Fermenting the Milk From a Prophet’s Tongue

The moment you arised

In my mindless life.  I had

Never gone in your procedural place

I acknowledged your weakness

And I stared at your face

There was never a moment

With true good grace

The rising tide of evolution 

Far away from any moments we spent together 

What would the echo meaning say

A candid candor that desperately was lingered 

So deep inside.  A nascent procedural gathering 

Helen of Troy, and your image led to war

A thousand ships were gathering, at the base of the

City of Troy.  An augmented ghost.  A siren screech 

Lunatic warrior transfigured into Achilles heel.

Cassandra’s prophet song the world shift.  There was

Never any doubt.  We played all of these

Games at the threshold of pain

A deep and dark cavern 

Investigate this faith 

The siren dispute warrior traveling 

In a broad cavern of disruption

The energy that castle walls will become 

A mesmerized ghost.  So much of this

Quotient.  So much of repose.

So much of deliverance.  So much of release.

Seethe with dreams.  Seethe within peace.

The barricade will never lose you.  The barricade 

Will never seethe you.  And all of this 

Was good lost precedent.

The onerous dissipation dislocation had begun.

You were dancing in a tortuous breath

Exposing your breasts while I played the music 

All along.  Seeking to mimic a passing.  Seeking to gather 

And pass away.  Chortled in the dark 

Incestuous moments.  Looking at the darkness to

See if it would accept you back

With a lion’s breath tongue.  To seek

And draw you in.  Tempestuous fate.

You know of nothing else.  Nothing else could ever be

When you only fight back against the distance 

Of the past

I should have know you were not anything that

Would have desired to be with me.   You were so far 

Away, with distance from the Self

You have never returned except for a few sleeking grasps 

The echo of derision.  No place for you to be

The marking of delusion.  All of the indicia of

Your uncertainty.   Seeking the volume to arise

So you could have danced naked.  And never imagine you had

Been there before.  Fight back the past

Make it savage.  There would never be a moment 

When you would find peace.   Except for drugged down into that

Indifference, with a caustic deliberate sleeping 

This away.

And there was never any time we were ever truly together 

And there was never any time you were not searching for

Some light passerby with a person who 

Was interested into trying to augment the passageway

That was me.  Never able to accept my materialist surroundings 

And that is only all where you ever wanted to be.

Mark this up now.  We are not together.

We should have never been together.  But we were.

And there were some moments that made sense 

To gather us all together, to reluctantly disagree to

Detach us away.

I am playin the piano.  With the illiteracy of

Ben Folds awake.  It sucks to grow up

We will never be together again.  The horizon deadline swirl

No Hemets ghost.  Now beginning to detractions. 

Washed all away.

Sing the song.  Dance the gig. Splatter your fingertips.

On the desperate piano keys.

And know that it will never be the same.

The right way is upon us. We have entered and arrived. No less clearance has occasioned all of the moments, when we will gather, and make all of this just fully and gently, pass away.

The clearance has occasioned all of us. No more weather terror transgressions to overwhelm the heart sensations away down from the nape of the neck to the base of the spine. We have soon gathered. We have soon delivered the fire delusion derision, that will attack and assassinate, no more exactly than the nascent flood that overrides, overwhelms, but never overcomes. Accepting the delusion de-location. This is only the grease spark of what would have once be a better moment. We can accept all of this attack moment heart faith derision. And then shall we all one day, before the terror is completed, all just pass away.

We are all the grand sequoias. Standing tall in the tourniquet sunset of nature diving deep into the mountain plateaus, winnowing down around the mountain hills searing valleys. The surge will always be there, the surge will always pass away. Our innate sub atom spine swindles up and down with Tyrannosaurus rex arms. Our sentinel eyes are perspective warriors to draw compassion in and all around with our deep anarchical flood away from the materialistic world. Deep in the heart of nature. Deep in the mountain side. And when the forest fire emerges and floods us over with the destructive manipulation attack, and cascades over the exterior of the breed and tall sequoia strength, there will be exterior macabre endless moments when it feeds us through the fire. It will completely overwhelm us and caustic deny our ability to live beyond these fire cascade moments.

But we are strong. Our exterior totems and inner self are strong. There will be damage to the trunk of our tusk. There will be sporadic spreadout with de-incarnation of the flesh. But we will still be here sized up and simply strong. We will still be here, when the fire purge is washed away by the air and the water. And the earth beneath us and the sky above. We are above all of this eagerness of fate. We will rise above. Stand above. Always be above. Our Tyrannosaurus rex arms will continue to weave out and grow. And our sentinel eyes will continue to flood us over with perception and grant us the right to deliver limitless compassion.

This is we all knew before all of this began. The fire will burn. But the fire will purge. And we will always continue to arise with sentinel eyes. And the august demarcation of deciduous deliverance. To perpetual rise and shine. This I know. And this I shall be. The sequoia giant tree. To survive beyond all of the affectation to recapture. To rise and share with perpetual perception. The endless sequoia glow.

There is nothing less than a glorious start
To this and every day
It is the air that I breath
That I welcome in my lungs
That radiates throughout my soul
Reverberates through my veins
And sings the songs of ancient choirs
Beneath the subtle rise and fall of my chest

There is nothing shallow and dispossessed
The Ego has been discharged from its duties
The labels have been removed and excised
I stand alone, without the trepidations of the past
Or the unearnest anxiety of the future
Whatever will come to pass will come to pass
By opening my heart to its expectation
By immersing each new event
Within the compassion of my soul

I stride triumphantly forward
Not pounding my chest for greatness
But to assassinate the thick slugs of precision
That would otherwise berate and scorn me

There is always a soft ledge to stand on
A soft shoulder upon which to rest my anxious mind
In the serendipity of the present
To annex all the misfortune of the world
Into the soft heart strings of my soul

I would never cease to awaken
To cleanse the new day with my embrace of the dawn
To settle into cylindrical immersion
And listen for the voices of the world
Of the stars
Of the universe that surrounds me
The pitter patter of ancient feet
That chant and march in unison
To the exploration of my breath

I sit beside the river
And hear all the cacophonous roar
Of every life that has gone before me
Into the absorption with the divine
I hear the voices call my name
Beckoning me into the eternal embrace

This life, this moment
Means everything and nothing
I will drift slowly
Into the arms of forever

Moving through into equilibrium

Embracing the grace

Vibrating through fragmentation

Until you invigorate into the

Passageway to peace

Peace, vastness and enlightenment

Moving through the body, up and down the spine

One chakra at a time

Vibrating through the hindrances, motivating the thrust

Of kundalini energy as it infuses

The mind and the body with

An evolutionary sequence that leads to

Tyrannical admonishment of the lizard brain

At the base of the skull

The lizard patterns of the egoic mind

Eliminated step by step, breath by breath

Until we have revealed

The invigorated sattvic plateau of

True kindness, knowledge and understanding

Of the limitless vibrancy of the Self

Transmigrated away from the vehicle of tamasic fate

Away from the corpuscle captivation cave of suffering

Through abandonment of static materialistic complacency

Into the limitless height of doing not doing

Being not being

The transformation through the flashlight of night

Into the eternal infinite vestibule

Of perpetual sattvic awareness

The seven chakras are a pathway

Spiderweb finger weaving patterns

To the achievement of enlightenment

Slowly dispersing away all of the

Disconnected or voluminously crippling

Thoughts of imprisonment of the past

Of concerns of incarceration of the future

In this moment, in the here and now,

You are truly free

And with continued ascendency

To true openness

So shall you remain truly free

This is not a calculated hunt

You are not arresting with the gun-fed ammunition

With the guna encapsulated admonition

With every movement through the chakras

Through the diving down and the opening up

There is no pestilence that shall remain

You are simply expanding out, not gathering in

You are simply rising above

Not stepping down

And on the pathway to enlightenment

Shall you truly achieve

The trueness of the Self

Abdicating away from the egoic mind

The lizard brain

Into the cerebral cortex

The sattvic plateau of true grace

Of honesty and deliverance

Metabolistic infusion of the

Right body, the right mind, the right soul

Collectively bringing together all of internal awareness

Into the passageway of infinite grace

The integration into the collective unconscious. This is how we eliminate the egoic distraction of the mind. This is how we eliminate untruthfulness. This is how we bring compassion to the body and the mind. This is how we set down the past. This is how we de-fascinate with the future. This is how we come together in universal, mindful coalescence of the heart, the soul, the mind, the body, this is how we are eternally open with visions that will cleanse and bathe every cataract within. This is how we are transfigured, metamorphosized away from the prophet-inspired dissonance, into the Dyonistic enclosure into the truth of oneness.

How to sleep, how to dream, with cleansing, with glorification. With incendiary internal fires that glow all around us until we have nothing, nowhere, that will ever separate us from the whole. Oneness, fertile oneness, gathering around everyone into the internal, eternal circle of life. This is how we will always glow and sing, dancing, weave, and never halt the innocent beast within from transforming away into the celestial glow of oneness, fullness, and epic glorification of all that is right. All that is right forever, that never falls down.

The collective unconscious grows us, expands us out, modifies our existence from the de-crusted wrapped up formation of the false child. Reintegrates and re-morphosizes back to who you truly are within. The true I, the true self. The collective unconscious will bring you back to who you truly are.

The vestibule sequence of all of the noble truths of oneness. Being with the gentle focus on the mind, the body, the breath. And slowly feeling the the expansion of the breath. The blue light from within, expanding out the body and the mind. You are here but you are also everywhere, everything, expanding out across and throughout time. Unable to judge, anywhere at all, the difference between who you believe you are, and who you truly are. Washing away all of the scars and scorns to find yourself back upon the simple shoreline of the Bodhic ocean. No more ending. No more beginning. Only at all and ever within the capsule of oneness that strips away all of the walls to embrace everything and everyone all at once. And never once again fixating yourself into the abstract nuisance of time.

The oneness of you
Intertwined within
Making the prophet song whistle forth
Eliminating all the denigration at the core

Were you marching?
Were you transforming away to deliverance?
Were you nestling the raw body inside
Covering it with imperceptible grace
Milling down and forward
Imbuing all of your internal fascination
With the dream scenarios of
Towering inferno grace

The ebullient joy of demanifestation
The ebullient joy of remanifestation
Closing down the fist of unawareness
Squeezing out all of the lifelessness
With the trickling out of each teardrop of doubt
Of each teardrop of loneliness
Fear, greed, desire, lust and aversion
Of chronic institutionalized judgment
Turing the hands upside down
Opening the palms to the sky
Feeling the lift of the vacancy of the mind
The dispensation of discriminating thoughts
Of caustic heartstop inertia
Of misdeeds
Of setting down suffering with the infusion of compassion
Of elevating the infusion of compassion
Into the wellspring of limitless grace
Into the rapturous manifestation
Of exquisite joy
Elliptically cycling it all out
Spreading it all out
Painting open the floors, the walls, the ceilings
Into the deforestation of visions
The eternal osmosis of equanimity

The four abodes, the dissemination of the unconscious mind
Into the wellspring of the surrounding flow
Of limitless selfless love and compassion

This is how we dance, this is how we sing
This is how we sleep, this is how we dream
This is how we build up the fire
Of agnostic indifference within
To all the longings of desire and greed
To all the judgments of aversion and fear
And despoil all the dispatch of hatred
All the chaotic corrosion of the one-sided mind

Slowly winding down and evolving out
Into the vastness of the space
Of the enlightened mind

The magnetic presence of deities
Encircling the rock-cloistered temple
Of ancient spiritual warriors
Dancing with the myth
Dancing with the story of metaphysical
Starry sky deliverance of no more egoic wrath

Three or seven warriors
In circles
Feet on the ground
Toes to the sky
Releasing all and everything
For some minuscule
Circumvention of fate

Were we dancing? Were we falling?
We were simply resonating into the strength of the soul
As all of those around us
Stare blankly into the tunnel of light
We have risen above the tunnel and
Manufactured grace with the symbiotic spirit of truth

This is how we stand. This is how we sing.
Forever absorbed in the presence
Of the rhythm of spiritual warrior prophets
Of the return of the universal resonant resemblance
Of what we would call our god
Our Brahman, our allah
Or simply just the expanded oneness of universal immersion
At the edge of time
Before there was even a helium atom
At the genesis of reality

This is where we would dance and sing
Never knowing, never needing to know
What placed our essence on this earth
Merely just rapture swinging and and re-emerging
Into the universal cusp of infinite light

This is restless agony. This has always been restless agony. A place to pretentiously adventure to but never retreat away from. There is something so simple in this. There is something so subtle and simple in this. Preternatural restless agony has always been the calling card of our existence. Transforming us away from the animal mind that would only, always, just simply rest in the present. This was the preternatural darkness that drew us all away from the nimble, simplistic core that would direct all of us to simply transmigrate to an internal, eternal resting place away from any concern about our place and time.

This restless agony is the trampoline of maneuvering away from the gentle core of interaction with nature, with our natural surroundings, and instead into the lifeless life-form of proselytized exploration of extrapolated assessment of our environment, how we thought we came to be, who we thought we could expect to be. How the energetic, simplistic fan of universal birth around us has slowly coagulated the energy and fire of collective atoms, of collective molecules, of the collection of matter dancing away from simple frenetic energy and solidified us into the denseness of manufactured fate. The solid resting place of a vacuum outside the accumulation of the walk of the spine, the spinal cord, upon the route of the hypocritical prevaricated path through the material world to a contrived misguided sense of enlightenment.

Why do we all desire to transmute and transform the simplistic natural interaction of the animal mind into the surrounding world? When each movement of the animal mind is simply just the direction of evolutionary volition. Where should I land, where should I stay, what task of aggression should I perform without any vengeance or wrath, simply because it is the next step through the present world? A snake surreptitiously seeking out the resting bird nest to find the eggs it would swallow with its massive oral cavern. Not out of animosity, wrath or fear, but simply because it is the next step directed only by the internal volition of the momentum of existence. It is nothing more. There is no perception from within that there was any affectation of the action other than simple, innate, volition of survival.

I would alter the sequence of my singing to capture all of these words. I would alter the next generation of my existence to simply accept who and where I am and to simply follow, without disconsolate fear, the evolution and direction of all of the surrounding space. I have planted my feet into anything and everything that would formulate the framework pathway to infinite enlightenment even with the castigated program of man’s exposition of reality. There is no time or space of existence surrounding anyone or anything other than simply being in the awareness of who we are and where we are.

I would attempt to disillusion, and deemphasize, the despotism of confused consciousness, the pretentious inorganic perception of this place and time. There are truly no walls or barriers even if we think we perceive them. There are no walls and barrier even if we think we are enclosed by them. There are no walls and barriers even if we perceive that we are captured by them. There is no vicissitude of faith in these moments when we would pretend to deform lifefulness. There is indeed lifelessness when we are obfuscating our perceptions of surrounding light and denigrating ourselves into nothing more than an illusionistic creation of the moment.

This is a three step process. We must first look at and analyze all that we perceive surrounds us and in doing so disregard the adherence to the patterns that we believe the past had caused this perception of reality to occur. We must then disregard whatever we believe will be the correlation of events directed from the misperceived reality of time, that where we are will lead us somehow to where we believe is the regurgitation of the sequence of days dripping from the goblet coin flip perception of the past. Recognizing all of this, and coming back into the present, we will soon see all of this perception of our current state of presence simply fall away like manufactured walls disintegrated by an earthquake. And allowing this to occur, whenever, and every time we sit to perceive, we will be in nowhere but in the vastness of space. And in the here and now, we will return to the animal mind. To the time before all of this recognition of the material world blossomed us into disdain.

Incarcerated dreams

Lost in loneliness

This is how we trampoline ourselves

Into the cavern beast of lost awareness

Of pretention, of locked inside a prison cell

Imitating the life of a vagrant warrior

Captured on the gulf of Spain

Just south of Seville

Chasing windmills

Don Quixote

Never awakened

Never aroused

From the abstract prison of the mind

Textured into nothingness

Told not to claim anything

Told to accept the shipwrecked float

Told to listen softly to the sound as

It arises from the mystic desert plane

The mythical desert derecho storm arising

On the petulant horizon

Told not to dream, ever

These incarcerated dreams

Always letting the feathers rest on the head

Always fixated on a choir of birds

Softly singing the praises of

Wanton nothingness

Of always calibrating the parade

As it nestles away from the citadel center

Into the arabesque nothingness

Of limitless hill churning caravans

Making their way towards the sea

Always towards the sea

Always t0wards the unison of desert sand

To the beach rot silicon unraveling

Where we would push our toes

Towards the submergence of sand and sea

Into the camel festered wasteland

Where there are no more aimless warriors

Tipping at windmills

Awaiting for the western horizon to once again arise

Awaiting the western horizon

To paramount and plummet

The eastly beast within

To recalibrate the rush of sand

Emanating from the throat of the

Mesmerized gospel singer

Who would sit outside the confines of the café

Having one simple coffee

One simple scone made from blueberry rot

One simple addition to the skin

Of how we make ourselves

Remember a place of forgetfulness

Of slowly detaching

Desaturnating into a pimple of cheese

Of all of our skin dribbling out

Through a funneled sieve

To land in an ancient parable

Of ghosts along the waterfront

Whispering in circles

Hamid, Hamid

Mohamed observing and longing

Setting the feet down to pray at the

Elbow of the knees

The skin bathed in the absolution

Of the tympanic rhythm of the sun

Slowly making its way across the western sky

Into the Eastern eyes

The divination of the sky

 

This is where all of us, any of us

Would sleep and dream

The dreams of incarceration

The dancing feet of the Man from La Mancha

Weaving their way across the desert

Sleep to dream

Awake to arise

Move through the morning mist

Like a collection of cattle

Slowly making their way towards the arising sun

Curtailed in the divested corner of the horizon

 

The dancing feet of the Man from La Mancha

On the eastern desert horizon

Marching in cylindrical uprising

Foot to fist, knee to elbow

Making his way slowly back into

The tatoo’ed forest

Where he will soon

When he is ready

When he is effectively invigorated

Dance effortlessly in windmilled circles

Knowing that the time will come soon

When the vigorous infusion of the soul

Through the energy of the night

Will dissolve into complacency

Into melancholic nightfall

The descension once again of the sun

Down to the foothill toes of the horizon

Beneath the chin of the sphinx

In the desert wasteland

Dead and dreaming

Once again

The dreams of incarceration

Back into the prison cell

In the hearth of the heart

There will be no more extravagant windmills

For this vagrant strain to choose

There will only be complacency

Of the descension into fate

On the shores of the ocean

Collecting the integration of the desert

 

No more hallucinations

Only the stories of the night

The threshold of incarcerated dreaming

If only these grappling festered wounds would heal

There would be no more need for

Blood sucking leech fiends

To drum out the demoralizing gasp of lifeforce

Only just the windmill arms

Of the Man from La Mancha

This was all so charming…

There was a bible written

Translated, transposed, transmigrated

Lifting up the soul with a victim of the terrors

Martin Luther pounding his treatises

On the cathedral door

Advocating for clearance in the dogmatic structure

Of the embryonic capitalistic world

Was it the beginning of socialism

Slowly translating into fascism?

There was no beginning or end to it

He thought, as he painted sunflowers

Within the caustic eternal glowering embrace

Of Gaugin

Constantly marveling over the sunflowers

The depth of their color

The catechism of their never ending length

From the advent of the wilderness

But Van Gogh was merely waiting

Merely biding his time

In chloroform nightmares

Festered over with the observance

Of prostitution portraits

When can we march, when can we not march

When can we merely just have a glass of

Chardant wine

Or vaporous absinthe

Or do we always have to find our way

Into the bedbug infested bedroom

To fuck mindlessly just to relieve the pent up

What? Pent up what?

He never knew. He only noted the history

Of certain artists, unable to take a chance of

Marriage in this material world

And instead defaulting towards

Aboriginal miscarriage of lustful aggression

Not far removed from the primitive man

Advantaging himself over the weakened woman

Van Gogh would paint in patterns

With Gaugin, in Arles

On the cusp of winter

On the edge of uprising socialism

That would soon convert into fascism

Van Gogh did not know this

Trapped in the remnant faucet dribble

Of Martin Luther’s hammer pounding nails

Van Gogh still believed there was

Bespoke religiosity within

Tethered to each individual

To match up with the lingering reverence of faith

There was a principle to it, for it

He believed

Where there was no deistic creation

There was still a Jesus Christ

There was still a garden of gethsemane

That he would try to paint

Which he never could

Before it would always draw out

His insanctimonious psyche

And get him rambling on

Into the deterioration of the bi-polar mind.