Tag Archives: Ouroboros

Famêlée

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This feels like an arrow
Made from a tree
That rose from
An acorn
That I gathered and stored
In another life

Scribed with a message continually
piercing my heart

I wasn’t only wounded though,
I was woke
into a clarity
that I was already sighting in my dreams,
writing – with words
mortal and eternal

You once said, proclaimed or whispered
Every single thing
That I ever believed
My own truths embarrassed in the shadow of your confidence
My inner voice silenced in your animated persuasion
Believing you so completely – for the better of my years
Becoming like and unlike you because of it,
but not be-coming me,
Un-be-coming me every day

I ain’t even mad
You don’t know this – still,
You don’t want
to hear,
or listen
Our time is running out
Even this admission
Is sure to haunt me one day,
and guilts me today

But I can’t call you confidant or crone
If you refuse to learn,
to evolve,
From this one archetype

The wide and long view
seems to escape you
You live in the moment in the least way, the worst way
And I don’t worship here or there, any more
The faith in your godliness is gone,
It is unfamiliar
For me to pity you
You, deaf and tone deaf

You had all the answers
In the morning shallows, perhaps
But evaporation revealed even those
Were anchor-less, yet stationary
An algae
Mucking up the colorless perfection of sunlit water

But in the deep, or dark, or quiet pools, you were always so lost
And in the ocean, at night
You drown even in its calm
You have ridden civil swells and storms,
I’ll give you that
But have you ever communed with waves
Allowing them to be part of you
Swallowing and absorbing the mystery
Becoming the colorless perfection of dark water

You seem to stay parched
Your belly’s hollow from impious fasting and pious thirst
You do know that’s where your heart sits?

But let’s agree to come around again, friend
We’ll swap places and next time
I’ll be the mother,
and the son,
and the husband,
and the elder,
and the babe,
and the foreign one,
I’ll become The Other One
because,
I want the chance to know
You

 


Ouroboros: The Samsaric Ferris Wheel

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The Engineer is unfathomably removed; the Operator is a remote-controlled animatronic, and it seems impossible to hack the controls or jam the gears of the Samsaric Ferris Wheel. The centripetal force both anchors and disorients its occupants – the ride is super-soul-powered by the heavy, endless and ever-increasing mass of humanity.

It’s over-capacity, but I see that this Wheel will never collapse, spinning simultaneously slower and faster – hell, they’re still selling-out tickets. The line to ride is infinitely lengthening, and the Designer is invested in the energy of the eternal revolution of these souls.

I’ve been in this gondola for a while now. When I first boarded, it felt foreign, artificial and uncomfortable, yet it smelled fresh, clean and new, and promised sensuality and excitement, but then I began to recognize some of the other carriages –a familiarity alternating with déjà vu. And there’s a persistence of thought that I may’ve occupied some of the others – I can’t be certain of it though. Some of the landscape seems familiar – fleetingly pleasant, moments of strikingly beauty, but now turning and turning increasingly mundane, sickening, frightening and horrifying.

A camouflaged, serpentine concessionaire slides across and around the sparkling blue and brilliant green structure, interrupting my outward, searching gaze, and whispering the offer of endogenous “refreshments” – a selective offering of ancient, yet succulent apples to any occupant whose blindfold is removed and whose eyes are opened wide:

“Take eat, this is the knowledge that’s been concealed from view; take drink, this is the covenant returned to you?”

Famished and parched for Truth, I take the apple presented to me. My first taste – full of the bitterness of Truth, its juice stinging my heart first, then my throat, my eyes, my ears, my nose, but then I feel its sweet momentum of gnourishment. Ravenous, I bite clean through it, revealing a cross section of the core. There, lies a golden filigree key – the key to my restraint system — a harness and a “safety” bar. Beneath the key – five golden seeds embedded in the five-pointed flower-star of the apple — one is marked ‘he’, and I intuitively know – this is the seed of my Twin – I am his Horcrux tethering a part of him here, and it is also my Red Pill. I tuck it under my tongue, not swallowing yet, and clasp the other four seeds in my left hand.

I free myself with the key, standing up and rocking the carriage fearlessly, and the Wheel Operator takes notice. I’ve been in spinning in the gondola marked 8 Black, but the House is always ahead on this Roulette, and losses, though infrequent, are built into the system. My departure is inconsequential.

My mass dissolving, my definitions fading rapidly, free of Gravity – flesh and graves, I float out and upward, passerby to more opulent and pious gondolas, and ascending above and beyond the Wheel for my very first vista of the Horizon of Light and Dark, of the Continents of Carnival and Circus, of the Oceans of Origin, and the vast expanse of the Universe of Space and Stars. The Illusion of the Grandeur of Earth and the Heavens is revealed to me, and I am momentarily uneasy. This House and Sky is all I may have ever known, but for the Grace.

But I can only save myself, turning toward the faces of the blindfolded – the blind souls – the greedy, the violent, the hateful, the miserable, and the content, the naïve, the decent, the ignorant, among them; I glimpse other seekers too, burgeoning spirits with blindfolds askew or off, eyes opening slightly and slowly like the newly born. I toss the Four Seeds to the Four Directions of the Winds, as Johnny Appleseed to the eternally dying.

With a nod to the serpent,

I swallow the Fifth one, and so begins the beautifully and fully conscious destruction of my remaining matter and the remnants of the ego of my false being.

I feel no pain or fear, my Twin Spirits release simultaneously – reunited, the two become, instantly, rapturously, One.

At last and forevermore, the existence of the Ever-and-Omnipresent vortex – comprised of unfathomable, vacuous, darkness of non-being and unfathomable radiant, lightness of pure-being is revealed to me.

Within this co-existence of Emptiness and Fullness, the Essence of Non-being and Being weave into the seamless blanket of the Pleroma – It enfolds me, envelops me, swallows me, be-comes me.

And I, become It.