Fermenting the Milk From a Prophet’s Tongue

The penumbra of sound
Matriculating in waves
Throughout the diaspora of the soul

Distant corpuscle arms
Meandering and weaving in circular oscillations
Around the body, around the mind
Around the soul

Forever once this was a dispatch
Now it is perpetual grace
No more lingering or longing
No more pretending to be what we are not now

Collected into and gathered
By rapturous rhythm of Dionysian
Trumpet whistler birds singing
In metronome enlightenment
A chirp no longer binds you
A guttural bellow no longer ties you down

Whisper to a scream, a scream of
Didactic disintegration into perpetuity
Whispering around the enticement of Typee culture
Chanting in encirclement with the
Dream cavern manifestations through the
Displacement of the skin through tattooery

A soft petal encirclement of children of the flower
Dance to sing, sing to dream
Dream to slip and fall away
Into the ambrosia of the reverberation skull
Of the night
Of the nighttime arising of twisted feet
Parapet lingering into the castle of deciduous
Forest chirping, choir singing
Too much to never if not ever
Do anything but trampoline our
Attachment to this material world
Into a universal precipice
Gliding over the canyon of integrated
Enlightenment coalescence

Not two, one, the division down into
The absence of separation
Dangling the flytrap guttural cloth wisps
Of fate
This is how we step away from all of it
It all
This is how we meander
Into the plateau of the concept
Of rapturous light
And this is how we plough the anxious mind
Into the revolution of the concept
Of the conscious mind into
A disintegration of dismissed thought
Distilling down and abstracting away
The conscious mind
Into an unconscious deliverance
Through the mechanized wavelength patterns
To rest within the perpetual lightness
Of the penumbra of sound

This is where we would circle
From inside and into the central core
The dinosaur bones pounding together
To create the drumbeat hustle
That we will never walk away from once again

This is the moment of perpetual immersion
The whole whisper of the wind
The soft, subtle, turning to soprano singlet infusion
Emphasizing the collection of metronomic sound
Around, metamorphosing, slowly to collect
All of the echoes and reverberations
Of the soft dance plateau of natural immersion
Soaring up into a cacophony of saturating rhythms
Coalescing into a collective whole

This is the penumbra of sound
Gathering us all, delivering us all
Into the subconscious plateau
Of universal immersion
On the step of the toes
And the weaving together manifestation
Of vacuous breathing away of all of the darkness of fate
Into the universal collective of there were
Never
Any wrong misdeeds that planted us here

Into the collective penumbra of sound
This is where we dance, this is where we sing
This is where we never fall away
With no need to return
Because we have never left this place

 

Tearing too many teeth away

From the gears of fossil bones in the peat moss

They are more caustically meandering, getting away 

 

The diaspora of the arising to greatness 

Within the elliptical web of the stars

Under the panoply of universal 

Caesar compass parameters

They march through the valleys

And over the Alps

On the way of Herakles 

From the midriff of the 

Swiss campground 

To the edge of the earth on the Sagres shores

Winding down to the Milanic center 

The expanding circumference core of Druidic 

Mind expression

 

The oak trees were here

The oak trees were everywhere

Where the Gallic mind could see them

On the solstice pathway towards

Transmigration into unity 

The eleven to the seven 

The twenty-two to the seven

The Pythagorean pie

The Aristotelian crest of a wave of circumference 

The infusion of the Carthaginian advent of the Greek mind

Into Gallic expansion 

Into Druidic faith 

 

These were all of the raptures 

In the footsteps leading up towards the Iron Age

When the community of spiritual righteousness

Moved across the center line 

Through the telegraph canyons 

To rest in the glorification of oneness 

 

The tiger mind.  The tiger footsteps

The tiger wrath of encirclement 

The hedge footed pattens making the translucent life

The focus of the jealous Roman mind

The hills above 

The paltry encampment below 

The distance of the soldieric expansion

Across the fertile planes

Of Gallic crossroads

Of Herakles foot fortress trees

 

The jealously of Roman meritocracy 

The desire to take over the world

To encompass all of the surrounding lands 

To feed the fattened calf mind 

Into a podium placement above every 

Druidic form that was not a citizen of Rome

 

The useless Roman mind

Defusing away the communal composition 

Of Gallic wonderment in the

Expansive embrace of the Druidic

Cosmic rings

 

The Romans encapsulated the soul 

Into the Caesar campaign 

To layer down into sub-classes 

Each and every threshold spirit 

Apparitions in the Gallic communal form 

That would not immediately relent 

Into subservience to the Roman

Self-taught material deistic uprising 

 

The limitless materialistic forces

Incorporated tens to the thousands to the ten thousands

Dragged across the trail

The Herakles way

The Hannibal path

The Roman egoic wrath 

Taking all of it over

To force the diaspora 

Of the Gallic expansion 

Of the Druidic mind

Today was the day

My father has passed away

Today was the day that he has

Ever just gone away.  Never to return

He could have gone to where all of us

Could hover forever in indifference

Imprisoned back into the bath

The bath of almighty wrath

He could have boarded the train of desperation

Where he was waved at from

And was told

“We are going to take you on

And we are going to endure all of this together”

I believe that he let it all go

I believe that he released all of it and everything

I believe that he placed it all down

That when today came, he was not asked to board the train

He was asked to step gently onto the boat

And just calmly drift away, without the automation of life

With only the gentle stream

With only the gentle waves upon the ocean

With only this gentle life

Slowly, calmly, drifting away

Into the vestibule of the light

I don’t know if there was an uprising

Or an arising

I do know that there was a place of peace

I do know that there was a disintegration of the body

And a release of the soul

I do know that there was a place of benediction

A place of the light shining

A place where there was a beacon

Summoning him back into the almighty arms, god’s child

I know that because I saw it

In the brightly lit sky

The early morning the day before he passed away

The sky was lit up with a full moon in the shape of a cross

Just after he and I chanted the prayer of St. Francis

In words or thoughts

“For it is in the giving that we receive

It is in the pardoning that we are pardoned

And it is in the dying to the Self

That we are born into eternal life…..”

And that is when he set it down, and released it

His body eased, his breath expanded,

His temperature dropped and his pulse slowed down

The terror from within all fell away

I sensed it, I felt it

I do know that it happened

I do know that he has gone away

With much less of a saddlebag than he had before

I do know that has has been delivered

Transitioned away from all of

The despotic wasteland of the night

I do know that he has sung

And felt all the glory of the transpiring

Of all of this non-conforming transmigration

And he has lost his place in this material world

I told him that before he passed away

I told him that neither of us

Ever felt like we belonged to

This material world

I told him that

I told him that was ever more of a reason

To let it all go, to let it all fall away

I told him that

And I saw the question in his mind

But then I just saw it all fall away

I told him that he was destined to be lifted up

And to drift away

And today he fully and completely left this world

Although I knew last night that he was mostly gone

I saw him slip away before he died

I saw the boat come and pick him up

And I saw him float away

This is the moment of love and grace

Love and peace and sweet release

Necromancer dancing
To the divine rhythm of the tribute to the soul
Village placards surrounding
Designating to the place
Where all of the vagrant minds will settle
And find their way back to the volition
Of collective endurance
Screaming for the wilderness
In plucked tones
Of holistic restlessness
Circumnavigation of the transmigration
Of the soul

This is how we dance in circles
This is how we let it all arise
Without and within
The melodic flow of integrated greatness
The collective reorganization of everything
Slowly through each catacomb of the senses
The filtration has begun

Seven moon and seven stars
Creating patchwork obedience
To the essence of everything
Painting a protracted allegorical expression
Into the sky

This is how we learn to breathe
This is how we learn to feel
Spinning in the wholesome external aggression
Of the whirling dervish
Reaffectation to the soul

In this circle we have learned everything
We have drawn the us, collectively
Into infinite good grace

Outside the rambling tenements of social disease
We have risen above and escaped it all
But the slow, metronomic methodical
Pattern deliverance
Of coalescing into one
In this circle of oscillating
The tribute to kindness
The tribute to compassion

This is where we stumble upon
Without seeking
Without searching for deliverance
The eternal evacuation of the soul
From the whale breastbone undergird
Prison cell of the slave ship
We need no longer
Transverse across the
Darkened storm Atlantic passageway

We have come to the place of home
We have been delivered
By the slow drip of
Coalescence into the universal unconscious

Where there might have once been limitless fascination
We have now drawn all the chords together
Into a unison choir of tympanic deliverance
The metronome of evaporation
From the I to the oneness of
Everything, it all

This is where we dance, necromancing dancing
Spinning around in elliptical centrifugal
Circles of infusion onto the universal plateau of greatness

Singing the songs of our choir, our collective choir
Where every note that processes forth
From the internal orchestra of universal oneness
Plucking the strings of cheese on the dissonant notes
That would divest themselves from separation
And return us all to the one, not two

Here is where we dance. Here is where we sing.
Here is where we live in the escapade space
Of evolving in and out through the core of the Self
To spin an ever expanding web
Into the universal matrix
Of forever fulfillment

The dance into the wilderness of the soul
Has begun
The universal necromancing dancing
Subservient to the nightly uprising
Of collective oneness

We. Us. Not you. Not it. Not them.
We. Us. All of this and forever
Choose to never leave, and you will slowly evolve
Into the perpetual immersion
Into the atman of forever, everything, everywhere
But even if you vacillate away
This path will remain for you to return
Beckoned by the village placards
Back into the necromancing dancing of oneness

Surrounded by the material world on all sides, on all fronts. And illusion of everything that is all just the blanket of nothingness. Samsara is a cavern of darkness. Immolation for the soul. It has always been. It will always be.

Even where the Buddha once roamed the valleys, forests and highlands, there is very little of any of this that remains.

Despotic dis-settlement in the land of Kathmandu. Where there were once spiritual warriors, where they were once arcane temples of greatness, there is now nothing by tenement remains. Everything is a river of refuse. The streets lined with the decadent despotism of a life focused on nothing but the consumption of materialism. A tawdry affair has drawn out the lingering remnants of the life outside the cascading virtues of the mind and spirit.

Where there were once vast planes of heroic spirit warrior principles of forgiveness to all, there is nothing now left behind but the denigration of the soul. Honking horns, barking malnutritioned dogs lying in the streets. Every storefront is nothing but a foray into materialism, or a replication of some emblem of spirituality that beckons forth for you to purchase its likeness of a deeper mind, a deeper thought.

Denizens of decadence. These are the inhabitants of the city core of Kathmandu. Where is the spiritual essence of this place? Is it hidden behind doorways somewhere? Is there a tendril catacomb cavern where we can embark on a rescinding pathway to circumnavigate samsara and recalibrate our quest towards the divine? Are there any places beyond all of this where I can seek the truth?

Temple monuments are everywhere. The merging of Hinduism and Buddhism on the pulpits, on the parapets. On every strand of ivy weaving through the decaying rocks and stones of a temple graveyard. Where there is now nothing but the blind rush of tourism, there were once prophets in prayer. There were once enlightened creatures of the beyond-maya floating in circular equanimity around the boundaries of this Kathmandu cringe. Sleeping lions in the deathbed of the Buddha. All of the organic placement of the echoing resonance of despotic remains.

There is still a life force here. A real resonant echoing of the chambers of truth, occupied by the cerebral god-like manifestation of platforms of flesh, sitting in the exultation of greatness, of excellence of mind and spirit, on the thrones scattered around this city, everywhere. The remnants and remains of spiritual enlightenment. Placards, posters on the wall. The essence still remains. Lingering somewhere, everywhere. I know that I can feel it, all can feel it. Bursting in patterns around the despotic wasteland of what appears to be all that remains.

But there is more. There is more everywhere. Resonance clinging to the bone. The flesh of truth is nothing more than emaciated. With open perception, you can breathe life into it. You can billow up the flattened parachutes, and allow them to float you gently through the sky, through and over the valley of Kathmandu, whispering in breezes across the mountain passageways. The Annapurna Sanctuary. This is where my feet would fall.

And gazing steadfastly all around, without judgment, without expectation, the expansive eyes of the settled mind will start to see beyond the material trash cover up of the lingering remnants of truthful remains. To see with the glaring eyes of what you would perceive to be despotic denizens, would be truly just like you are, making their way through this material world while maintaining whatever level of adherence to their spiritual path that could and would remain.

Within the circle of the cluttered rumbling of the chaotic dance of this despotic wasteland, there is an echoing pattern of meandering truth making its way through and over the foot stands of these mayanic creatures. This you can swallow whole, and imbibe the breath of peace and solace, within the chaos, to march your way back to the epiphanic platform of salvation.

It is there. It is out there. It is within there. It is everywhere if you await patiently the unveiling of the core of spiritual energy that imbues and embraces it all, here in Kathmandu. It is here. Allow it to nestle you and and permit you to find the good grace of direction for this path.

Inundated by the flood of chaos, we have been overwhelmed once again.  The Buddha was here on his night of enlightenment.  Attacked by Mara and Mara’s waves of soldier assassins.  Coming at him over the hedges of the battlefield.  Stonewall angular matrixes overcome with the aggression of inebriated Viking warlords.  A tunnel, a funnel of aggressive animosity and derision.  Wave upon wave of attack. 

 

But the Buddha would remain steadfast.  Encompassed in solace and solitude.  In the glorious incandescent ascending of the divine.  Accepting all the chaotic rambling derision of the prolonged attack, he invited in all of the overwhelming negativity.

 

Accepting it all, he sat within the eye of the hurricane.  As the vortex swirled around him, he was inundated by the assassin’s jettisoned rumbling.  He was a sluice, a filter through which all the warriors passed by, out and through him without creating one single injury.  He was saved and absolved from any of the rampant chaos by the settlement of his soul.  Of his place in the eye of the hurricane, being protected from all the wayward assassins of Mara who would have maimed and flayed him if he had ever resisted.

 

Resistance to pain would have caused the Buddha endless suffering, and prevented him from achieving enlightenment.  Acceptance to pain prevented any suffering and allowed his material form to vacate his body, lifting him up into the salvation of a Boddhisatva.  And this vacancy of the mind and the body from the soul morphed him into a nascent non-corporeal form within the eye of the hurricane.

 

Saved from the impact of all the chaos, even though inundated by it, he arose, rose above all the kinetic disruption of this place and time, and delivered to all of us a pathway to saving grace for the soul.  For divine deliverance from all the chaotic ramblings, from the attack of nocturnal material assassins.

 

Acceptance of all of this chaos will lead us to the rapturous serenity and safety of divine deliverance.  We too can watch the hordes of Mara descend and gather, form regiments of assassins, and jettison themselves from the darkness to attack us with fear, invective and persecution.  And sitting softly and calmly, within the eye of the hurricane, the waves, the gathering and undulating waves of assassins will merely pass us by with all their antagonism, aggression and derision.

 

Our bodies, our minds, released over by the core of Self and soul will be the translucent filter for all of this chaos.  It will merely pass through us without a single inflection of pain.  There will be no more injuries for us to recover from. 

Acceptance of all the chaos and suffering that threatens to immolate us from the armies of Mara will lead only to peace and grace. To ascension into the divine. And we and Mara will sit down to have tea, to discuss all the hallucinating holistic madness. And laugh about all the pain and suffering that never needed to be. That we avoided and stepped aside from simply by allowing ourselves to sit in calm acceptance within the eye of the hurricane. Peace and grace. Our calm arising into the next stage of enlightenment.

The full moon has arisen

There is joy within the heart

There is peace within the soul

There is no anxiety or derision within or without 

There only is.  There is no was.  There is no can be.

There is only the here and now

There is only the focus of the soul

Limitless moments within these feelings

That wash over like a flood 

To buoy and elevate on the cusp

Of kindness and compassion.

 

There is being.  There is becoming.  There is everything and nothing.

There is only the hushed nestled moment 

That passes by 

While time stands still

 

There is no clandestine effervescence 

There is always the universe, opening up

Extracting itself from the caustic interior 

And emanating the light 

To illuminate our path

To watch our way

To draw us slowly

With measured steps

With measured breath

Onto the pathway, the rainbow bridge 

Into the divine

 

We must not let any of these moments escape us

Be ignored or walk us backwards 

Into the vestibule of denial, of loneliness 

Of fractured innocence 

That leads us away from acceptance 

And into the pretension of some reality 

That has no existence 

That has no genuine articulation 

Away from the deep throated 

Call and response 

Of the ego

Which would draw us away from the present

Which would draw us away from the soul 

Which would plug up 

The slowly sifting waters of the divine 

Moving through us

Like the apparition of our soul 

 

This is the dawning day of the new bath 

Of the ascendancy of the mindful soul

Onto the mountain of healing 

When the sun’s rays 

Enrapture and encapsulate 

The emanations of the full moon

And bring us deeply within the penumbra 

Of their cosmotic embrace

 

Today we will be aligned 

There will be no severing 

Of the bonds that weave our hearts and souls 

Together with the celestial force

Of the Mother Earth 

Who would nestle us in her bosom

Who would lionize the soul 

Who would give comfort to the loss

Who would write the glorified benediction 

For the avaristic predilections 

Of the egoic mind 

And allow us to drift slowly

Backs floating on the water 

Arms outstretched 

Palms to the sky

In the ultimate pose of surrender 

To the meanderings of the universe

We are open.  We are honest.

We are consumed by the light.

Where else was there a benediction?

Where else was there a walking away?

Where else was there a place to find and recognize 

That this is the moment when everything

Closes down, desaturates itself, stands lifeless

And forgets to pull the petals off the flowers

And let them benignly flutter to the ground 

Where they can be formed into a step-upon path

Opening the doorway to some new

Dimension of truth

 

We are all walking away from

Something all of the time

We are ever lost in hindrances

You must halt here

There is something that you have left behind 

That you owe a moment of righteousness to

That you are a linear pathway to

That you owe a moment of kindness to

 

But looking back is never the placation of the soul

That is needed to become 

An unwavering vessel

You must be forthright in your

Abdication of the throne 

There is nothing more that you could do here

To return the soft silhouettes 

Into vapor sensibilities 

There are preternatural patterns

Awaiting you in the darkness 

Beyond the place where you would linger

 

This is no escape 

This is a self-constructed kidnapping 

You only pretended to look away

You have turned your back on nothing 

You have forgotten nothing 

You have never stopped treading your feet

On these clandestine pathways 

 

You had imagined that there was forgiveness 

There is not.  There is only

Clarification of the lack of innocence 

You are unable to become a filter of redress

You are only able to become 

A reaction

Of prognosticated perdition 

 

Whatever it was you thought you had walked away from

You did not

It always remained 

And you only turned your back to it

It was always waiting for you

Because you never removed the cabinet from the mind 

You only closed the door

And hoped that would make it disappear 

It did not

It only kept your fear, your anxiety, your self-derision 

Isolated 

In a place where it could not shrink 

In a place where it could only grow

Escalate to heights unbelievable 

And when you returned to the place

Of unrequited weariness 

It washed you over like a tidal wave

 

Distraught with all of this insignificance 

You have lost your place in time

It is weapon of non-deliverance 

And you have fastened the pistol handle 

To you thumb and forefinger 

You are waiting to pull the trigger 

To continue the assassination 

That you had begun, but left incomplete 

In the cloistered shadows 

Of territorial regret

 

You forgot that you imagined that this 

Is all you are

You forgot that you imagined 

That this was some manifested precipice

Of universal collusion 

Waiting to encompass you wholly 

To never let you go

To never allow a moment’s peace with a cycle 

Of unremonstrated breath

 

You had forgotten that you had imagined 

There would never be any relapse of deliverance

You had forgotten that you had trapped yourself 

In internal dissolution 

Awaiting the silent, iconic, muscle finger 

Warrior cascade of lightning 

To fall from the sky

And designate you for eternal abrasion by fire 

 

You believed that you had walked away

But you never did

And now is the time for returning 

Because you cannot help yourself

To raise the roof of your mouth

And the corrupted passageways of nasal insertion 

Above the cement stingray engulfment 

Of all the lies 

And all the truths

Of all the rampant dislocation and disintegration 

Of pretended justice 

 

You believed there was an escape 

There was not

There is only acceptance, surrender and detachment 

The universal chorus of tripartite 

Dissension from discord 

All that you can do is sing the song

Whisper the chorus 

Chant the inebriation of the soul 

And await the overcoming 

 

It will come. It will rescue you

You must recognize the wisdom and truth of acceptance 

It is the only way to dance through 

The preservation of who you were never meant to be 

 

Do not run.  You will be chased 

Kneel down in acceptance 

The sword will fall

But it will not behead you

It will absolve you of all fear and terror

And give you grace to rise up and stand 

And simply walk away

And never have to escape

 

The rainbows are fluttering

On the edge of the consciousness 

Evaporated water to open up upon you

And bring no more rain

 

The descending of the perpendicular

Cross to the ground

Timber to the root

Your escalator to the stars

To the place above

To the eternal fertility 

That would arise within 

With movement into fire 

Shining over you 

In explosive celebration 

When you would open up and see it all

When you would allow the divination of healing 

To open up every portal within

To pull off every 

Samskara scab

That would cover up the heart

That would emaciate the soul

 

Good governance within 

The balance of power, the balance of might 

The universal sovereignty

When you would rise above

Up and away from everything in that moment 

That would burden down the breath

And keep it from flowing within and without 

 

Imagine that this is everything 

The one day, the one moment

The one breath that would radiate 

Beneath the skin

Because it is

The only moment 

There is nothing more

Nothing ever was 

There is only the delicious throb

Of the air whispering tendrils on the skin

Under the skin 

Through the lungs 

Into the portal of the heart 

 

This is where we all are

All of us, each one

 

There is no hallmark for memories

They have dissipated away with the

Exhalation of the breath 

Good or bad

They do not constrain you

They do not control

They are only what they were 

Where they were

And they are no longer with you

 

There is no summoning for the future

There are no skeletal fingers beckoning

For you to follow them into the beyond 

You cannot see what is happening next 

Because it is not happening yet

It will never happen 

Only the next breath will occur 

Inside and out

And it will lead you into your next space 

Into the next frame of mankind’s

Conception of time 

That actually means nothing 

To the endless cycle of the divine 

 

You are here.  Be here.

There is no was.

There is no what shall be

There are only rainbows

Fluttering on the edge of the consciousness 

Allow them to wash over you

A technicolor flood 

The embrace of the new day

This new moment

Where you are and where

You will never be again 

 

It is now.  It is time.

It is not time, but everything else

The universe will guide you home

“Mysticism is the attempt to get rid of mystery.” — Roger Fry

As Isaac Newton aged, after his fundamental discoveries breached the borders of the human mind, he grew wary of exposing God to the dislocations of science and chose to disembark from his interrogation as truth seeker into a materialistic dictator of the Royal Society, prone to plagiarism.

 

Waiting for all of this to come about 

He was washed over by the tide

Expecting some level of materialistic sanctity 

A silent hovel for his immersion 

While clinging to a despotic well-wrought figure

Who would prop himself up just enough 

To barricade him from the useless pain

 

But he was awaiting nothing

Nothing would draw him in or give him comfort 

Within the terrestrial finger embrace of the left

 

He was covetous for all of these ironic moments 

When he would usurp the plagiaristic soul

And extract forth some level 

Of honest observation

Of the way that prisms played with the light 

To draw it in and refrangibilate it into colors 

Disenfragmented across the spine of rainbows 

Only to recover the wholeness of clear white light 

Of the other side of the mirror 

 

Was he extraordinarily beyond sententious?  He always was

Was he a trepidatious monster?  It is what he would become 

Unable to allow those around him

To escalate in the grace of evolutionary intellectualism 

He would instead cause their souls to rot

Take away his pretentions of kindness 

After drawing them into a mother’s horde 

Relinquishment of doubt 

 

Was there gravity?  There surely was

There surely was the drawing of apples to the ground 

Of the measurement to the mean of the bone of the law

Of the expansion of Kepler’s laws

To measure out elliptical pathways

And reach the threshold of calculus 

 

But there would come a space and time 

When he would disregard the mystic 

When he would set aside the breach of science 

To plummet down the matchstick tenement walls

Blocking the space outside the physical lines of nature 

 

He had accepted it all as final truth 

And closed down the angelic patterns revealing 

The fractal intonation of forms 

Meandering and lingering like 

Holistic ghost vessels paddling surreptitiously 

Up to the shoreline of the unconsciousness

 

To profit up and aggrandize the egoic mind 

To create a circumference of unerring space 

A surrounding viking corral of penitential believers

To protect him from the denigrations 

Of his plagiaristic mind 

 

This was one more episode 

At the end 

After all the discovery 

There was a solace of tombs

Where he would keep sheltered inside 

The seeking mind 

To prevaricate livelihood 

Within the hallowed halls of the Royal Society 

Of the Royal Mint

Upon the platforms of material admiration 

Closing down the prismatic pathways 

That had once delivered him into the divine