the stream-winners

well, that's a choice and many ascending-avatars spent eons of time in their caves trying to get out from behind the many-reflections of this sentimental-reality in flow -- this was the goal for awhile and they were called stream-winners when they'd finally grasped that the numinous moving-us is just a trick of the light --

however, the means of getting out of the stream all together was as illusive as stepping in the same stream twice, so they sat staring at forever, until wonder turned into awe and their eyes glittered with the beauty that they saw, and then they found that the stream returns in an infinite 'eternal-recurrence' which means that not only do you step in the same stream twice or more, but that the stream craves you more and more each time it passes by, longing for you in infinite waves, speeding up to feel you deep-inside; 'tis then that you have more and more deja-vu's flowing inside-out to open your eyes wide, from this free-flowing streaming-embrace, this free streaming-love in which we each take a step in grace ...

ssǝusnoıɔsuoɔ.consciousness

it
begins in ʎʇıxǝldɹǝd.perplexity
as the absurd.pɹnsqɐ-man
arrives at the nature of reality

without conclusions ʎlsnoıƃılǝɹ
without religion ʎllɐɔıʇılod
without politics ʎllɐɔıɟıʇuǝıɔs
without science ʎllɐɔıʇsılɐʇɐɟ
without fate ʎlƃuıʍouʞ
without knowing ʎlqɐʌǝılǝq
without believing ʎlǝʌısnlɔuoɔ

perfectly ʎllɐɔıxopɐɹɐd.paradoxically consciously-pǝʇɔılɟuoɔ.conflicted
with all these incongruities converging into the
moment he crosses the street;
                        his-heart
still affected by the dark
                      restless sea of awareness --

bent before his fierce-vulnerability,
 he's an innocent victim like you and me,
lost between infinite-Love and "I'm not worthy"


we're all bubbles of consciousness, bubbles of brilliant shimmering hues, bouncing and bullying each other around while looking for ways to merge with each other; leaking through our surface tension, we're wiggling 'n jiggling for that 'special' one come to burst us free to really be whom we ought to be -- life is real only then when I am bursting at the seams of what I thought reality means

-- as such, the Poet is like a sphere with her centre everywhere and his circumference nowhere, without beginning nor end, always rolling, rolling ’round ‘unknowings’ wondrous bend - mostly metaphor is a trick of the light to get these reflections just right, so, you-know, it’s glinting in your eye as you release into the ‘flower of meaning’ with a sigh; like looking at the mesmerizing-sea glimmering-many-Suns, so sympathetic-tessellations resonate in your oceanic-brain, where synapses shivering-sentient luminescence, reflect again ‘n again … then you’re an ecstatic swimming in a whirl’d-view, swooning with another oceanic-dream waving inside of you…

“Nature is an infinite sphere whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere” Pascal

"God is a circle whose center is everywhere and circumference nowhere." Voltaire

"The center is everywhere. Bent is the path of eternity." Nietzche

neither compelled by the past nor future beckoned...

if fears 'n worries are nothing but a hapless-spin, then hopes 'n wishes are its better-off kin, nonetheless they're both creating the duality-delusion we're in ...

intellectual-ism is a knee-jerK reaction, a survival specialization, like an exo-skeleton or thick-skin made to cover your soft-flesh, and that beating heart flush with warmth 'n blood, and all those 'leKtrick-filaments dancing in your brain, flashing as lightning in your eyes, from whence you'll look and look and dare to see the Beauty in this whirl'd of creative-destruction, and the Truth in this human. this all-too-human sentimental-reality ...

The goal is Love! The goal has always been Love, however derived, denatured or deconstructed we make it.

-- that's where a cosmic sentiment is a serendipity which is bent toward your infinite-in, there where love is a radiant bouquet, bursting to blossom as you, over and over again -- there, where the music in you is wanting to play in a mellifluous-voice which only the heart can hear, that'd take you into a melodious rhythm 'n roll 'round the sound of a whirl'd swelling with a kiss of bliss, 'tis this that'd speak in that uncommon tongue, the Soulful one, which is willing to risk absurdity in an unfettered language, and is divested with an unbounded-eye not limited to the fatal-skin yer' in, there where you're looking and looking and daring to see, this creative-destruction outpouring into another sentimental-reality...

The French Symbolist credo that “To suggest is to create; to name is to destroy” can be modified here, on more neutral grounds: prose denotes; poetry connotes. Thus is Truth 'n Beauty made as if a crystal with many reflections.

As Lorca wrote: I hear the beautiful beating heart of God, in the monster of the world...

elastic-time

elastic-time is when you're on a roll, whistling as you go, feeling on top of the whirl'd, where compressed time blooms and unfurls, expanding your point-of-view to doing what you've gotta' do to be true to the authentic-you...