Something New....Someday

in sleep i finally spoke within dreams and awoke without the words to speak. in sleep I've lived lives without life to leave without life to limit me with my eyes to dream my dreams to speak, within dream and wake upon this life without and in empty, wakeful we weep, we speak, in tearful forms of peace

Seven points but i am neither, there is an opening but i refuse to go, i am sleeping my life away, i sleep through my love away, i walk through out my legs my feet feel asleep i walk out my thighs my death will be my feet.

We are Rejoicing in the Horizon, Implying Horus, Implying my soul lifting from my body like a spring lifting water from the earth.

First Winter Snow. November 3rd 2013. Laying in bed, my love, Making myself sick. All this aluminum, Making me sick. i have slept in this bed alone for the last 2 nights. Waiting for you my love, in the soft white sand. and here i am in the slight cold white snow.

He slept under the night sky. The stars were out, light cloud coverage, and the moon was half full. The lost goddess in permanent sleep, always in in flux, profile position into a dark veil. She was a bride walking through the seasons, skipping into the summer and laughing with the howl of a coyote, and kneeling as she mourned into winter's howling winds. Winter, or Vinter as in his ancestors native tongue, was approaching soon. He was curled up in his sleeping bag next to the crackling fire, one red eye blinking in the night time, projecting shadows up to the rocks and trees. Smoke filled his lungs as he breathed the cold night air. it was crisp, with the after taste of the kippered snacks that haunted his stomach from an hour before. Dirt and sand mingled in-between his long hair from sleeping for days in the desert where he lay. From time to time he would find a twig that had just enough branches to comb the wildness out of it. other days he would just push it up into an dusty ...

My teeth are ivory bars with my heart locked inside. There are concrete columns rising from my throat, Hieroglyphic writings rise choking the room inside my mouth. Filling it with the sensation of vomiting to no avail. My teeth are the keys that spill an organ's sound. I am run with pipes, enough to fill this chapel. Adorned in robes of cheesecloth, and filtered through stain glass. The Christ in me, is expressed, expelled. My teeth are those pearly gates, from which I take in the blood and body. My prayers lift like the clouds of heaven. Weighted only by the thin chain that wraps around My teeth, the anchors. I climb the rope to the rapture, the earth is swallowed beneath me, gobbled up and scorched by the phoenix's teeth. My teeth My teeth are a songbird's cage that has become sound proofed within ivory bars. Here lies within my heart, locked inside My teeth. My teeth are yellow citrine, swallowing amber resin Mother Mary smiling My swee...

We are working backwards moving from birth to death cycling through lives in order for us to get back to the original source we are now working in reverse our source has ventured far on the rope that lead from life to life enjoying the fruits of venture the excitement from being away from home but when you have left your bed for so long it becomes hard to remember the specifics and if you have been gone for such a long time memories degrade yet still we remember to press onward backward to the fullness the empty space in our hearts is deep and each life we go through helps fill the thirst the thirst to rejoin in communion with the original source

I can feel the Fall. The descent into matter. It is Active. I feel the stretch, the longing; the residual effects that spirit receives in turbulence. now upon the earth, i cup my hands in soil. Digging a shallow grave for a small seed to be reborn in. as the tears fall (like my body from the womb) to water the holy vessel, i recognize the miracle of resurrection. Each Seed, and Osirian Microcosm, being pushed down the Nile, then being reborn towards the sun. Begetting creation helps cushion the pain of the fall. in my recovery, the act of physical therapy softens the blow that caused this unbearable amnesia. For all my life i have sought for this cure to dance is to relieve suffering.

I have become frightened of my own existence It is as if I suddenly woke up from a dream, but that dream was my life. Eating, drinking, money, clothing seems ridiculous and redundant. aware of my own mortality, my frail skin, and blood. Knowledge that I will die one day, unanswered questions of why was I born, just to die, and where do I go? My dreams are more real than this place of awakening. The inconsistencies make more sense than the more solid, and slow changing world we live in. the maze That I find myself in…that I placed myself in, what will I do when I reach the end? I have brief memories, of an existence where I am not me, and there is none of this. It feels more like the dream state that waking life. And in this state, Fleeting, there are people who tell me that my life, is not real. And I am frightened. I am frightened that what they say is true, I go into panic when I think that there may be something so different than here. so different from what I feel like I belo...

I have never felt so confined by Space and Time as i do now. My soul knows boundaries so much further out than my body. I wake up remember being a child in church, twisting in the curtains with my sisters, and diving under the stage to play in the fold out chairs. I have a hard time recalling my childhood from those days. mainly because it was such a magical time, and i still feel so much pain from being uprooted from my home.

It is The Cord of Life that is separating me from my God. I am suspended, and with only one cut, could be sprung back into beloved arms. The Chord of Life Which is my family, and dear friends, are much too precious to cut in one swift move, so I must wait for the chord To slowly loose elasticity, and inch every day closer to my beloved.

Crippled Jesus, We all sat in front of a screen, and the new thing was to drink an alcoholic drink while we watched the screen, moving pictures, and slapstick action. Crippled Jesus. antichrist

The Vulture can fly, The Snake Cannot fly That is the nature of ourselves in dance. we program our selves, to fly or not fly, or we program to crawl upon the land. No, I will never become a mother, But a father is what i must become. So, am i, to teach my little children and let them remember that they are one. as if in mind, there was a sacred bead. for my children. i must cause them to leave. In my heart will be spiritual children within the canyons, caves and sacred doors my sacred flour i ground into bread that feeds my children and ignites my pours. The great white brotherhood beseeched me To make ourselves a new family.

my newness, is a log. i feel uncertain as a log.' that no one will save me or my brothers still standing.

Listening to an album of Tibetan Throat Singing, and wandering around town.  the people at the library seem much more like Muppet's than usual, and i sit  by the window and watch as the trains roll in and out like title waves of metal. there is a boy with his face smashed in, dried blood on his lips, looks  stretched like he was made out of clay. His hand is wrapped in bandages, and his father is  pocked marked, and his mother is overweight in sweatpants. they are asking  sweetly where to find a particular movie to the counter clerk. the windows are reflecting the elevator lights as the move up and down, but those lights are really bombs waiting to hit upon the hill close to my house, it makes me  squirm and i  remember i just have a really active  imagination . i was worried about my girlfriend and thinking about how sad i would be if there would not be a bed to snuggle under the sheets with her.   i have decided to finally love...

in a dark place but not solemn, the light in your eyes, lies in the world that i have overcome. but we don't decide. the sleep, is all we have, to exact the number of entrances, that we have of the material objects we arise. in a dark place, the stars shine, and the killers lie, but we don't deny the lies that we live. there are places that we live and the flowers that we forgive for dying in our vases. still, we break the silence that we might, in order to take flight and read the passages, that enact us unto the suffering, and passing, and blessing, that we become that god has us in our arms, and never lets go. and we love him so. but is never sol.

i would like to feel holy. the vespers inside of me every evening, holds a service. i never feel alone after the fact of the notion. i partake of the Eucharist, in my own way. but every night i feel anathema. the vespers inside of me feel holy, but i feel unforgivable. i enter the cathedral, and i ask about god, i ask for agape, the thought of which will not be. that platonic love i want for, that god will forbid. so i ask for what is above, to be below, unto me, and i cancel out the both, and ask for nothing. every day i ask to come from the heart but every day i become a little dark, my love is just a bitter thorn and i feel worthless in my love.

Eucharist- The Eucharist ( pron.: / ˈ juː k ər ɪ s t / ), also called Holy Communion , the Sacrament of the Altar , the Blessed Sacrament , the Lord's Supper , and other names, is a Christian sacrament or ordinance . It is reenacted in accordance with Jesus ' instruction at the Last Supper as recorded in several books of the New Testament , that his followers do in remembrance of Him as when he gave his disciples bread, saying, "This is my body", and gave them wine, saying: "This is my blood." There are different interpretations of the significance of the Eucharist, but according to the Encyclopædia Britannica "there is more of a consensus among Christians about the meaning of the Eucharist than would appear from the confessional debates over the sacramental presence, the effects of the Eucharist, and the proper auspices under which it may be celebrated." The word Eucharist may refer not only to the rite but also to the consecrated brea...