top of page

SPhere

a thousand introspections lead to one singular point, eight arrows rise from south to north


around a glowing sphere, the blue bees in a six pointed star becoming seven above an


orange circle of an infinity of yellow within, two green bees circle horizontally from left to


right from above, or from right to left reflected, clockwise moving green bees, one stops


and the other hits, one green bee to the other green bee says nothing, an omega symbol


of green bees in an orange circle surrounded by yellow, one green bee breaks the reflection


the omega symbol inverted, the urn of the ashes of the past, the green bee rises to the


the centre of the seven pointed blue star, the pentagram of burning yellow, the green bee


becomes an emerald in the third basket of the prince, the other two baskets, being


miraculously balanced between existence and non-existence, emptiness, and nothingness


a snake coiled round an egg, a diamond within, carries away the the two baskets balanced,


the third basket remains, the emerald of the third basket, the eye of a green witch, the


green snake circling within, clockwise in my memory, counter attack to the sitting prince


upholding the lid of the basket in meditation, to look, and fall again for the trick, deep into


the abyss of all of time, holding the lid of the basket in the opposite hand as it so appears


to be, clash of symbols reverberating, wind up again to fall as a leaf does fall, as far as


motion in the desert goes, this is the stillness of an immediately exploding infantry, one


massive combustion in the desert sand, and every soldier standing, one after another in


waves of exploding men, yet all is still in the desert, yet all is still beneath the mask of death


all is question, all is doubt, all is fear, and all is alignment, and all is acceptance, and all is an


answer to a never ending solution, and all is a problem to an ever receding beginning, and


all is calculated, and all is chaos, and what is left is what remains, and what is right is yet to


be, and what I know about anything is few and far between a guess and faith, trust and


absolute doubt in all there is, the reversal of all of time and all of times sand made to one


diamond, the diamond in the egg shell splits, and water rushes out into the stream, the


spark lifts from the falling water into emptiness and creates space, and space shines on


as light is falling, as water is moving, from far into the horizon-less depth of time, ever


into the eye of Shiva, and as water moves into the molten core beneath the arch, rises


as steam rises, rainbows shift in rippling ways as curtains do at the sight of the wind,


as mist hangs suspended in the aethyrs like diamonds on the intersecting knots of the web


hanging as drops of dew hang on the grass, each one an infinite reflection, in each one


a mask, beneath the mask death wears, I am, and circling is the serpent, round the form


a thousand pieces of broken glass, mirrored images reflecting upwards into the emptiness


divinely wrought colour-shifting figments of phantoms and dancing along the scales of


the back of the serpent moving, round and round, the masked phantoms move between one


and one and infinitely altered, formless and yet ancient, day-less as the sun in the hands held


above the basket allows the light of love to shine in upon the mask spinning, lifting from


south to east and turning as an hourglass turns, split in every direction round the sun from


east to all one thousand points in the singular introspection of the third basket at the feet.



Recent Posts

See All

The Hourglass

Point A Needle To The Sky, Centered Minds Point A Gun To My Head, Circumstantial Ends Point A : The Diamond Sutra, Centrifical Forces Yet There Are One Thousand Arms Tied Up In The Book Of The Dead An

T E L L M E

never was there such a hand beneath the sin play to the part of the devil's grinning twas there such a death as to it

ความคิดเห็น


bottom of page