Friday, August 31, 2012

Rotate the Eye of Tarote

I love the cards. I am the cards.
My romance with them is as old and as young as my relationship with existence.

What sifted to the bottom upon my last visitation to these Sages:

"The Cosmic Law changes itself continually throughout the initiative of its parts."

"For pure will, unassuaged of purpose, delivered from the lust of result, is in every way perfect."

Your Demon is necessary but can destroy your entire personality.

And, finally, come to know the deep purpose of romantic love: "the power that wants to guide us beyond ourselves to the divine experience."

Find me, I'll guide you along the river of your own reading.

Courage is the childlike base for power and wisdom.

Above: The Hierophant from the Voyager Deck.
We are Love.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Brilliant Codes and the Notes d'Change

There is a code, and I can feel it, intuit it.

There is a code to this existence within me and without me.

The past couple sun ups moon heart has soared and plummeted. And my brain has discovered pain as it tries to craft moments from emotions.

Time and space as a conception-of-the-socialized-human is limiting. I feel that. I feel that time and space are not static measures with which we can then place ourselves in... to a safe little box, dimensionalized and institutionalized. It's not that easy. It's easier.

I am still toying with my theory for existence (and am enjoying this toying). But what I have insofar embraced is the notion of constant motion
                                     constant change. 

How can change be constant? Is it not therefore static? Aha, paradoxes! I love them because they appear to contradict, just like me. (And you).

I do feel constant revolutions happening in every plucked-up, frozen sense-image (def: the creation of my perception through the senses of the physical, emotional, spiritual). I feel change even in the greatness, especially in the greatness stillness!

And it is not always cool calm and collected
for a piscean dreamer like me, A poet so sorrowful in her bliss.
I feel revolutions happening within revolutions within revolutions
and evolutions and devolutions all over...not just in my own compacted relentless river.

And the change can sometimes and always come as a harrowing hurricane
infused into a waterfall
lashing upon the straining barrel of mine ego. 

 This dimensionalized time we call a "week" has been more of a trip for me. A watery abyss I've whirled up and then interchangeably dived and drowned in.

The element of water in most esoteric knowledge pools and world cultural traditions pertains to the emotions.

I've recently been dreaming many things watery. I've been building up emotions for these very moment of the late Now, the Now, and the near future Now.

I have been bringing forth from my darkest underwater caves some  certain muddied waters.
I have been forced to look at the emotions I desire most to dream away into oblivion.

But isn't just time * space.

So here I go, back to both vivid and vague memories of past lovers, friends, events.

And does it hurt. It's like giving birth I suppose, although I haven't done that in quite awhile.

Because it has much less to do with them as it does with My
                     bound up wound up core of writhing snakes I call my orb, my aura, my energy. 

I feel the pain in my proximal energy allocation... I feel it because it has been mine from the beginning, from the very first time I felt what I would later call by a four letter word, or by one of  twelve letters: excruciating.

And your pain has been yours. And I can never feel it. [I can feel my pain as you feel yours. We can feel pain together. But as of now that's my belief on sensation. They are localized to the individual.]

Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.
Joseph Campbell

. . .It's so interesting how the I find myself in deep conversation with the Universe. . .
 pretty much ever since my slowly rebirth into WakeState (I could talk lengthily about this but I'll simply [aha] equate it to my rebirth into consciousness).

And its so interesting how the Universe places
 people and events before your eyes to Wake You Up Further. 

To get you into equilibrium with all that is within you and without you. To get you back into constant change.

See, we as humans hold on to certain thoughts, when, really, our thoughts must always be in a revolutionary motion.

Oh, my mental chains. Your mental chains. Self-defeating thoughts. They alienate us from our True Self and alienate us from Other True Selves too.

I feel the mental chains like bloody fingers climbing a mountain of burning ice;  I do not stop climbing, but I am hurt in a lazily insidious manner.

 And I am fervent. I am an angry little peregrine falcon or a disgruntled (yet still joyful) bird that hums. I wish to release myself, I wish to be free.

Although the pain is hard...the path to unlocking the static belief-prisons within you is not as hard as one might think...

the Universe shows the way. It does so and it is absolutely downright hilarious. And I mean that in all seriousness.

IF you are looking for freedom, the Universe shows the Way. (And sometimes, if you are karmically endowed, even when you are Not looking).

I have examples right now in the dimensionalized existence of Now called "this week" , where the existence around me, the Universe as I call it, has been HILARIOUSLY upfront with me.

[I should state that for this flow of thoughts to make sense one has to disregard the possibility of coincidence within one's existence.]

See, I am very good at creating for myself  severe disillusionment.  Even in a most notorious mental stupor can I wrap myself up in infinitesimal reptilian thought-codes that leave me unable to move, or incapable of stopping (to breathe). Yeah.

But the Universe can place people and events in my life so that I HAVE TO STOP THINKING and merely

See, my ego could convince me to stay unhappily up in the static prison of my brain, for a lovely eternity. For even if I am unhappy at least I am saved from the pain of a downtrodden ego. Note sarcasm. 

But the Universe does not function in the static behavior of permanent-made thought reptiles.
It, as I mentioned, likes to work in Change. Constant change. [So, in a strange way that hurts my head to think about, it IS Static. Static in constant change. Woowee. I'mma leave that parodillic path alone for now.] The Universe is You. And it Will Change, and It Will Change You.

So here we go. I find myself crying before I type this. Because I meet someone I am attracted to and the pain of all lovers past and present hits me like several layers of several pains from different trains on multidimensional tracks. 

I feel blindsided... I find myself in a philosophy class wanting to rip myself out of my seat, hunt the innocent being down, and  kiss her and obliterate her at the same time.

Quite the mind-fuck. But I know I am not alone in this experience. I've scrutinized enough to intuit that.

And upon the confession of a bird that yearns to fly free, I find the small beginnings of a grand liberation in a typed and mostly unread confession. 

I am so excited to loosen and then burn
with fiery wings
the ropes I've strung with my mind
over space and time.

And I am beyond-words
for the Universe as my (sassy and hilarious)

It is no great wonder that I have always loved the symbol of the Phoenix.
Oh does it burn so good.

Goodnight, I'm exhausted from the fires of life.
See you in the morning.

M .A. R


Sunday, August 26, 2012

Hazy BeforeAfters

Bullet in the Brain- Tobias Wolff (1996)

Read it, it's...brief and timeless.

I've been thinking a lot, per usual. And feeling a lot too. The feeling part is less accessible to me and therefore slightly unnerving. . . .The joy hits me like a bullet to the brain.

It is, feelings of joy, bliss,
that wrap knuckles 'round my spine and womp me like a willow in the wind.

It's something that the cognitive creature within me cannot formulate to destroy. I can never truly describe the feelings of absolute bliss, or of absolute sorrow. I cannot ever truly understand them...if understanding means the computation of the brain into ideas made of words.

For at the end of the day, these words are but lies.

And that is okay by me. Because I feel...and in a way I feel a separation there, a space there

where feelings have room to breathe, unfettered by the chains that words and thoughts compose.

That is why we fall in love
or fall in hate
or sleep at night or relieve ourselves
in bodily functions....

and yet these words... they separate what is inextricably linked...

falling in love and defecating are the same thing...yes, conceptually...ah but can it be described in words?

I will try, albeit lazily. And like Wolff, by being brief.

 :   energy transfer. Motion.

Falling in love or defecating is the building of two "distinct" energy sources amongst a matrices of myriad others. Two organisms blending energies to synthesize another third, separated but connected energy.  And then the energy is built upon built upon built upon, until there is a climax (Any other arising parallels yet?) and then the energy must be released, decreases, dissipates. . .

either in the form of a turd
or a falling out of love....

Now, a turd can further be broken down by other organisms and recycled through the planet and used again,

so too can love be recycled...because one does not just fall in love and it remain this static or perpetually transcending line... no it obeys the cyclical nature of time and oscillates between "highs" and "lows" and deaths and rebirths.

What some call "True Love" (an interesting notion to me) is that "third-party synthesized energy" that is correctly formed to navigate each cycle of high and low, death and rebirth, and transcend in an upward spiral trajectory.

[What do I mean by correctly formed? I'm not damn sure, but I know it to happen. Again, it is beyond words. But, well, here: Correct formation... has to do with everything really... the two distinct personalities, the bodies, the souls, the environments, the experiences of lives past and present and future, and, of course, the True Will of each person. Puzzle pieces that do have the capacity to shift shape, of course, warp.]

I do not believe in coincidences, so I therefore take so-called "True Love" to be an energy transfer (in the form of an upward spiral trajectory) that is a necessary creation of two distinct Life Paths, and a necessary creation that is temporally longer than the majority of romantic relationships in one standard human lifetime. 

If that was discernible, then brava to me. It all makes sense in my head//soul.

Energy. Motion. All deducible to vibrations. All of it.

It is simple and yet, as is broadcasted above, possible of unending complexity.


And the most fascinating part? We have the power to shift our perception. From the most minute details and fancy words

to just feeling bliss when I stare at a tree or any certain youthful soul. 

Wow. And from the emptiness comes light
and it is so dark and
it is so bright.
All that we know is quite
but not quite.
It comes as space and time
but not finite.
So just unstrap the belt,
let the hair flow

enjoy the ride.


M .A. R (todos)


Thursday, August 23, 2012

Feathers and the Ruffled

In my public writings I try to maintain a certain decorum, a certain statuesque composure. Just as the words stream out of me, full of care and control, in this way I do also walk.

I should even more bluntly state that my public "face" is that of saving; I like to maintain my sense of composure. I resort to tall, statuesque and inwardly absorbed when I am most vulnerable. And it works, at least in my mind it does (and that's what counts right?). But I know those other souls tapped into the universal nectar can sense distress no matter how thick the armor... I very well can. 


Love and feelings of lust don't quite float when it comes to a maintenance of composure.

I find myself breaking down again and again when these feeling arise... I a crab on a beach without my shell.

Funny thing is, I can run a lot faster without my shell. And with as much swiftness I so too can die.
Get plucked up by a gull or stamped upon by a beach-struck child.

And that is a scary assortment of choices for a crab.

However, and perhaps this is what makes me human, I am a kamikaze crab. I am aware of the dangers of shellessness and yet shellessness is where I am to go. Where I desire to go.

I am following the feelings of lust. Because I have foolish courage, and because I know in my naivete that I must do what I am most afraid of.

That is, pursuing my desire. 

I mean that in a eros way, and even an agape way. And I don't mean holey, oh wait, I do. Aha! (So very punny. If you got that you get a point! for attending catholic school or any school.)

Desire. I mean, my drawings, paintings, masturbations, and sideways smiles. I also mean the desire in another's eyes... the sudden dread of realizing how clearly you can see yourself in those two soft shards of glass...

                                         down the rabbit hole of love/ fear

I am delightfully terrified. And equally as blessed.

For my intuition guides me Into and Out Of situations.
And I have quite a high bounce-back rate after being devoured by a seagull.

And, ah, thank you me, I have courage.


To follow my fear desire fear desire   fearire.

Woo Woo, thank you Link. If I had to choose one angle of the triforce, I'd choose yours.
....Actually no, I choose Zelda's cos wisdom knows of courage. Regardless.

Courage, Patience, Permission.

[Insert allusion to the benefit of meditating upon these three non-actions here.]

I want to love, deeply and romantically... cos its been a windy path up the mountain and I feel it is about Now that I truly connect on a soaring cliff-face;

for too long I've been cloud-hidden,

whereabouts unknown.

Follow your fears and your greatest frustrations... therein lies your peace. 


M .A. R

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Loving the Little Person Inside You

I feel as if my intuition is that of the universe's, and I feel that I am unraveling it slowly. What I mean to say is, I feel that I am growing in my capacity to intuit. 

I notion now, instead of feel, that this is because of paradoxical phenomenon I observe. 
Surrender to obtain.
Orange-red sand through your fingers. But in a way that now sleeps the whole desert between your toes. 
The cognition and the ego, creating static in the carpet shuffle of the analytic life. Why? Look up and breathe without thought for awhile; it is from up there that lightning comes.
 I am brought to a state of syrup sweet delirium when I watch trees dance in the wind on Hogwarts thee Second Universe-ity. And everywhere, really. The notions are gone, of maniac or of saniac...
it doesn't matter anymore, the labels, the value-judgements. I am more entranced by things that be.
Like birds, dragonflies and the black-and-orange bug that pooped on my thumb in the art quad today.

Things that be. Things that be-come. Todos, all of it. And we are so lucky to be surrounded by and inside and outside of a great teacher, the greatest teacher. . .
The answer belongs to breath and thoughtlessness.
And always, remember, to laugh.
Said defecating bug, Sir Poopy Thorax; A Multicolored Asian Lady Beetle Larva(so cute!)
I am awfully greedy; I want everything from life. I want to be a woman and to be a man, to have many friends and to have loneliness, to work much and write good books, to travel and enjoy myself, to be selfish and to be unselfish.
— Simone de Beauvoir

There is nothing more tedious, puerile, and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.
— Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse

M .A. R

Monday, August 20, 2012

Hylian Fields and A Re-start

Two quotes to start off a new chapter of time, the sands, of which, are not cruel this time...
Green is the color I see, and a dance is happening all the time, the dance of those that be. A tree!

“Gratitude is an attitude that hooks us up to our source of supply. And the more grateful you are, the closer you become to your maker, to the architect of the universe, to the spiritual core of your being.” - Bob Proctor

“I just do not hang around anybody that I don’t want to be with. Period. For me, that’s been a blessing, and I can stay positive. I hang around people who are happy, who are growing, who want to learn, who don’t mind saying sorry or thank you… and are having a fun time.” - John Assaraf


Be your own masterpiece, and do not doubt the reasons for your existence.

Leave a trail, if for no other reason than to inspire another.

Love. So much Love.

M .A. R

Sunday, August 19, 2012

You could call it Saturcray, or Whatever

Saturday died, it is Sunday.
It's a beautiful thing.
Which we could not have if we have not the ugly.

Funny how that works. And, also, grave.

And with the passage of time I will learn quietude and I will learn slowness,
and in these beings I will have a unparallelled loudness and a mystical swiftness. Only through this change will I find Free.

I met Allen Ginsberg today. He is in a new body, bright and burning sweetness.

I met love too, in eyes and sounds and lights and tree's embrace.

I write a song of a final chapter of a book written long ago. To whom I am addressing you know:

I won't swim the river
for you
above my bones
runs blue

I wont swim the river for you
when there are so few
that know
red turns blue
what bleeds grows back
my friend

dont make your river
for two
its you, yours
a brilliant blue

here's a tribute
to your airies
just the fire not the sign
all you see

swims away from me

your rivers not my river
your place not my place
I wont look down the river
down the river floats your face

dont make your river
for two
its you, yours
a brilliant blue

dont believe your river
a desert
i see the current
blue and unfettered

how can you know
if you've never got in
that theres an unending depth
it's just stretched thin

dont make your river
for two
its you, yours
a brilliant blue x2

 Love, Infinite,

M .A. R

Friday, August 17, 2012

Patience and a Poem

An older poem of my youngness:

shipwrecked in the tidal free
the sea unfurled its rescuing .
winged around my desert scene
cooped me close in emerald green

now I cry for things unsaid
and shoot arrows off my head
my heart is heavy with dis-ease
moans palpitated symphonies

wonders briefly of a future thrown
in coins or pots or ivory thrones
where flames of candles show graceful Shiva
and death's dance relieves Maria

its weighted waltz of the lucid know
is thoughtless quick and thoughtful slow
I contemplate a fleeting kiss
and lose the truth that all is't lips

a double crescent the sky does grimace
dream caravan door with painted gibbous
a tip of the hat to my virgin insanity
capped capsules completing
lunic lucidity

please, kill me
so that I may live.

Another poem of folly:

It's queer and so amusing,
how i've given and taken to be,
a conscious fool and magician's seed,
planted deep within my mettled Burroughs.

Rabid being in the waxing world,
I yearn to see, beyond my crescent sheen,
where guttural bliss is as monstrosity,
and life is true in awesome monotony.

It is all one, one head, one hole,
one peek through the burrow,
I yearn to feel it all
over and over again,
in a philosophical gluttony,

so that I may learn to respect
this natural order, this higher power
that is within me and without me

Respect and Reverance
for you; for you and I,
I am that is,
it is, as is,

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Imponderability and Patience

I like patience. It's following me like a yellow whisped smoke 'round an alleyway.
Patience is practice, practice of slowness, and it is most auspicious in the life of love.

I am greatful for my ability to step out of mine own ego.
Some call that empathy.

Fixed selfishness is abhorrent to me. And even some of the best intentioned fools have it.

And yet, there is still love. So much love. A word or more can do no justice to the feeling that Livers know. That feeling.
Another kind of drunkedness.

Oh it is true, you reap what you sow.
I pretend to, but nothing, I know.

A lot I do feel.
And exist I do too. If only in my own mind.

But a tree never did.
Mind, that is.

Love. I am so happy I am a fisherman of it. Born to be. 
I wrote something this Indian summer I'd like to share:
We are ancients returning to empty woven space, energy allocations in a holographic universe of paradox; of order and of chaos; of suspension in tautness.

We return to fulfill fate. We are called to bring not judgement but Lady justice, the divine scales, the balance of all.

The static beliefs of our predeccesors attempt to make our energies complacent; to spur us into a spyrillic doubtfulness that only mutates our Will. 

We tap further into our DNA to acknowledge not "progression" of a ( falsely considered) "superior" race(s), but for a reason simple in its archaic foundation. The reason being the collection of infinte energy within the Neo-ancient Conglomeration's solar plexus; so that the Will of All may come at last, so that balance may be maintained once again, so that yin becomes yang and then sifts down to become one. And thus all shape, color, direction, and sensation become One.

Allness, nothingness.

[I am merely the hand and the computing head. I could not understand the implications.
Perhaps, for a moment.]

Motion IS poetry. Aha! Click it!

I hope that any one who reads this anything begins.
To believe in their artistic skill.

For living is an art.
And you are an artist.

Believe in your power.
For it is that which you unearth from the unlimited caverns of creation.

And nowhere you need travel.
It is wherever and whenever.

If you keep still enough to feel it.
It is right here.


~ Patience ~

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

The Sea of Bitterness

I was the Wished for child.
If there ever were a poem...this'd be it:

The Sea of Bitterness

Over the sea of bitterness resides
the deepest of blue skies, so deep
that the tongue of the angels is lost
within its reflection of the waves

that sing softly to the sparrows
who fly beneath the sun

I wish to meet you
I shall meet you
I wish to meet you

upon some distant shore.


If I only knew...


M .A. R

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

And What of It? desire

This ego is universal.
Talking to her, I see, it really is.

My stomach aches, in love and indigestion.
Why do I desire what I know I musn't?
Emotions, vagary beyond words.

And I just want strokin'

a secretive black predator,
my shoulders like thick turbines,
pumping in the night

impulsive yet slow,

eyes alight in internal fear
of cold calculation
a terror in the killer's iris

clenched jaws,
of fate
neutuered fruits,
of attempts

to escape death.
Anger in a panthers
only action

climax caught in taped repeat,
it is the horror
of an
ecstatic forever.

Why can i not kill without the burdensome death of satiety?

Why the eyes, again and again?

Why do I know,
know to care?

Can I not feed,
be fed from the trees?

A hummingbird beats her
 bodice against cosmic sea, 
"all that you say you are, perhaps"

 Ah, I've got rhythm. . .


Soon the child's dear eyes
 become clouded by ideas and opinions, preconceptions and abstractions;
simple free being becomes encrusted by a
 burdensome armor of the ego.

Not until years later does
 an instinct come that a
 vital sense of mystery has been withdrawn.

The sun glints through the pines,
and the heart is pierced in a moment of beauty and strange pain,
like a distant memory of paradise.
After that day,
we become seekers.

Peter Matthiesson

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Clock, What A Frock!

11:11 pm. Somewhere. Here. And Elsewhere.

I remember high school math class. And how I don't like feeling my time being wasted.

I suppose my design was not built-to-be-fulfilled upon the arrival of a number after sequence upon sequence upon sequence (to the nth power). I could never see the point of it. It was too much detail, too little concept. How did trigonometry apply to the real world? I couldn't, back then, grasp that.  When I asked an instructor, I recieved sighs of exasperation. And thus I continued my doodling.

But ah. Growth. The navigation of a compounding spiral pattern among many others. 
I found, now, I love numbers. Perhaps not the academic, institutionalized "mathematics" of 21st Century Reptilian World. But I do love numbers. Number sequences. Mmm...numbers.

It happened over time and quite sneakily, as things like love and numbers do.

I realized that numbers were symbols. A universal language. And boy do I love anything that has one horn or one verse.

So I began to watch numbers. Everywhere I went I paid more and more attention to numbers. I wondered, perhaps, if numbers were tools for enlightenment.... if they were a simple, secret code.

This tiny and deliciously irrational thought brought me to the library. And thereupon I found numerology. The so-called "pseudoscience" that analyzes numbers and number sequences. It is an esoteric pond of knowledge. Esoteric meaning hidden, meaning underground, meaning radical.

And, in my life, numerology is valid.

Like a little number scientist, I am gathering data. And my data pool is quite interesting and exciting.

Could numbers be attached to thoughts?
Or, differently worded: can levels of consciousness be attached to other levels of consciousness?

I don't see why not.

What I've researched and experienced --

111, 1111= a positive and new thought or thought pattern, a positive new beginning

 222, 2222= a positive and established thought or thought pattern, "keep it up!", affirmation.

There is a lot more than the two examples above. Ancient and modern day cultures attribute meaning to numbers. Where did they derive the meaning? Mystery schools, sacred knowledge, archetypal analysis? Perhaps. I cannot surely say. 

I do, however, see number sequences crop up when I am IN THE PRESENT moment. And when I do see them, it is a sign to me, and I act accordingly (with respect to my intuition and rational judgment). They won't tell you where to go or whom to associate with...but they are little guides as I see it. They are an "ethereal opinion" I believe. Like the universe's whisper. 

Of course, all of this exists only if you're listening for it. Again, the magnanimous power of perception. You do paint your own existence. 

My existence now has added numbers for paint. Like the Matrix.

Numerology as a whole intrigues me for several reasons. The idea I most enjoy is that which affects me on an emotional level (...such a Pisces). When I am in any situation and see positive affirmations like 111 or 222, on a license plate, store window, t-shirt graphic, you name it, I get giddy. I think, "YES", and feel synced up with my life path. I feel like I'm either in the right place or "right thought", and therefore I have purpose in that moment. It changes my mood entirely for the positive. And wherever I am I approach it with a renewed purpose. It very much enhances my life, if only in a placebo-like way. 

Call it self-fulfilling prophecy, call it whatever you like. But I use it and I am enchanted by it. 

Who says you can't decode magicke on a train station billboard, or on the ticket the police officer just handed you?

Love it.
And Love, to you too.

If you are interested:

And hello Arcata by the bay. I missed you. Crimson tress bleed all over me and I'm but a Lady Grinning Soul. Here we go. I'm getting higher and higher and higher.


  p.s. My first word ever spoken in this body was 'clock'.

 M .A. R

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

A Free Fool, At'all

The sands of my desert brain are still sifting; from long daze and surprisingly short nights.
I need to expel a few lines so that I can sleep for a little while longer.

I venture to master the art of breathing.

And because I know I am a fool, I am free.

Also, I love humans, trees, and everything in the in betweens.

I strive to reach this new end goal... to shear the obsidian lock of a black sheep.

Naked pink love making. Lets do it. Lets all practice love to our Self so that we may love all that is not our Self (I do prompt you to question the distinction).

I've also found utter joy in thinking like a cow.

I say g'night, and hand you a universal breath of a kiss

Monday, August 6, 2012

RADICAL: A Manuscript

           Written: March or April 2012


The only true aristocracy is that of consciousness. -D.H. Lawrence

It is a Sunday, 9:57 PM in a small town of Northern California in the United States of America. I am sitting in a studio apartment with central heating and slabs of concrete and lock that guard me from the outside. One can hear the 21st Century Western World’s symphony; the refrigerator hum, gas heater and “Smart” meter drone, and the clicks of cellphone and laptop. My tap water gushes with fluoride and high fructose corn syrup sits in most of my food. Unperturbed by these facts, I feel placid, so warm upon this frilled carpet, with instant tea from my gas stove. This is Now. This is a blip in time and space where every action of every genealogy of the entire planet (and many argue galaxies beyond) has culminated in this moment. Not in a linear structure have these moments compounded, but in an intersectional way, criss-crossing like matrices upon matrices, like spiral fractal equations. With each sun and moon exchange, the spiral fractal of the universe further propels, both sustaining and sustained by each moment, action, and idea. My eyes bathe in the disinfected light of a Macbook© and I see that change is inevitable, the only true constant. Political radicalism already exists in the bodies of humans new, and old; it exists in all bodies of today. It is a root felt deep underground, and beginning to be realized.  
Political radicalism, at its very base, is movement. It is energy that transfers and changes existing human organization. It cannot be not defined in a linear fashion, as in who or what. And it cannot be answered in some singular magical instant of time, as in when. Like an infinite spiral fractal, the existing social narratives that shape the inside and outside of my apartment are corroding and reforming under the cruel sands of time, the changing frequency of color. The when, funnily enough, is NOW. Merely existing and surviving today, in a system that does not value humanity beyond monetary standards, is politically radical. The root of political change is in a rebirth of a widespread Consciousness that, I argue, is the vanguard of political radicalism today. This awakening is happening now, could not have happened without the totality of all that came before, and is the movement. It is not an isolated happening in houses of white or in one major protest movement, but rather in the physical bodies of millions of people around the globe. This movement to consciousness is political radicalism. As Herbert Marcuse states in One-Dimensional Man: “[People] must come to see it and to find their way from false to true consciousness, from their immediate to their real interest. They can do so only if they live in need of changing their way of life, of denying the positive, of refusing.”  
The Conscious Vanguard, the root of radical politics (yes, they, the root of the root) are not merely those who exist, but those who are conscious of their movement, and use the force of such to envision a reality not yet born. They are propelled to create change, inevitable and new. The propulsion is a necessity, a reaction to the current social organization that breaks apart not only nature but man, to exploit the whole world of itself, like a self-masticating goldfish. Just as Karl Marx described the necessity of capitalism to birth a communist future, the present global society that falls into an ever deeper self-estranged sleep paves the way for a universal awakening of one which is Conscious.
The actions of the growing Conscious are sparked by inner truths found in their waking, which now begin to erect the vision of a world that is true, that is one, and not falsely scattered in isolating narratives. The theorists we’ve perused so far analyze the epoch of a fragmented world, and here, now, I offer my observation of the growing synthesis of the universal soul in an inevitable and radically changing world. As the current institutions of these broken worlds whirl deeper into disparity, more and more individuals search for their true purpose and awaken not only to individual truths, but universal truths as well. In this search beyond narratives and numbers they realize that the earth, too, is whole. The era of analysis is over, and the synthesis is beginning. I argue that the inevitable synthesis, of conscious body to Conscious world, is the politically radical, Now.   

Love, by its very nature, is unworldly, and it is for this reason that it is not only apolitical but anti-political, perhaps the most powerful of all anti-political human forces.”
-Hannah Arendt, German Political Theorist (1906-1975)

The tagline for the current US Occupy Movement is “Love”. In fact, a documentary titled Occupy Love succinctly explains the unexplainable—love as the force for revolution, love as radical. Love, a movement in itself, simultaneously strengthens and is strengthened by consciousness; they function in an intertwined symbiosis. Consciousness manifests itself in the ever-growing recognition that we are made of this world, not apart from it. Love, which is enhanced by a growing consciousness, is the “logic of the heart”, the expression of the innate human spirit. When feminist theorist Chandra Mohanty envisions the “forming of strategic coalitions that cross class, race and national boundaries”—as well as boundaries of gender, age, and ability— consciousness and love become a unifying force for an intersectional and eclectic humanity. Charles Eisenstein, who speaks in Occupy Love and is the author of Sacred Economics, describes the visceral unifiers of consciousness and love as:

“[T]he felt experience of connection to another being. An economist says 'more for you is less for me.' But the lover knows that more for you is more for me too. If you love somebody, their happiness is your happiness. Their pain is your pain. Your sense of self expands to include other beings. This shift of consciousness is universal in everybody, 99% and 1%."

Eisenstein senses an awakening of a new universal consciousness as a reaction to the current mass suicidal reality. The present survival and growth of the Conscious Vanguard is inherently radical, for they are not only the conduits of consciousness, but of love as well. These people, who may or may not yet know it, allow for a future that is today’s antithesis: a return to love and human essence. Just as Marx spoke little of his ideal communist future, the details of a Conscious World where love trumps money are presently unimaginable. However, unlike Marx’s communism that never truly came to be, this present reality depends upon it for survival; capitalism cannot adapt to a situation where there is no more room for growth. As of now, the planet Earth needs a miracle to save its biosphere, and humanity needs a new world system of sustainable living. It is impossible for these goals to be met within the patriarchal capitalist system we live in today. But it can become possible within the infinite potential of the human spirit, within the shift to consciousness and the forging of a creative community.
As Friedrich Nietzsche scrawled in the moments before his imprisonment, the only savior of a diseased humanity, the only direction to consciousness, will be art. Art, or more broadly the act of creation, can be done only in consciousness. No art is done without direction and change. Our ability to create gives our lives meaning through movement; whether it be in creating solar panels, vegan cookies, dance routines, theoretical dialogues, writings, etc. Furthermore, in a shared creation of two or more bodies, we share unique abilities and our consciousness and innovation grow infinitely more. Eisenstein speaks specifically of the profound bonds built upon shared creation versus the false bonds of shared consumption. The bonds of love and community are solidified through shared imagination— compared starkly to the society that wishes us only to consume ever more, regardless of the consequences. If humans are to survive on the planet, creation must be about creating community and combating isolation. An example of community creativity is in the budding Occupy movement, which holds the idea of “gift economics” as its vision. The movement forwards the idea that each and every human is a creative individual who can share their unique talents within a community to enrich it, ie. sharing their gift. Occupy sees the “gift economy” as a direct shift from a “money economy”. This notion, although newly imagined today, has existed in time before. And in as much time as it took to deviate from creative communities, it shall take many cycles to return back (as well as certain areas of transcendence). Ye, it is here now, radical and political. It all begins with the birthed consciousness of an individual, who then recognizes their universal community.

"Dismayed by the actions of political "leaders"? Toppling any particular rulers, cliques, or elites is irrelevant unless we overthrow the sour, puckered mass hallucination that is mistakenly called "reality" -- including the part of that hallucination we foster in ourselves. The revolution begins at home. If you overthrow yourself again and again, you can earn the right to overthrow the rest of us." -Rob Brezsny

Politic theorists the world over have speculated as to a return, or transcendence, to the true essence of the human.  Although Fanon sees violence, not love, as the cathartic return to consciousness, he still wishes for those oppressed to recreate their individual and communal identities. He succinctly states, “the rebel’s weapon is the proof of his humanity”, illuminating on the idea that a return to self is what is needed to reverse the hierarchical oppression of humanity. The community bonds that develop through creation, not destruction, (as in Fanon’s cathartic violence) are more potent as they produce rather than obliterate. The productivity of communal creation not only provides evidence of synthesized personalities, but allows for the sustainment of a society, where life is art, and life is conscious. A life of art is the antithesis of what Foucault describes through the analogy of the institutions of punishment in modern society. He sees non-corporeal punishment, or violence against the mind, as a reshaping tool of the soul that fragments communities into isolated, mistrustful individuals, estranged from their communities and themselves…entirely asleep to any notion of consciousness and oneness. A society where punishment is replaced with creation, allows for community members to have purpose in their lives and to maintain consciousness. Without consciousness of our universal reality, without the recognition that everything is connected and we are all One, there appear cavernous spaces for violence. Foucault aptly describes the society now that begins to fall out of its disillusioned dream, in the bodies of the Conscious Vanguard.
Although the abstractions of love and consciousness are revolutionary instruments, the path to universal consciousness is not as clear cut and simplistic as stated in the previous lines. Consciousness begins on an individual level, within one’s self. For such awareness to take place, the environment must be conducive to self-exploration. A certain sense of safety and foundation must be had for humans to delve into their creative expanses. This safety must come from community, for today our biggest fear is not of predators in the jungle, but rather violent other humans and their institutions. The institutions of today function to reverse any such chance for self-awareness. Michel Foucault amasses a genealogy of a societal internalization of docility that has so plagued contemporary man. As in the Panoptic architecture of our fragmenting and oppressive institutions, the threat of an ever-watching, all-seeing eye has lulled the people into a frightened and blasé “walking-dead”. This passivity can be witnessed in the societal obsessions with consumption: a globalizing culture that imbibes exorbitant amounts of food, product, media and drugs.  As both Foucault and Frantz Fanon describe, docility affects not only the so-called civilized world, but the colonized world as well. In either case, of master or slave, docility is required of each man. An estrangement from the soul occurs in either the exertion of power, or the submission to it. Today’s society relies on the estrangement of all humans, those “powerful” and those powerless. This totality of docility is a disease, a euphoric unhappiness; one that gradually but forcefully necessitates a shift to consciousness.

All motion is cyclic. It circulates to the limits of its possibilities and then returns to its starting point. -Robert Collier

A finger could not fall from above into this spiral multidimensional planet, complex and yet simplistically universal, and point out the Conscious Vanguard, the directed creators of a new future. Some of them are dead, in the soils, and some are reduced to abstract thoughts. Some build solar ovens in a sunshine state, some meditate, and others help children learn to sing. In infinite more categories, creative communities exist and are further arising. For however cunning, resilient, and adaptive the current system of power-relations finds itself to be, the human race is that much more cunning, resilient, and adaptive. The Now, this very moment, my eyeballs glazed over a disinfected white-light screen, I can feel the humans around me, those awake and those at the end of a docile dream. As they wake up more and more, new ideas and the ideas of those long gone are reawakened within them, and the shifting of a paradigm happens. I am aware of what surrounds me, and I become more so each day. In my art and in my thoughts, I share beauty and I share dialogue. And although I am but one individual, I feel wholeness with my being and every other being. I now choose to be a precious element of a creative community that already exists, deep within my heart. From the Occupy Movement to my radical political theory class, I know I am not alone. There awakes a Conscious Vanguard. 

A Certain Surrender

"Forgive her for she knows naught what she does."

Courage. Projection. Little worlds walking around to make a unified functioning force. Without all of our composite perceptions...what would be? I realize the value of my perception but am also deeply moved by every other perception I see, shining off like flashlights from bodies. The auras, the orbs around me, so brilliant. Even if my wide vibration finds itself dissonant with another's energy, I still see brilliance in their very ability to transmit. Their existence is brilliance.

I feel fear when my energy is intensely congruent with another's. When I seem to have known this person long ago, in an intimate garden of a now-stilled ripple of time. When eyes kiss and I have trouble distinguishing whose soul is behind which set of windows. That terrifies me. More so than any hatred or evil I've ever known. 

I thought for a long time I was insane due to my perception. I thought for a long time that I could not be understood by any other perception. (I only vaguely understood my own.) And I, to this day, keep it trapped in the caverns of my being.  And yet I am giving it light, slowly. I am trying not to blind it while I begin to show it to the world.

My perception is one of holiness and pink rose petals.
I see as I see.
I sometimes sea.
A graceful lake like a mother.
Or a thunderous monsoon, wrathful.
I see energy movement.
Sometimes, I do not see people.
I see giant swaths of color moving around.
I see noises and thoughts.
 Richter scale implosions.
Or quiet loving inner sighs.
Sometimes I cannot distinguish.
A tree from a person.
Sometimes a tree is louder.
I see that.
Humans can kill their own color.
Mute their sound.
A tree is too wise.
They readily absorb wisdom. 
In their Surrender. 
Perhaps humans are too afraid.
To be wise?
I still seek.

I sea, softly.
For I know.
An answer always begins with something.
A question. 

Unraveling, my mind is. I see a long spyrillic (the adjective form of "spiral") sky-way, of my past lives and my future lives. It is overwhelming but it adds depth to my existence Now. I realize that the rabid whispers of my ego and the games people play with each other are not too important. The totality of one's self-conception is just a house that one keeps destroying and repairing. There is more to this existence than house maintenance. There are many houses, of yours and of others. The meaning and fulfillment that I now search for goes beyond the house... goes beyond our ego and our acceptance of the "house it has built", aka. the conception of our self. All the thoughts we consistently think and rethink to reinforce our base structure and beyond....well I know there is more to life than that. There are secrets, existing right between my eyes, that I desire to understand.

I have lived many lives before this one, Now, where I am called by such and such names and have such and such self-conceptions. And I believe I am alive now to expose and understand universal truths and enrich the experience of existence. And, as I so often have to remind myself, I am not the only one. 

I am not "insane". The concept of sanity is entirely subjective and entirely infinite; rightly so, as it is in accord with universal order. Only the rigidity of socialized thought creates dissonance within an individual: when they ask themselves, 
Am I sane?

And truly, if your flashlight aura flashes even a little bit, you have asked yourself that question at least once. (For me, the written amount could fill a library.)

Only in accepting the plurality and infinite capacity of perception can one surrender to their "looking glass", and lovingly accept their perception as what they have now. Then, questions of one's sanity dissipate. And the beautiful aria of a weeping willow surrender can fill the ears and brain. And you can begin to love your perception, your holy rose petaled lenses, and search even further.

At least, that's how I see it.

"Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave."
                                                                                          ~Rainer Maria Rilke


Friday, August 3, 2012

Quote es of the Daze


"Time is a pond to which one's hand can delve in, to which one's fingers can play an active measure; in infinite capacities, in all moments of all times."


"My terrestrial destiny shines like insane diamonds in the blanketed above. The codes of my path are painted in the constant elated moment; the land knows the electric constellation. The matrix loves me, and winks me my short plug movement." 


"The opening of a lost lidded glass of looking; the bridge atop the pyramid."

Gala On My Mynd

Title: I will create a society that respects my libido.

The quiet companionship
of earth and water;

of dirt made mud,
and rivers upon mountains; cascading murky movements,
illustrious love and lust.

The force of this fellowship, penetrates the hatred of fire
and brushes aside the wind.

The panaroma is caught in still time;
a bloodless bleeding
of a wounded healing.

C'est La Veil


A Citrus Witness

I am a symbol builder
and they come to me.
At the end of the day I find it
too early to see.

Although I am in pieces
I oft wish I was complete.

But broken skies do craft
a woven sea;
of stars
of stones
of hearts that bleed.

All is One,
and not ironically.

Unhinge your windows
and take a peek.
Your eyes are the road
from which your soul; can
can gallop,


Lay the brick
and trick; or treat.

The choice is yours
to hide; or seek.

At path's end lies a key,
the cajoling way of infinity.
To accept this;

 is limitless,
possibility, gives one a unicue and
unending energy.

For that which is bent
is straight.

And that which is love,
is hate.  

So pave your way
in any way, its
too close
to say;

which is fake

or which is fate.

The truth is final:

the lemon isn't real.  

August 3rd, 2012

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

I Believe in Magicke (Me)

I believe in magicke. With, or without the i'ke'. I believe, because I am being cracked and crushed into a most beautiful rolling river. There is such power in gentility. 

I mean not those who wear oscillating crowns or false guises of Sir ego. 
I mean that there is a devastating strength in quiet, plurring, gentleness.

I mean, the strength of a tree.
A damn tree that hits me with waves of browns and greens. A quiet figure among figures that does nothing perfectly. Just as a wise sack of flesh said, and I mutated: "A tree is gonna change my world."

 Well, it will. The silent bounty of energy that trees and rivers hold, now take ahold of the what I call by many floating names: the Conscious Vanguard, the rainbowarriors, the New Aeons, the eternal NOW. 

You, perhaps, if you want to. It's not as easy as a bloody pill.

I believe in magicke because I see it in every movement of every moment,   rarely ever using mine eyes.

Magicke is your intuition, your instincts, even your entropic primitive desires.  
It is you. It is also a tree.

Do you question NOTHING as you are raised in a society that calls itself by the prime number 1? As it degrades your very soul at the moment of your slime-caked escape from your mother's limp labia? All the social constructs barrage you with self-deprication, brain-wash. It is loathsome how loathsome of your self that they make you. They, they, they. 


They. Ah, the irony of the human condition. The socialized-human condition of this reality.  ...The irony, is that so-called "they" Us. The blind masses support this wide-spread  hallucination. Not of course without the help of technological mind altering and the happy shit they put in the tap water.

Blind masses. 

Cure= Consciousness. 

And, yes, it begins with the self. Recognition of the Self. 

Not the Socialized Self, not the mosquito-like Ego. No. Not the "self" you were brainwashed into believing. Not the "white", "asian", "chicano", "fat", "tall", "middle-class" you. 

No. The true Self. The essential you.

Look at your design, look at the overarching trends of your reactions to this reality. Don't just look, Feel. Feel yourself, feel all that you feel. Notice your contraction, and expand. Be You. All it takes is patience and practice, like the rest of the Universe. Courage is In the practice. 

Consciousness is a journey, a river with many tributaries in many dimensions.
It is not a set point, not set to a quick fix.

But it is the only thing we've got that is authentic. If we do not have consciousness we lose that which makes us Human. We lose this great gift we have been given...Life. 

I went to Catholic school for a relative blip of time. I am ever grateful for the karmic test it posed me:            ...                    be a sheep or go to hell.

I chose music, sex, good times. I chose real hugs and real smiles. Real tears too. Of course. 
Gotta have balance. 

I chose consciousness. And now this journey of the Conscious has brought me to magicke. Ah, and its a rich life already. It isn't supernatural,

it's natural. 

                           "Once you wake up, there is no going back."     Sometimes.

So I got not too terribly tangential, and I will not apologize. I feel that consciousness and magicke are one in the same, or are at the very least in a causal or correlated relationship.

And I believe in it becasue my life at every moment has potential for great magicke, if I so open my mind to it.

With freedom from mental slavery (that which our, they, us, our capitalist patriarchy dopes us up on), once can see magicke, and have that sublime strength I first typed on about.

Magicke only comes from Nature (which we ARE), and Nature functions only in equilibrium, in an order. (Take psychadelics, you might just see the pattern with your eyes.)
Nature is the champion of self-sufficiency. And Nature possesses fantastical strength.

Nature is the strongest force, and yet we are led not to believe it. All that is feminine and receptive and expansive is...weak....? Again, too many squeaky clean minds are stuck in the clothes-washer.
But, alas, there is a chance. A chance, a change.

It begins with you. With me. With your lover. And, if you channel Nature, even with your enemy. 

You have fantastical strength too, beyond the metallic chains of your mind's prison. 

Within you lies an infinite prism of colors of vibrations,  that all have equal potential. 

To harness your destiny, your unique combination of inner must peer inside. You must take the multilayered road of Consciousness. You must ask yourself,

And then, authenticity will settle upon you like the falling chrysanthemum petals of a tea garden tree.

If you are in this rather subjective experience, why not have it be authentic

Authentic according to you.

              You owe it to yourself, to live true. 

                   Go, Stop, Open Up, Open In.

                           Contract, Expand.

                                Wind, Earth.

                                Water, Fire.

                                 Yin, Yang.

                        Masculine, Feminine.

 “And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.”