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But Mourning IsWho are we gathered standing here
Upon this opalescent sphere
The universe through us appears
And sees itself as many
It works upon its own brute forms
Through the perils, through the scorn
To reach a point it will still mourn
When the day is done
But mourning is the secret gift
The one we will still learn to miss
If we could deadhead to the mists
We would not know a thing
This poem is not satisfaction
It is not mal- or bene-faction
It is the culminated action
Of the thing that is
An Egg(A collaborative short story by Tyler Jones and Cody Thomsen.)
No one could have guessed.
Our accrued body of geological knowledge had made some pretty safe assumptions about the Earth's core. We were right about some things -- that molten metal and rock was at the center of our planet, driving tectonic activity. It seemed entirely logical to assume that a swirling mass of magnetic metal was generating the gigantic and measurable magnetic field surrounding the planet. But as we sometimes learn in science, even the most plausible of assumptions can be wrong, and what we are left with are implications based on evidence we can put together.
No one could have possibly gathered evidence about this. Not before it was too late for everyone.
It wasn't a day like any other before the volcanoes began erupting simultaneously all over the planet. It began in the Ring of Fire, the fault lines that surrounded the Pacific tectonic plate. Throughout recorded history,
HallowedEverything familiar to this one isn't now.
Eyes look upon the world in weight with newly furrowed brow.
Their gaze will rest upon the hands as it is wondered, still.
If there could even be a plan, if gods obtain their fill.
What if we could really see all that could be us?
The extent of all this tapestry and willpower and dust.
What if this weave is one that truly doesn't end?
No final culmination for us to shake and bend.
This one picks up the pieces that fall down from the sky.
Buries them in the ground without really knowing why.
This one is still developing into something that can die.
This one is still enveloping everything they try.
Meditation sometimes feels like just an endless game.
A game that the world of tides forced this one to play.
A game designed to still the mind and see It All the same
And fail to integrate that sight as differences remain.
So we are it, and it is we, and all of it is said.
This would be distressing less if we could all break bread.
What we'd give so
TelomeraseThere's a hardness to my gaze sometimes
Deep within these bulbs of mine
They jerk abound so ferally
Glide no more as easily
I don't know how to get it back
A spectral something I now lack
It traveled down and out the spine
And split the slits 'til something cracked
It gave a scream upon its leave
It left me ever wondering
Was it because I'd seen too much
Had I snapped, or had my crutch
WhereYou see the bigger picture. The ruins in the Sky. The wider context constantly enabling the Why.
The dust that will fly into throats, the cough that will result. The ways in which the realm we're in attaches its insult.
The realm's silence ends up being the answer to our prayers. The wounds enabled by the cosmic parent absent there.
The cries that echo off the walls until we are laid bare. The help we give ourselves when it isn't anywhere.
A parent needs a parent needs a parent needs a parent. This chain goes on until infinity becomes apparent.
When Gods need a God, then that God also needs one too. Until you are left with an infinitude of You.
Deep within the ancestry of all the felt experience is a wandering and perfect kind of witness to all brilliance.
It seems to fall together not quite with any accord. The ways it seems existence is what happens when it's bored.
Slow DownIt's said, there is no destination, only journey.
A fellow rolls along upon their gurney.
We know our actions aren't for us, are for a process beyond all of us,
but playing the role of a crutch to a species' broken feet
makes me instead of it just want to run.
And I use the word 'just' like a curse
because I don't want to believe how much it hurts
to be afraid of a truth that I feel compelled
In denial lies the fruit of our thirst.
No one wants to slow this thing down, so we're chokin' now,
taking orders without question, led straight into another bastion
that we'd rather interpret as a threat
than a fashion.
But we grow old.
We grow old,
We grow old,
We grow old.
Plant turns mold,
Mold turns plant,
Plant turns mold.
We grow old,
We grow old,
We grow old.
Plant turns mold,
Mold turns plant,
Plant turns mold.
ClimbedYou climbed that tree, you fell and hurt your knee. You watched the blood pour out of the puncture in your armor.
You saw your life in that color. You knew it had to end, and the pain would only tell you that you can't even help it.
Look at the tired eyes, the puffy feeling. Acceptance of irrationally-anchored rationality.
A beautiful, singing dance, of inactivity...
What are we going to do?
What are we doing to 'go'?
Whatever we want. Whatever we need.
What do we want? What do we need?
Caught in the twisting crime of an imposed paradigm, writhing against the moving wall of entropia,
and the moving wall of its own inherent resistance,
awoken to a sky that's black at night with the polluted contrast of a factory-city society's midnight oil.
Burn it all down. Fall asleep by the fire.
Wake up cold.
Star-Pool"Do you ever want to get out here?"
"You know there isn't a way out of here. This is all the here there is."
"But do you ever want to?"
"Everything is too easy, don't you think?"
"Isn't that what humanity has been striving for since the beginning? To invent, to make things easier?"
"We took it too far. We removed the work entirely. It seems like removing the work should motivate us even more, but it doesn't feel that way. Nothing feels motivating anymore."
"Not even love?"
He fell silent. He didn't know how to answer. It was true, though, he'd been mulling this over for awhile. Even love felt dull. He could be nothing other than straightforward anymore.
"Even love," he said decidedly.
Her brow furrowed just slightly, the subtlest betrayal of confusion.
"It... means the world," he continued, "but meaning the world is no longer working for something inside me. The deepest pleasures are stretched across an expanse of time I can no longer fathom. They begin to smear.
Inspired ProseWe all have things to say, most of us have something we really believe, or multiple things we could talk about for hours at a time; things that manifest themselves when you’re in the moment, when you’re not distracted with redundant information masquerading as truth and news. When you have a moment with yourself, and your life, and life as we know it is shifted into focus, put into perspective, you must realise how transient it all is. This increasingly dominant westernised way of thinking, and acting is not only promoting ignorance, and stupidity, but solidifying our stunted growth as humans and as our true selves –– whether that be a soul, a spirit or an energy.
To some this may be exhausting to think about, and to read about –– to me it’s exhausting to be surrounded by those that don’t think this on a regular basis, as they’ve already been poisoned by something; by the media, by experience, by the government, by societ
Redemptive SufferingThe fear of suffering, pain, and death seem like unconquerable mysteries. My time here at CPE [clinical pastoral education] has helped me to understand, via experience, that they are not necessarily things that need to be conquered. No amount of faith excludes us from experience pain, loneliness, and death. Money, power, and other earthly things makes these three experiences even worse. With this in mind, I began to wonder if the words of Qoheleth were not as negative as they appear: “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity” (Ecc 1:2). Earthly things will pass which also means these things, both good and bad, will pass. Yet this does not ease the blow of the mystery of suffering and death. Even if they pass away they still remain with us our whole lives.
For me, this mystery is one that is only solved by the Cross. The cross is, for me, the foundation of my theology the ministry I do. The cross is the Incarnational moment where love and suffering meet. Love because
Lost in the Spiritual WorldMy Darkness:
I have been meditating since I was 12 years of age. It was not only to escape the world around me but it helped me a lot in doing so. A world full of bullying beings addicted to matter of all kind. At that time I lost sense nearly completely. I really was cut up from the world at my young age, seeking shelter in astral travel. Just to differentiate from them, not to put myself with them on one level, to detach myself from material the best I could. And I felt that I did not need it. There was no contact to other people and I neglected my body completely.
I came to know that it was a wrong way and I changed to another extreme that looked like helping others at any risk, running against walls, bashing my head, giving all but receiving mostly nothing, self-sacrifice as I was not able to help myself.
The last change took place in 1995 and I feel that this is now the right way for me.
During my astral experiences over three decades I have met a lot of entities out there, on the
Infinity Complex.Infinity Complex.
This is something that has been on my mind for a little bit. I would like to share this complex with everyone, and find out if anyone else has thought of this.
The infinity complex is just that. A complex cycle of infinity.
Let's say I am traveling space, and 'ascending'. I reach far into space and reach a sign. (Theoretically) The sign says "YOU SHALL NOT PASS". The complex begins.
Why is the sign there? Who made the sign? If not whom, what made the sign? What made what made the sign? Why can I not pass the sign? Is there something stopping me from passing the sign? If so, is this the end of the universe? Is this something beyond the sign? Why would it be there in the first place? Is there something it doesn't wish me or anything to see? What created what that made this barrier? Is there something beyond what created what? Why can I read the sign? Why is it in my language? Is it in different languages depending on the thing that perceives it? If so, why? If
THE PROMISED BAPTISM WITH HOLY GHOST"And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place. And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting. And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance. And there were dwelling at Jerusalem Jews, devout men, out of every nation under heaven. Now when this was noised abroad, the multitude came together, and were confounded, because that every man heard them speak in his own language. And they were all amazed and marvelled, saying one to another, Behold, are not all these which speak Galilaeans? And how hear we every man in our own tongue, wherein we were born? Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, and the dwellers in M
Deep downDeep down inside ourselves
we can find the infinities
of the universe revealing themselves
in the light of darkness.
in the ocean of the dark unknown
we can find the high sky of enlightenment...
28/07/2014 Dywiann Xyara
Don't Get Me WrongIn the old days the quickest fast track to fame and glory involved sleepless hours, relentless drawings, painting, and studies month after month, and years of work to create a single masterpiece that would insure them that their name would be carved on the marble pillars in the great hall of history's famed and legendary artists. However, (and not all that surprising) one would only need to create MLP Fan Art in order to cast such a great shadow over all other artists that came before them.
Deep down we can find the high skyPoetry can be such a powerful expression
that it is capable to give extreme deep impressions
which can lead to the infinities of the sky
or deep down to the abyss' of the unknown oceans.
Is the deep down
actually the sky high above us?
And is the sky high above us
actually the ocean deep down?
What is, if I told you
that contraries become the same
the closer you reach their extremes?
What's hidden in all the deep seas?
What's far beyond our Solar System?
They all share one thing:
...the darkness of the unknown...
Why are we afraid of such infinities?
Why can't we grasp such dimensions?
Why are we even afraid of the unknown?
if our reality is only bound by our own imagination
and the fear of the holy unknown.
Yet the dark is so inspiring and touching.
Deep down inside ourselves
we can find the infinities of the universe
and experience it in all it's power and majesty.
Deep down we can find the high sky
27/07/2014 Dywiann Xyara
Australian Evolution Is An Arms RaceAustralian Evolution Is An Arms Race
Many people wonder why Australia is filled with so many deadly creatures. At first glance, it doesn’t make any sense to have so many deadly things packed into one country. However, it actually makes perfect sense. Australian animals have evolved to be the deadliest in the world because they haven’t had any other choice.
Take the humble koala. Once upon a time, the koala was probably a peace-loving beatnik of an animal. Yes, many, many years ago, it would have made a living wandering from tree to tree, eating eucalyptus leaves and minding its own business with a slightly dopey expression on its face.
Enter the echidna.
A little known fact about echidnas is that they are capable of shooting their spines. Moreover, these spines are actually more like harpoons in that they are attached to the echidna by a material not unlike extremely thick spider silk, allowing the echidna to fire its spines at other animals before reeling them in so
Here We AreThe cosmos is not only within us; it is us. The self-awareness we possess is like two mirrors facing each other, one the force and the other its reflection, begetting an infinite tunnel of self-reference of which the very head that is trying to see down it gets in the way. Baffling and absurd, we find ourselves, to quote Saul Williams, "participants in a ritual older than our collective memory," a seamless stream of energy attempting, in an eddying moment of self-realization, to find out what the flying hell is going on.
"Why?", however, is a question that grasps for intent, for a fundamental reason. It's impossible to answer because in the context of reality itself, rather than elements within reality, there will always be another potential "why?" until we find ourselves staring the void in its faceless face, its answerlessness, its stoic silence, the only answer.
Though we also find ourselves imbued with stubborn genes. We march on, a logical and meticulous methodological tool
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