and utilized on a whole new level.
.
Knowing in your heart,that you have all the time in the world,to complete your mission,Your story will change from one of idleness and fatigue,to one of unadulterated joy,and sorrow.
.
Lifting you to the highest mountains,and occasionally casting you headlong into the deepest and darkest pits.
Leaving you with a thirst,sometimes an unquenching one,that makes you so desire for liquids,that they appear out of thin air.
.
.
Be not forgiving,but forgive the writer for writing.Occasionally raving unconsciously about,speaking in tounges,eyes rolling in skull,frothing from mouth,accompanied by howls and groans.
Be forgiving,no matter what he tells you,and he will shrink before your naked eyes.
That to forgive,even the greatest sin,is the way of the lord,but not the way of men.For man follows the ways of his followers,who follow him wherever he rolls.
Shrink therefor not in the presence of the lord,but raise thyself,o`child of man,and feel the living earth under thy feet.!!
Stretch thy bones,and veins,so that fresh blood may enter thy thinking apparatus,and rejoice !
Is there not joy in the darkest corners,and sadness in the brightes of day ?
Are you not well with the gifts,and the talents,o `star amongst stars ?
In thy complaining,and waining,grasping with thy clutches for ever more,be thankful that you are alive,amongst the dead and the dying.
There will c0me a day,unlike any other day,followed by nights beyond your wildest dreams.
The sun will chase shadows,and food will cross from hands to mouth,and questions,that can only be answered with silence and wonder.
But your mind,like a flower in the sun,will have its days,among days,and that old magic that breathes in between,will sometimes tell you stories made up from your own private gallery of ghosts.
Other times,it will tell you other things,and convince you to become another star in an otherwise charming cult of fixed faiths.
Know that the hour of man is short,but know also that where there is no-time,there is peace.
Sometimes you feel time suddendly disappeared,your`e having a mystical experience that "never really happened"
Mystical forces bending perception of time,dissolving it,,offering a feeling of eternity stretching on as far as the eye can see,and the I that is you and me,at once limited and free.
The Mystic knows that the moment you think you know it all,is the moment you forget something very important.
Thats why the mystic dwells where the sun cannot reach.Where mystery have air to breath.
The mystic is at once a dark soul that feeds on the light of magical crystals embedded deeply in the earth`s crust.
For such is the light of the mystic,that it brings certain gifts to certain men.
Many are the corns of sand,and dust is plentyful in corners.
Blood is crying.Hear the cry,Be the healer of bleeding wounds.
Many are the corns of sand,and in corners,dust is plentyful.
Be the mountain,and the magnificent hall that houses the mountains jinn.
Light candles for the dreaming Gods creating our world,and leave sweet offerings.
Ask questions when the day is still young,and find the answers in your dreams.
Don`t look for yourself in the mirror.Look at yourself,and behold the presence !
Be the presence in your own life,and communicate with that entity, you.
Use the forbidden and the shunned art of talking through uncertified channels.
.
Be tempted by scripture,to fulfill the prophesy of the elders,by continuing the writing thereof.
Be tempted by the saints,and inspired in Thy soul,to carry on their clairvoyant ravings in mutualhood.
Was it not by fire and stars that men went out of their minds to commune with a higher being ?
And,is not the Higher being,unseen and majestic,a spirit of the spiritworld ?
.
Why is it that "Scripture" condemns the spiritist and his communing with the dead,when others can obsiously do it,and get away with being a saint or a prophet ?
Is there not much dirty evidence of corrupted men in the so called word of God ?
Is it not a dreaded gift to know that words have so much power of men and their minds ?
"Taking the law into ones one hand",is indeed a silly expression,for Is it not the hand of men that writes the law ? "
Is the law not already in the hand of men?
Its the same thing,only self medicating is considered negative,and sometimes even a criminal act.
Why,i ask myself,ready to pop the question in return,should i be confronted with the law.
People get in trouble with the law,for self medicating,and are criminalized and punished.
While at the same time,people go about their daily lives, medicated on prescription narcotics,wich is often sold or given away to friends,further spreading drug use and health problems in schools and society at large.
The zero tolerance for drugs in norway reeks of white lies on molded bread.
People are treated as children by our authorities,with little "myndighet" to make once own little decisions.
Self reliance is the greatest art and should be practised by bending the bow that fires the arrow,and letting it go.
It must become a natural act,that the bow fires upon the target with such swiftness,that it knoweth not what hit it.
Then an archer will have her way in the game,and her arrows and bow will raise brows wherever she goe.
.
Let it not be of dullness,nor of drunkeness and heavy sleep,but of awakefulness,and the observant mind.For is there not so much splendour and detail that maketh up the universes ?
.
Dwell not on thy belongings,but on thy dwelling,and see thyself in thyself.Laugh,if it comes natural.
If not,be silent.Listen to silence,and your heart will respond with gladness and freud.
.
There is too much to say in too little time.Yet with practise,and patience,through simple breathing,time can be stretched and utilized on a whole new level.
.
Knowing in your heart,that you have all the time in the world,to complete your mission,Your story will change from one of idleness and fatigue,to one of unadulterated joy,and sorrow.
.
Lifting you to the highest mountains,and occasionally casting you headlong into the deepest and darkest pits.
Leaving you with a thirst,sometimes an unquenching one,that makes you so desire for liquids,that they appear out of thin air.
.
.
Be not forgiving,but forgive the writer for writing.Occasionally raving unconsciously about,speaking in tounges,eyes rolling in skull,frothing from mouth,accompanied by howls and groans.
Be forgiving,no matter what he tells you,and he will shrink before your naked eyes.
That to forgive,even the greatest sin,is the way of the lord,but not the way of men.For man follows the ways of his followers,who follow him wherever he rolls.
Shrink therefor not in the presence of the lord,but raise thyself,o`child of man,and feel the living earth under thy feet.!!
Stretch thy bones,and veins,so that fresh blood may enter thy thinking apparatus,and rejoice !
Is there not joy in the darkest corners,and sadness in the brightes of day ?
Are you not well with the gifts,and the talents,o `star amongst stars ?
In thy complaining,and waining,grasping with thy clutches for ever more,be thankful that you are alive,amongst the dead and the dying.
There will c0me a day,unlike any other day,followed by nights beyond your wildest dreams.
The sun will chase shadows,and food will cross from hands to mouth,and questions,that can only be answered with silence and wonder.
But your mind,like a flower in the sun,will have its days,among days,and that old magic that breathes in between,will sometimes tell you stories made up from your own private gallery of ghosts.
Other times,it will tell you other things,and convince you to become another star in an otherwise charming cult of fixed faiths.
Know that the hour of man is short,but know also that where there is no-time,there is peace.
Sometimes you feel time suddendly disappeared,your`e having a mystical experience that "never really happened"
Mystical forces bending perception of time,dissolving it,,offering a feeling of eternity stretching on as far as the eye can see,and the I that is you and me,at once limited and free.
The Mystic knows that the moment you think you know it all,is the moment you forget something very important.
Thats why the mystic dwells where the sun cannot reach.Where mystery have air to breath.
The mystic is at once a dark soul that feeds on the light of magical crystals embedded deeply in the earth`s crust.
For such is the light of the mystic,that it brings certain gifts to certain men.
Many are the corns of sand,and dust is plentyful in corners.
Blood is crying.Hear the cry,Be the healer of bleeding wounds.
Many are the corns of sand,and in corners,dust is plentyful.
Be the mountain,and the magnificent hall that houses the mountains jinn.
Light candles for the dreaming Gods creating our world,and leave sweet offerings.
Ask questions when the day is still young,and find the answers in your dreams.
Don`t look for yourself in the mirror.Look at yourself,and behold the presence !
Be the presence in your own life,and communicate with that entity, you.
Use the forbidden and the shunned art of talking through uncertified channels.
.
Be tempted by scripture,to fulfill the prophesy of the elders,by continuing the writing thereof.
Be tempted by the saints,and inspired in Thy soul,to carry on their clairvoyant ravings in mutualhood.
Was it not by fire and stars that men went out of their minds to commune with a higher being ?
And,is not the Higher being,unseen and majestic,a spirit of the spiritworld ?
.
Why is it that "Scripture" condemns the spiritist and his communing with the dead,when others can obsiously do it,and get away with being a saint or a prophet ?
Is there not much dirty evidence of corrupted men in the so called word of God ?
Is it not a dreaded gift to know that words have so much power of men and their minds ?
"Taking the law into ones one hand",is indeed a silly expression,for Is it not the hand of men that writes the law ? "
Is the law not already in the hand of men?
torsdag 9. november 2017
Fire spell
Craft the spell
in the fire
Craft it well
weave it higher
Weave it now
of shining flame
None shall
come to hurt
or maim
None shall
pass this
fiery wall
None shall
pass
No,None at all
(Ha tent eit lys foran deg når du les denne)
(henta frå internett)
in the fire
Craft it well
weave it higher
Weave it now
of shining flame
None shall
come to hurt
or maim
None shall
pass this
fiery wall
None shall
pass
No,None at all
(Ha tent eit lys foran deg når du les denne)
(henta frå internett)
lørdag 5. august 2017
Guided by noises
I have come to understand that some people have silent thoughts in their heads,where others hear voices speak to them in whispers and sometimes out loud like actual persons.
There was a time when i thought i could leave my mind behind,and live in the space between realms.
After a while,i started hearing voices,and i realized my time in space had done something odd.
Today i have to listen and be observant to what the voices tell me,to get things done.
It is like my mind is out there on a satelite in space,sending me voice-mail through the atmosphere.
Also there are many satelites out there,and sometimes,i recieve mail that was intended for someone else.Now that can be difficult,because Its not always the funny stories,the wahas and the whoo-hoos.
Im positive other people will come to hear voices,in time.As im not the first and certaintly not the last.
Some people believe hearing voices is a sign of damage,or an illness with many advanced names.
And surely,there are people who suffer the consequenses of hearing voices,as they can tell you ugly things,evil things,and even use your fathers voice to enhance their effect.
But then there are also voices that backs you up all the way,and with such charm and humour that it makes you fall in love with them.
There is the good parts that makes living worthwile.There are the happy ghosts,and the kindred spirits,who loves to entertain their next of skin.
Its not all bad,as some folks would have it.
i think the most difficult thing in the world is trying to be normal
and living a normal life,when there in fact is nothing normal in this world.
this is where madness makes angels with broken wings
I remember loosing sanity as a burden being removed from my shoulders.
The madness and the hell was all inside my belief in a normal world and a normal life.
I realize i was dreaming a dream that wasnt mine
it was a program designed to make me
someone that someone else would
appreciate
in time
i awoke from that dreadful dream
like a child
on the first day of spring
i stumbled into the world
like an infant
still drunk from
mothers milk
and with a nasty
case of hiccups
but my mind was
like the sky
on a clear
day
i could hear
for miles
and i swear in the
crooked ear of Captain
McFlannigan
that i could
hear dolphins
song
i even
heard rumours
being spread
among the flowers
that i was
complete
loonytoon
when i stopped
and tried to convince
them otherwise
they just aughed
their heads
off
but i can live with that
i have heard birds
laugh
from the trees
when they see
me tumbling down
lifes rocky
road
balancing on
two feet
and somehow
a head of
myself
There was a time when i thought i could leave my mind behind,and live in the space between realms.
After a while,i started hearing voices,and i realized my time in space had done something odd.
Today i have to listen and be observant to what the voices tell me,to get things done.
It is like my mind is out there on a satelite in space,sending me voice-mail through the atmosphere.
Also there are many satelites out there,and sometimes,i recieve mail that was intended for someone else.Now that can be difficult,because Its not always the funny stories,the wahas and the whoo-hoos.
Im positive other people will come to hear voices,in time.As im not the first and certaintly not the last.
Some people believe hearing voices is a sign of damage,or an illness with many advanced names.
And surely,there are people who suffer the consequenses of hearing voices,as they can tell you ugly things,evil things,and even use your fathers voice to enhance their effect.
But then there are also voices that backs you up all the way,and with such charm and humour that it makes you fall in love with them.
There is the good parts that makes living worthwile.There are the happy ghosts,and the kindred spirits,who loves to entertain their next of skin.
Its not all bad,as some folks would have it.
i think the most difficult thing in the world is trying to be normal
and living a normal life,when there in fact is nothing normal in this world.
this is where madness makes angels with broken wings
I remember loosing sanity as a burden being removed from my shoulders.
The madness and the hell was all inside my belief in a normal world and a normal life.
I realize i was dreaming a dream that wasnt mine
it was a program designed to make me
someone that someone else would
appreciate
in time
i awoke from that dreadful dream
like a child
on the first day of spring
i stumbled into the world
like an infant
still drunk from
mothers milk
and with a nasty
case of hiccups
but my mind was
like the sky
on a clear
day
i could hear
for miles
and i swear in the
crooked ear of Captain
McFlannigan
that i could
hear dolphins
song
i even
heard rumours
being spread
among the flowers
that i was
complete
loonytoon
when i stopped
and tried to convince
them otherwise
they just aughed
their heads
off
but i can live with that
i have heard birds
laugh
from the trees
when they see
me tumbling down
lifes rocky
road
balancing on
two feet
and somehow
a head of
myself
søndag 2. juli 2017
Nöcken
Ho snuffla innover i heia
førd avgarde av
ei kjensle
som berre vaks
jo nærare ho kom
det vesle
tjernet
kransa med
kvite
vassliljer
ho satte seg
ner på
huk og
stirra ner
i det grøne
djupet
som synast
å skjelve
av noko
under
overflata
der ho
skimta
små blenkande
ljos
av og på
og av igjen
før dei
startar ein ny
sekvens
ei djup brummande
tone tiltek i styrke
og sakkar av
igjen
og brått
får ho
lyst å snu
å småspringje
heim att
men kroppen
er som teipa
fast i lufta
og ho kan
ikkje anna
en å måpe
når skapninga
under vatnet
dukkar opp
snur seg
på umulege
vis og berre
forsvinn foran
augene hennar
med eit søkk
før ho rekk
å bli forskrekka
(( schvuppps ))
kva var det ho såg
kva var det ho
høyrde ?
himmelen rumla
og vinden
bøygde trea
til sies
då noko
tok avgarde
i høg fart
kan hende
nokon som
brått fekk lyst
å vende heim
att
kven veit
kva det
var ho
kjende
og kva det
var
det ho båe
såg
å høyrde
var det berre
ein
draum
ho ikkje
kunne skjelne
mellom
det kjende
og det ukjende
var
det verkeleg
berre
ein draum
at ho var våken
då ho såg
å høyrde
det ho
gjorde
i skumringa
ved det
vesle tjernet
førd avgarde av
ei kjensle
som berre vaks
jo nærare ho kom
det vesle
tjernet
kransa med
kvite
vassliljer
ho satte seg
ner på
huk og
stirra ner
i det grøne
djupet
som synast
å skjelve
av noko
under
overflata
der ho
skimta
små blenkande
ljos
av og på
og av igjen
før dei
startar ein ny
sekvens
ei djup brummande
tone tiltek i styrke
og sakkar av
igjen
og brått
får ho
lyst å snu
å småspringje
heim att
men kroppen
er som teipa
fast i lufta
og ho kan
ikkje anna
en å måpe
når skapninga
under vatnet
dukkar opp
snur seg
på umulege
vis og berre
forsvinn foran
augene hennar
med eit søkk
før ho rekk
å bli forskrekka
(( schvuppps ))
kva var det ho såg
kva var det ho
høyrde ?
himmelen rumla
og vinden
bøygde trea
til sies
då noko
tok avgarde
i høg fart
kan hende
nokon som
brått fekk lyst
å vende heim
att
kven veit
kva det
var ho
kjende
og kva det
var
det ho båe
såg
å høyrde
var det berre
ein
draum
ho ikkje
kunne skjelne
mellom
det kjende
og det ukjende
var
det verkeleg
berre
ein draum
at ho var våken
då ho såg
å høyrde
det ho
gjorde
i skumringa
ved det
vesle tjernet
mandag 19. juni 2017
Man in the wall
There is a man inside the wall,and when he speaks its rather muffled and faint.
I have to cup my ear to hear what he says,and he doesn`t like it.
He often tells me i look stupid with my ear to the wall,and then he goes on calling me names.
Names i don`t want to share with you here,nor anywhere for that matter.
Its an elderly man,who`s life never really ended,but continued in the woodwork of my wall.
Sometimes late at night,just before i slip into unconsciousness,he knocks 3-1-2 and then 3-3-3.
That`s the signal,and signature of his presence that comes and goes.
Some nights i lie there expecting the knocking on my wall,and nothing happens.Other nights,when i and i just want to sleep, he amuses himself by knocking on the wall,right above my fontanelle and keeps me disentertained until i get tired of it all,and eventually pass out.
I told the village priest of my incidents,and he promised to come for an exorcism,but that was 2 years ago.Rumors have it that he went crazy after hearing voices in the wall and strange knocking.
He is now resting in a facility for the mentally disturbed.
God bless the poor priest,Carmichael.He was such a sane and sturdy individual.
Other people have other phenomenas going,of wich they may or may not be consciouss of.
Becoming consciouss of phenomenas is usually not on the menu.Asking for it can land one in prison.
Phenomenas enjoy the ignorance and disbelief that we humans wrestle with on a daily basis.
Our focus on material affairs,keeps the world of phenomenas in a safe haven.Only the mad,the lunatic,children,and weirdos have entrance to this realm.They can do no harm to the phenomenal forces that govern and create realities in their secret laboratories.
As their stories will always be dismissed as mere products of the imagination.
Reality is not that colourful
they say.
I have to cup my ear to hear what he says,and he doesn`t like it.
He often tells me i look stupid with my ear to the wall,and then he goes on calling me names.
Names i don`t want to share with you here,nor anywhere for that matter.
Its an elderly man,who`s life never really ended,but continued in the woodwork of my wall.
Sometimes late at night,just before i slip into unconsciousness,he knocks 3-1-2 and then 3-3-3.
That`s the signal,and signature of his presence that comes and goes.
Some nights i lie there expecting the knocking on my wall,and nothing happens.Other nights,when i and i just want to sleep, he amuses himself by knocking on the wall,right above my fontanelle and keeps me disentertained until i get tired of it all,and eventually pass out.
I told the village priest of my incidents,and he promised to come for an exorcism,but that was 2 years ago.Rumors have it that he went crazy after hearing voices in the wall and strange knocking.
He is now resting in a facility for the mentally disturbed.
God bless the poor priest,Carmichael.He was such a sane and sturdy individual.
Other people have other phenomenas going,of wich they may or may not be consciouss of.
Becoming consciouss of phenomenas is usually not on the menu.Asking for it can land one in prison.
Phenomenas enjoy the ignorance and disbelief that we humans wrestle with on a daily basis.
Our focus on material affairs,keeps the world of phenomenas in a safe haven.Only the mad,the lunatic,children,and weirdos have entrance to this realm.They can do no harm to the phenomenal forces that govern and create realities in their secret laboratories.
As their stories will always be dismissed as mere products of the imagination.
Reality is not that colourful
they say.
søndag 4. juni 2017
Talok
When Talok lurks outside your house,its usually because he wants to get inside.
Never let Talok inside your house,unless you want to become possessed.
Talok is the spirit of many dead people who have lumped together to become a creepy phantom of the supernatural world.
He can appear as a little begging boy who only wants your sympathy and an open door or window.
However,he can not enter if you have heard of the tale,and know of his motives.
He may also appear as your mother in a dream,and make you sleepwalk to your door,where he will slip in and do his tricks with your mind until you no longer recognize yourself.
Talok hates whistling,and laughter,and avoids houses where jolly people celebrate.
Talok can be trapped into a corner,if whistled at,during his haunting tours,and with continued whistling,he can be vaporized into thin air.
The energy of life is what he wants,but the same energy,focused directly at Talok will do "him" great harm.
I once saw Talok sitting beside me in bed,waiting for me to leave my body so he could enter.
I observed how his forehead came into my dream,but couldnt get any further,cause his head was to big for the tiny little room in my dream.
I laughed at his failed attempt to possess me,and he fled with anger,growling like a hurt lion.
Laughter is the purest poison for the souls that feed on fear and angst.
A good strong laughter can actually kill Taloks.It has been done before.
There are witnessess to strange incidents that cannot yet be explained by our current model of language.
so now you know the tale,and i urge you to share it with loved ones.
Never let Talok inside your house,unless you want to become possessed.
Talok is the spirit of many dead people who have lumped together to become a creepy phantom of the supernatural world.
He can appear as a little begging boy who only wants your sympathy and an open door or window.
However,he can not enter if you have heard of the tale,and know of his motives.
He may also appear as your mother in a dream,and make you sleepwalk to your door,where he will slip in and do his tricks with your mind until you no longer recognize yourself.
Talok hates whistling,and laughter,and avoids houses where jolly people celebrate.
Talok can be trapped into a corner,if whistled at,during his haunting tours,and with continued whistling,he can be vaporized into thin air.
The energy of life is what he wants,but the same energy,focused directly at Talok will do "him" great harm.
I once saw Talok sitting beside me in bed,waiting for me to leave my body so he could enter.
I observed how his forehead came into my dream,but couldnt get any further,cause his head was to big for the tiny little room in my dream.
I laughed at his failed attempt to possess me,and he fled with anger,growling like a hurt lion.
Laughter is the purest poison for the souls that feed on fear and angst.
A good strong laughter can actually kill Taloks.It has been done before.
There are witnessess to strange incidents that cannot yet be explained by our current model of language.
so now you know the tale,and i urge you to share it with loved ones.
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