I am That Is

Matthias

i am that iS


I am trans. I am not. Human bean. All the beans.
Penis is yoni is penis is yoni, is all the same. It's all the same. Different manifestation of SAME energy, same source.

And yet we believe in the disconnect so hard.
//////////////////////////////////////////

I am so shamed. and so relieved.

There are blocks in my head, they are getting to me.

Talking, taking it out is really helpful. Knowing I am not alone.

The pain takes time, the emotional wave takes YEARS to find resolution.

And the sixth line always becomes the first again, somewhere, always.


(sleepy people be like, "yo do this, yo do that, dont do that etc." but this is the emotional WAVE, this is what runs our species, this is what is in control)

all the "control" we have is awareness and the patience to become more aware. that is all the "control"


I am still so tight, in my right masculine hip. ridin the bike, ridin the dick, going hard.
Such a fag, I'm still trying though, still trying for truth and transparency

TRANSparency

I am gonna learn how to do it once I do the skeleton work.
Gotta find my skeleton key that unlocks the depths of painful sea inside

I want to scroll and run away, indulge in sex, drugs, tv

But here I am, half e HALF t, HALF man half Me.

So tired.

I am so tired.

Of feeling suffocated by the blocks inside of me. The fear of my masculinity, of my response to femininity, my sexuality and just of fraternity.

I am so sad to leave the redwooded trees. It is saddening.

And yet there is nowhere to go but Up from here. I am downtrodden and its time. Im going Up.


Summer time has caught me up. Its the Summer of the Got Down Now to get Up. Of hello Blue Sunshine, of hello Marval Rex, you are who you are. It is more than respect, more than love, and maybe on the other side ill see you on the corner of




strange things
my imagination
might do




M.V.R

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.

Tautologous. 

[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.

Now. 

~ Patience ~

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

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?

 Why?

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

     

Quote es of the Daze

ON TIME:

"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."

ON ASTROLOGY:

"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." 

ON INTUITION:

"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.

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. 

Who?

They. Ah, the irony of the human condition. The socialized-human condition of this reality.  ...The irony, is that so-called "they"...is 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.

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 vibrations...you must peer inside. You must take the multilayered road of Consciousness. You must ask yourself,

 

Who Am I? Really? 

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.”

 

The Summer I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Atomic Bomb

May 15^th 2012

Location: The Salt City

A Poemme For All the Travelers

When they think you’re crazy.

And the lights from the moldavites ring the shakles round your bodice like crackling embers in a fiery temple.

When they solidfy you of your design.

Crazed from little sleep and little friends.

Well is dry and bubbling up again, foamed at the mouth like a dreadful and vengeful sea, of haughtiness.

I sea. Radical fractals. Classical music in synthetic synchronicity on a purple stallion in an old dream that is really too young.

Impotence, impatience. On a fucking computer screen, I shine the sheen I’ve made in fake and authentic highs, teeth chattering or clenching or falling into place upon anothers skin.

I am motion only. And yet its far more simple and too complex. Seven planes of existence and much more. My heart hurts from ensnared smoke and withheld watery explosions.

And yet there lies love. All caked in a muddy sweat across valleys of a slothful desert. Horrendous energy.

And in other’s eyes I find my peace. Oases of swathed experientials, all cacti of prickly soothedness, I sleep.

I sleep in your eyes. In mine, I cry. In mine I see multiples, so many other eyes, I collect like a rusted orphan after marbles in a flea market. Hands bruised between the search by feet and ground.

Inhale, exhale spurned.

Intuition haunts me and guides me, my inner compulsion like a broken shooting star. Black like coal and still burning gold.

Why do I fear the addiction of the reflection?

Good question.

Don’t capitalize for me. Do not capitalize me. Correct me. Institutionalize my talons that sing the rapture of the evil raptor of the saintly sky dwelling siren.

\\

I create so that I do not disappear. So that my passage is eternal and infinite always and yet                         I wish to rebel against my passage against all that has ever been of me, of everything.

A young boy hooded and pointed ear. Massage my passage of time. All I ever said was ‘clock’. All I’ve ever regurgitated was vagaries from the whispy windows of my ghostly architecture. haunted trappings of a long lost burp. Blood-in-a-syringe burp, of wisdom far into the future’s past.

I am not insane, I am nothing of words. I am a keeper of time and of vagary. I am a sage who is like a virile mare, white and lost in the woods.