Monday, June 16, 2014

Through the arches.......

Stopping , taking note through the hallowed arches of introspection


A rise to the surface, pulling away the cobwebs of a dream and simultaneously holding onto them, like shards of a crystal, starting to shatter into their many facets.

The voices repeat themselves whispering truths, exclaiming themselves in a toned drawl of words, over and over.

Skimming across the many faces, some familiar and others, which morph as the attention lingers.

Walking across the field effortlessly in a gusting wind whilst the path path unfolds in the direction it needs to take.

Night owls appear in their own shadow of darkness, watching, blinking and ever alert to the movements.

Eagles , hawks and falcons permeate the air and the imagination with their presence, creating the down draft ahead which parts the grasses    showing the path and the way ahead.

The talons touch the shoulder seemingly lacerating the skin without drawing blood as they soar with the flaccid skin  of the body, time after time, slowly exposing the essence of what is, without the built up facades.

Approaching a house with a gate and no path.

Filled with roses, perfumed with the air of expectation.

The washing line holds the pegged skins of the multiple personalities of self.

The keeper of the house rests on the porch.

The wolf like orbs pierce through the veils and stir the memories.

Sitting and watching the darkness approaches.

Candle light flood the portals  of the house as the door gently swings open.

Stepping inside, the light brightens and the warmth causes a drowsiness of peace. 

Succumbing to sleep the light travels and becomes fainter in it's own brightness.

Finally, the cobwebs dissappear and the journey continues.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Shimmering & Harnessing.......

Shimmering heat reflects off the pathways that snake their way through the unattended growth as the metallic ribbons of liquid mercury play host to the hostile shores of bamboo and vine.

The floating plant bobs up and down in the current as the tactile sensitive root system reconnoiters for an attachment and a birthing space.

Skulls hinged and inlaid with miniature replicas play host to the sacred nectar of a ceremony, seeped in the lore of alchemy and mystical privilege.

The carved stone cylinders dwarf those who are able to cast their gaze upon them and  in turn , they rotate and sing.

Hot dolomite boulders perch precariously on a hill as the dried grass sings in the wind, while the cicada are steadfast,resolute and consistent to the whole ensemble.

Falcons swoop and glide through the shimmering heat, playful in the arc of flight, deadly  in their gaze and  rapid descent.

The makoro gently slips through the watery pathways of the Delta, mesmerising  in the gifted glide of it's thrust , as the pole ripples the water, in it's journey forward.

The senses of the oarsman are finely tuned and honed to the natural rhythms of the earth  as his eyes pierce the reeds as the gentle vibrations of his song harmonise with all around.

A flighted passenger alights on the front of the makoro, catching a respite and free passage upstream, while the gentle thrashing in the bottom of the boat continues with the open and closing of the gills and the mouths, whispering and bearing silent testament to a life lived, on the edge.

The wearied legs of the mustached monocled gentleman comes to rest on a wicker cushioned chair as the fan rotates overhead and the ice cracks and melts in the tall glass, squeezing the lemon in the process.

Creaky floorboards strain and groan under the obese footsteps of corpulent linen suits, sweaty stained brows, collars and the grubbiness of grease stained pockets and slightly threadbare crotches, from the chafe, of ambulatory motion.

The chainsaws scream out as their actions, echo through the emptiness  falling within its vice like grip, destroying  all, as the forests falls for profit.

Cut saplings , oozing with their unctuous moisture form the frame for a ceremonial dwelling, dressed and sealed with  gentle palm fronds.

A closed circuit atmosphere steams and is smoky with the hypnotic   aroma which permeates the dwelling.

In the silence, the only sound is the hiss and sizzle of the water dousing the hot rocks and the fire being stoked by the keeper of silent dreams.

The internal reality of the hut and the insights of the mind start to blur as all becomes an energised cocoon.

The frame glows and luminesces as the physical body rests and the spirit breaks the bounds of the shell and soars through the portal in the roof and beyond the playground of mere mortals.

Each fragment of flora and fauna resonate withe whole.

In awe of the merging colours and luminosity, the journey continues.

Deftly from the animated and living, fused to the inanimate and living.

The boulders and the rocks are restful and quiet, understated and offering sanctuary in the slow vibrations of their state.

In the core is the essence of the whole, subtlety merged with all.

Even in it's beauty and offering, the test of being swept away with it's quietness, succumbing to the life of escape, thinking of the panacea, vibrating to the dull  emptiness, pervading through the illusion, finding the place of wholeness

The longer the submergence, the more extended  the journey is.

Is the acceptance of this modality held  up for derision, or is it a relinquishing of the obligation of a purpose which is yet to unfold?

A straw broom stands proud in the corner, awaiting a gracious hand to flow in the dusty courtyard, yearning to ingratiate itself with a breeze on it's debarked skin, remembering the graceful touch when it was attached and could hear the bristling wind through it's own essence.

The moments transpire and extrapolate themselves as it is shaken and jolted free ,graced with the motion until pieces of straw fall away in slow motion, alighting on the hard sand and being picked up and placed in a pocket.

The pieces collect until the proud shaft is left motionless and the hands hold onto all the bristles, lost in a reverie of emotion and loss, whilst the yard kicks up it's own dust storm in the prevailing winds.

Stopping, starting
In the abyss of reverie
Bats fly through the darkened swallowing tunnel
Colours are swept into a vortex
Soaring above the vineyards
Procrastinating the moment
Vilifying the thrusting energy,that pervades

All is still
The milliseconds run their course
Breaths of the inhalation
Send paroxysms of shudders

In the slow onrush, the body is limp
Complete surrender
Floating an energised stream
The avatar sparks to significance

A sea of images
Embrace a clouded sky
Whip themselves into a frenzy

In a whispering breeze of change
Cauterised networks of patterns
Begin to flourish
Imbibing the zeitgeist
Arms extended, palm open
The intangibility of the flow
become tangible

A trapeze artist lets go, somersaulting
Into the arms of sweet surrender

Floating baskets 
Technicolor dreams
Imbued vivacity
With the tenacity and expedience

A moment's moment
Extrapolated with the gift
An explosive breath 
Venturing forth
Salivating through the lavender grasses
Sharing the spoils
Harnessing the focus
In a timeless day glo embrace of note

Absorbing and expediting the sun's rays
Immersed in the coolness 
of a thousand petal lotus pond
with the heavenly scent

Drifting on a breeze of dreams
Heralded in with the wind chimes of the heart
Pounding ferociously under a protected barrier

Ululating chasms echo the subtleties of camaraderie
Hawks dogfight their way
through the undulating dichotomies of shadow and light
Trees whip their branches back, surrendering in applause

Harnessing  the tactile effervescence of each moment
Relinquishing all else

An evolutionary palette of colours
A revolutionary epic of being

Sunday, June 1, 2014

The traffic light & the ladder

Extending the perspective with an open mind and heart

The mask of lucidity.......

Lucid moments
by the comet's tail
of emotion
fall into the dust of illusion

Marking time
A prevailing senselessness
An individual purpose
against the holistic matrix

Changes in energy
Pressure bubbles
in the ebb and flow

The masks float
on the edge of consciousness
into a present
into the abyss of a past

Nullified in the present