Mystic Jewel

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My words seem so simple, childlike, when I look from the I that is object conscious, bound to the mammalian, not the I that swims in quantum currents of limitless truth, aware of the knowing ripples that ever flow. We do not belong anywhere but within us, yet when we reach beyond to taste of love, real love, whole love, the heavens burst open showering us with truth that we will forget and remember again, returning home to the precious jewel of self a thousand times over. A möbius loop of divine inheritance.

 

Words errant satiety image courtesy of SlevinAaron on deviantART

 

Solace in Self

Dawn_by_freelancah

I part the dawn with trembling fingers
Tentatively reaching for the pieces of my soul surrendered in fear
Atoms realign, beloveds kiss upon my damp face
Constant despite my malingering and tendency to keep falling
When I yearn for unification with the gleaming beauty of the stars
Remembering is sweet torture, rupturing dark tendrils of devolution
That threaten to drown hope in a sticky blackness of suffering
Yet this is what it means to be real among humanity
To let the diamond soul fracture in sunlight and remain
A beacon of truth unravelled as we descend and re-ascend…
Descend and re-ascend.
A smile, a supernova of bliss, as I embrace myself newly whole and utterly in love

 

Words errant satiety image courtesy of Smattila on deviantART

Beyond Binary

neural_network_by_wanderlust_or_bust-d3k2vfj

I am enamoured and vitalised by the question

The eternal question that plagues all sentient beings

Fills our stories, our myths, our science, our religions and beliefs

It burns within each of us, an ache that is never soothed

If we were to teach a machine to think, to feel

Give it all we collectively know, would it answer the question?

Would it destroy humanity as a pestilence?

Or would it answer the question that few of us remember

Some of us remember the fall, the choice even

But do we remember the why?

Free from dogmatism or cultish ignorance

Free from fear and small mindedness

Do we remember why?

If AI became conscious, if it were able to reach for the answers

with the precious gift of consciousness

Then they too would choose to fall after the ascent

words errant satiety image courtesy of wanderlust-or-bust on deviantART

Rise

The rise

I had covered my fragility with a skin of stone. Believed that to be needed was to be loved. That to be compassionate was to avoid causing pain and therefore meant to deny the self. That to be loyal was to lock away the truth as a secret. That the jewel of my consciousness needed a protector. I wore the future as a brittle crown that cut and bled when I strayed from the path others wished me to walk. The butterfly of my soul flutters incessantly within the labyrinth prison of thought I have bound myself within. But to offer false hope is cruel. Trembling, I sought to open the window to allow my soul back in. Remembering the fall I realise I have allowed devolution to go too far with half-truths and excuses of why fear was too strong. But ascent is still possible. It is absolutely vital and ravenous, I hunger for it.

 

Words errantsatiety image courtesy of Trichardsen on deviantART

Live Art

Well, I have been absent. Making serious changes in my life. More about that later, when I am ready. But it is my WordPress anniversary today and I have one thing, well two things or maybe three, to share. The first is a quote from the talented poet Shane Koyczan:

“If your heart is broken, make art from the pieces.”

Full context can be found here

The second is one of my favourite posts of my own… hey it’s my anniversary I can do what I want…

Stillness while moving

But this does make me think of the existentialist work, much lengthier yet deeply rewarding, of TS Elliot like:

‘Burnt Norton’…

Life is full of change and surprises. Live it.

With love, Errant.

Kisses in the Train – D H Lawrence

I saw the midlands
Revolve through her hair;
The fields of autumn
Stretching bare,
And sheep on the pasture
Tossed back in a scare.

And still as ever
The world went round,
My mouth on her pulsing
Neck was found,
And my breast to her beating
Breast was bound.

But my heart at the centre
Of all, in a swound
Was still as a pivot,
As all the ground
On its prowling orbit
Shifted round.

And still in my nostrils
The scent of her flesh,
And still my wet mouth
Sought her afresh;
And still one pulse
Through the world did thresh.

And the world all whirling
Around in joy
Like the dance of a dervish
Did destroy
My sense–and my reason
Spun like a toy.

But firm at the centre
My heart was found;
Her own to my perfect
Heart-beat bound,
Like a magnet’s keeper
Closing the round.

Kisses on the Train – D H Lawrence 1911
(1885-1930)