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Monday, August 9, 2010

monday sadhana

the day is started with a ringing in the head a distance from the connection to this world, a shortening of the travel time to the energetic unseen landscape resting just behind. the pressure on the head in the 7th is continuous not invasive but present. there is an unrelenting awareness of the other the unseen the determining energies of the moment that linger behind every manifesting entity in the physical. where i feel disconnected from this level of reality so do i also feel some undefined quantity of connection to another, some where i am whole and in the moment but this awareness is not there nor am i here.tea is called for and brought not by the unseen minions of my domain but by the selecting of my tea bag and the pouring of hot water in a cup cleaned by a paper towel manipulated by these hands. there is no magic but what i am and no psychic force manifesting my unspoken whims. the world shifts as it will and i feel it like a sail in the wind, pulling the sculling hull of my being into alignment or cutting across its wake in a race for some momentary advantage in the positioning of my being with the movement of the planet. where it takes me i have surrendered, the path is no longer mapped or even distinguished by a marker, the bucket of my dreams is of an emptiness that pulls the being from this existence like a suctioning pump seeks its return to equilibration. i feel the wafer thin reality cracking under my weight as i strive to lose more and be less even as life demands i pay attention and hold tight to what it wants me to have. i loose my grip and the draining force of the SAT removes even the blood from my veins and the flesh from my bones. i am truly become the very stick man headpiece filled with straw even as i experience unequalled states of expansion and energies flowering and possessing me like sunshine holds the world in its thrall.even the slightest cloud bisecting me from my experiences makes my heart shiver with the passing gloom and shadow. then all is forgiven, the pain removed with the pleasure, the truth realized as the untruth manifest and returned, where nothing prevails over what cannot be realized, and life is a prevarication of the damned. what madness this the left over remains of a night in unbeing, the soul cast forth as a life preserver to the emptiness and unwanted remembrances of the last and previous times we sailed this sea alone and dismembered from this time.
the light is slight and whispering, the dance of the candle flickers behind the closed shell of the optic nerve, its signal a secret language of the instant translated and unidentified by the mind only translated directly to the limbic cortex, the milk of meaning is saturating the cells and all miracles are lost on the unaware, sinking in the pot of mentalized fabrications. only broken fragments return through the uneven pulsing of the aura and being connected to a mental state that slips unseen behind the current reality and breaks the pane of the inner glass. one moment is all and it shatters the reality of everything as time evaporates into the place that has no dimension or sound, i smell sweet liquor and taste the pungent ashes of its remains, only the heart continues the sound internal as a rapid pulse in the gut beats against the throat and the anxious nervousness flutters in the pit of realizing there is something here, something in this moment that has come for me and wont leave now that i have called it and in my unawareness i am not ready. slipping from consciousness the tastes become images like intense red and yellow phosphorescent designs and intricate figures that expand from a field of floating energies. the screen dissolves to grey and tan checkerboards and then a sea of black filled with emerging white bytes of awareness emerging from the still surface like pudding rising from the pan as the skin of the milk hardens. i am sucked under and there is only my voice talking directing me to the waters deepening and turning blue and green in the wash of the pulsing red glow. the netting is strung everywhere, the layers and layers of worlds buried and covered for eons by unknown relations of being beyond knowing fishing for the souls that try to return, through unending darkness the colors change burnishing the gloom and fading like some distant neon reminder of a time you once remembered but no longer can recall.

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