| She Comes |
[Dec. 17th, 2004|03:30 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | lethargic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Massive Attack | ] |
Recollect me darling raise me to your lips
Two undernourished egos four rotating hips
Hold on to me tightly I'm a sliding scale
Can't endure then you can't inhale
Clearly
Out of body experience interferes
And dreams of flying I fit nearly
Surrounds me though I get lonely
Slowly
Moving up slowly
Inertia keeps
She's moving up slowly
Slowly
Moving up slowly
Inertia creeps
Moving up slowly
She comes
In my home no chrome as clear as
See me now with my nearest dearest
Been there when I'm over careering
Room shifting is endearing
Between us is our kitchen
Would you found my irritant's itching
Been here before
Been here forever
Moving up slowly
Inertia keeps
Moving up slowly
Inertia creeps
Moving up slowly
Inertia keeps
Moving up slowly
She comes
I make no sound in my eidertown
Awake I lie in the morning's blue
Room is still my antenna in you
Nylon burns the bedspread with two
Gravity's zero see me stall
I bounce off walls lose my footing and fall
It can be sweet though incomplete though
And the frames will freeze
See me on all four's
It's been a long time
She comes
She comes
I want to X you
I caught your radio waves
I caught your radio waves
Will you take a string
Say you string me along
Say you string me along
Say inertia creeps
Inertia creeps and she comes
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| The Ashen Path |
[Dec. 13th, 2004|09:29 pm] |
where did those nights go?
when you have what you want
at last in your grasp
seldom do you realize
how quickly the stars fade.
waste the moment trying to seize it
or waste it, mind wandering:
where did those nights go?
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| Stupidity |
[Dec. 12th, 2004|12:21 am] |
It seems that I have been banned from the Challenging God community for a simple mistake- the tiny penis genius "neven" has been duped by an even tinier cock named irishguy into banning me. Oh well, Fuck them! If these pathetic idiots can't take a hot debate from a woman that knows more than them... then they are perfectly suited to their so-called "religions".
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| Post Mortem Plans |
[Dec. 10th, 2004|02:41 am] |
On another community that I belong to, someone asked what we all wanted done to our bodies after we died. I gave this answer:
* * *
RACHEL'S POST MORTEM PROSPECTUS
Well, first my brain has to be teased out of my head via long slender hook driven up my nose, and discarded, as it (so the ancients of Khem tell us) is useless.
Then, my major organs have to be taken out and soaked in cedar oil before being placed in four sacred Kanopic Jars- followed by my body being embalmed with special oils and stuffed with dried flowers. I have to be wrapped very carefully, with clean linen bandages, with strategically placed amulets devoted to the Opener of Eyes, and the Preserver of Breath, hidden among the folds of the cloth.
I have to be laid out on a bier shaped like the Amtchet Funeral Vessel, and special incenses, (I have the recipes) have to be burned for several days, while the great book Pert Em Hru is read over my body- I may appear dead, but for three days, or perhaps longer, my Ka, my holy double, will hover near my corpse, and it must feast on the fumes of the incense, and recieve instructions from Pert Em Hru on how to lead my BA to the door of Night, thereafter to travel on and face the Terrors of the Duat.
At some point on the fourth day, at least nine slave men or women have to walk in procession, pouring jars of tears before them, as I am carried, now locked in a large ornamental Sarcophagus, to my long-ago prepared Tomb, the walls themselves lined with Middle Kingdom Hieroglyphs describing the various passwords I will have to give at the many Pylons of the House of Night, so that I can pass and move on to the hall of the Judgement of the Dead, there to face Thoth and Ma'at- and the Shemsu Heru, the Sons of Horus, who face all the Dead and give them the examination of the Heart.
I've decided that I want to fail that examination, for those who fail have their soul devoured by the beast Ammit, the eater of the dead, and my soul has always wanted to know what it felt like to be eaten.
As for my tomb, it will be locked with my sarcophagus inside, and large piles of jasmine flowers, and the final piles of smoldering incense. A statue of Anubis will keep silent watch over my body. I will not be returning to open my eyes, because I will be eaten by Ammit, to take rebirth elsewhere. The gentle fields of Osiris' paradise are not for me. It is flesh that I want to experience.
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| Hymn to Sophia |
[Dec. 8th, 2004|12:37 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | listless | ] |
| [ | music |
| | M. Alex Gregory | ] |
* * *
A pure one in tears
Outside of the Garden of God
We cannot know what is best
Mother, rest
Rest us on your breast
Mother, rest
In the valley of Good and Evil
Sorrow fills your soul
Love turns away
So rest
Your head on her breast
Mother, rest
In the Mortal fugue
Desire fills your soul
Love turns to grey
So rest
Your head on her breast
Mother, rest
Show us the way
To the door between day and night
Life everlasting
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| Challenging God |
[Dec. 5th, 2004|04:05 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | amused | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Corvinus | ] |
Yes, a little whining baby can indeed, cause trouble. Poor Irishguy. I didn't mean to spank him so hard and embarrass him at that lj community. I had no idea that he'd be underhanded to convince the brainless, egomaniacal mods to get me banned (lol). I've recently discovered that a lot of quality people have been banned from there. I guess I'm in good company. Of course, the story is far from over... far from over. Small cock little boys. How fitting that they are christians.
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| The Chimney Stones |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|10:11 pm] |
"The old lady walked down her front cobblestone walk, her shiny black boots clacking on the stones, as the young red-haired man ran along the outside of her iron grated fence, yelling and trying to get her attention. He cried out to her, over and over again, asking if she would like a dead hand on each of her fence-post tips, which were triangular, sharp spikes. He assured her that he could place a dead hand, with no flesh, on top of each one. The old woman refused to listen, clutching her brittle umbrella tightly as she opened her door and went inside, leaving the young man with the dead hands outside. He wondered if there were any other old women in that neighborhood that might want dead hands on their fences."
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| Aeneas Seeks to Appease the Shades |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|10:10 pm] |
"One by one, people dropped single flowers into that hole in the ground, hoping, I suppose, that the person they dropped them for would be moved by their grief, and rise up to smell these tiny offerings. But the corpse of the beloved lay as still as the earth that was soon to be piled on top of it. They all prayed a while, and offered more flowers to this small breach, a tearful Floralia held at the rim of this mock gateway to the shade-world below, and then they moved off, some wiping away tears, others checking their watches to make sure they weren’t late for the rest of their day. Two straight-faced men started shoveling the earth into the flower-filled cavity, which the rain had kept from being dusty. As the sound of dirt falling echoed about the yard, I realized that the dead were not actually buried under earth or flowers: what was piled over them was nothing more than the ashes of human dreams."
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| The Strange Years |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|10:07 pm] |
These fragments are from "Drapes Drawn over Daydreams" by my friend who wrote "Gnosis Kardias"
"She walked in the garden of my mind, pulling flowers. Drop for drop, moment for moment, petals fell, laughs echoed, and memories envisioned without sound glided through my head- dimly in the daytime, and passionately at night. In all that time, Nature watched her, growing dark with jealousy at this surpassing creation, this creature of a thousand precious moods. Her beauty was such that any creator would have to destroy it, or be overthrown by it."
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| Expansion |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|08:41 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | nostalgic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Paul Haslinger: Keep watch over the Night | ] |
Earlier, I wrote:
"I feel a fullness from which nothing is lost. I think the yawning abyss is the vision of complete divinity."
To expand on this thought: I have always considered flawed human expectations to be the real culprit in the spiritual walk of life. As we move along our Fated courses, in search of Truth, in search of God or Divinity, I think what we expect to see and what is real may be very different things.
People seem to have this notion in their head, fed and fostered by myths, desires, and drama, that spiritual attainment is accompanied by fireworks, brilliant lights, descending doves, great visions, and ascension through aions of spirit.
But what if the Mystery itself is none of those things, or precisely the lack of anything we can imagine or give label and concept to?
If the Mystery of divinity or Reality was in fact something apart from any "expected" experience, or apart from any label, or concept- then indeed, it would appear to us as a void, a darkness, a great nothingness. We would fear it, for our egos would gaze into it only to see what seems to be certain annhiliation. People who are alive, who sense this, become convinced of the final reality of annhiliation and become atheists. But all they are sensing is the death of something mortal- their egos. They are not able to sense the ongoing life of the spirit. To me, the ongoing life of the spirit is announced in Beauty, and in the experience of Love.
The void or the abyss would be the appearance, to our limited minds, of the great fullness- the face of the divine presence, the Mystery. The beatific vision would be something that cut through all expectations and concepts, truly revealing the beyond, in a worldless, conceptionless way- the genuine mystical experience.
The only way the true essence of the Beatific vision can be "described" is in terms that cannot be stated, read, or written. To say "it was nothing", in the sense of "No Thing" that could be described, is the only accurate statement a person can make- silence alone can describe it, just as voidness alone can describe something that is beyond conception.
This is where trust plays such a crucial role- can we face death, and face the void of darkness, and not panic at what seems to be our oncoming doom? When eyesight fails us, and when all senses are overwhelmed by death, all that is left is what is deep within us, and what we "see" is only a vision of ourselves in the mirror of the void. Can we face the great mystery, a darkness that seems to be oblivion, as the manifestation of fullness? Can we lay ego's need to "be" something aside, long enough to realize that ego's mortal limitations have expended themselves, leaving only the true life of the unlimited to begin?
I see Sophia in the Darkness- I see her womb from which all things arose, including the Light of God. and the greatest spiritual attainment comes when I release myself from notion and concept, and let all that my ego calls "precious" fall by the road-side. What journeys on from that point is what never began journeying and what never ceases journeying.
Here is a passage from "Gnosis Kardias" that I understand much better now, the ending from my favorite chapter:
"...I let my own thoughts go still, and standing next to a snow-white tomb, I finally understood what Fate had brought me here to know:
It is in thinking that we are nothing
That we come to understand what we are."
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| Reptiles of the Mind |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|06:13 pm] |
"The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and he breeds reptiles of the mind."
-William Blake
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| Miserere |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|06:03 pm] |
What do you believe?
Here we sit, beholding a world bathed in sunlight and in darkness, with beauty that only blossoms in transitory flashes, like a hint of heaven or a rumor of angels. Nothing seems to last and pain has a way of drowning out pleasure. Apple bitten, and man has to face the void of divinity, the abyss of emptiness that he is now aware of. Was it always there? Was Ignorance really bliss?
Now knowledge has come and Day is day, Night is night. Good is Good and Evil is Evil. Now man has to stare into the face of loss and emptiness. Now he is cursed and privileged to know his nothingness. Is there something divine there, hiding in the void? Is 'nothingness' itself the appearance of the tremendous mystery, that once man dwelled in harmony with? Is the secret there? Is there any power that cares for poor mankind, wasting away for ages in a world that used to be paradise? To whom do we turn? Whom do we trust?
Is there anyone listening at all? Is the lesson emptiness, or is the lesson trust? Is it trust in emptiness, or is it the emptiness of trust? Sadness must reign supreme now, loss and mourning. Inside that bitter sheen is a blessed (or perverse) sense of hope and beauty that continually manifests, though sometimes it is very slight. Why?
Who is this stranger, hope, this seductress, beauty? Who are they? Whence do they come? Are they messengers of a greater resolution, or the last vestiges of wishful thinking programmed deeply into a dying man? Can you explain it all away, in such a manner that you are comfortable banishing all hope? Can beauty be defined away, just a beholder's preference, empty of meaning, an evolutionary function- or do the mysteries remain mysteries because they are above this condition of man?
If they are above, can we be above, as well? If we honor them, can we join them in honor? If we give our lives for them, are those lives recieved in good faith and trust? Or does any life given come to dust? Is passion waiting for execution, Fated to be smothered and denied forever?
Should I sit here, staring into space, watching graveyards become full, listening to the final coughs and breaths of my grandparents, and despair? Or is there something essential in me that begs me to trust that meaning or purpose is born out of this dark soil?
Is eternity grown from these mortal seeds that are planted in their graves? Despite the seeming of hopelessness, does something greater and better catch all who fall through the melancholy of the human experience? As a human, would I be foolish to assume the worst? Would I be naive to assume the best? Would I be human if I didn't ask these questions? Am I defined by what I finally decide?
Does His face... Her Face... Do Their Faces... Does a faceless wonder peer through in the times when I feel love pulling me from my limits, and when I experience a beauty that moistens my face with tears? Does my asking these questions matter? Does my awareness of anything change anything? Have I been human?
Right or wrong, my heart tells me it is better to assume the best. We may never have absolute knowledge, only our decisions and assumptions. Again, better then to assume the best. Have I surrendered to fear? Am I a naive child, seeing a shape where there is only a shadow? I will live peacefully and die glady with those labels. I feel a fullness from which nothing is lost. I think the yawning abyss is the vision of complete divinity.
What do you believe?
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| Very Light |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|03:51 pm] |
There aren't words to describe how very light I feel inside
How very, very light
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| Fluttering |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|04:19 am] |
I have known a love
So silly, making no sense
A very deep, fluttering love,
Sleepless and sincere.
Now nonexistent birds
Are laughing
At me and these words.
I wanted to wake you
I just wanted to tell you
How much you meant-
What was important to you,
Was even moreso to me.
Even things you thought were trivial
Were pressing to me.
I wanted your every stray thought
To be treated like nobility.
Because I could see
How precious you were.
How precious to this world.
I live with no regrets
Except that perhaps
I ever treated you less
Than this.
What dull marble fountain
Does a mortal such as I
Hold on to
In helplessness
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| Love Razorblade |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|04:09 am] |
I found a fine passage in "Gnosis Kardias", regarding love and Ego:
"Only those who feel and experience love can say what lies beyond- the kind of Love that leads a person to no longer think of themselves before all, but to give all of themselves to another. This love can be for a person or an ideal, but love demands that we give ourselves to another self or to a non-self; and that demand alone can shatter the prison of ego.
True love liberates from the ego-self, while false love only builds a higher wall of ego around us. True love draws us, through the sacrifice of our self-centered nature, into a greater vision of reality. When we can give up our limited selves fully, then we are ready to go beyond the finite and the rational (for when was love ever finite, able to be defined, and when was it ever rational?) to stand in the presence of the infinite and the extra-rational, and to know the Truth about our ultimate condition.
Love for another person comes with a lure- natural sensations of pleasure, orgasms, which cause the body to experience temporary loss of self- showing us that even on the most physical level, love is leading us away from the finite self, towards the death of what we think we know, towards the revelation of what is beyond."
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| Glass Hearts |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|03:59 am] |
It rakes my internal senses over freezing hot coals, when I think of the disregard some people give to the feelings of others.
Nothing in this world could be as dishonorable as taking the heart of another, the trust of another, and the feelings of another, and dashing them against stones at your own selfish whim. When we are in a position of authority, a position of trust, hand poised over the helpless underbelly of another person, who we really are comes out. That is the test. When my heart is placed in your hand, what will you do? Positions of power test us, they are revelations of essential character. This is why trust is never given easily, because who wants to be the one that bares their backside for the test? You stand to lose quite a bit when some self-centered, self-indulgent fool decides to gorge their egos despite the cost to another.
It seems that people are able to relate to others less and less. It's all about number one- you grab what you want, and don't get caught on the way out of the door. I know how strongly I feel. I wish others would stop and remind themselves that others feel, as well. It costs a person nothing to reconsider, for one moment, their words and actions in light of the vulnerability of another's heart.
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