Posted in Consciousness, Esoteric knowledge, perception, poetry, spirituality

Rite of Passage

From early on in this existence I have felt connected to my habitat, but disconnected from my species. It has been fairly easy for me to mimic behavior(s) in order to be accepted socially and professionally.

By choice, I have slowly revealed my true self to those who have gained my trust and adoration. While the results may vary, the weight of the mask being lifted always nourishes my being.

As I become older, my willingness to participate in “make believe” has greatly diminished. And while the quantity of relationships appears to have mirrored this lack of associative action, I am left with a handful of quality relationships that I could not exist without.

 

Image: Bruce Rolff

Posted in Consciousness, Esoteric knowledge, poetry, spirituality

Divine Discovery

If, in the quest for divinity, you do not discover yourself, you are searching in the wrong place(s). True self is transcendent and independent from the human vessel. You are an immeasurable energy, unbound by time and space, existing everywhere and nowhere all at once. Safe travels my friends.

 

Image: mutequacky

Posted in Consciousness, Esoteric knowledge, Morality, poetry, truth, Uncategorized

Journey to Center

I have no excuse for this behavior, and therefore will not be providing any.  Expectations will be equivalent for those who cross or embark on this expedition. Inquisition and criticism are not only welcome, but required. The voiceless will be spoken for, however those reluctant to speak will be expelled for their deficiency. No leaders, JUST followers. Followers of conscious illumination that conspires to extinguish the darkness they have reigned down upon us.

 

Image: Artist Unknown

Posted in Consciousness, Esoteric knowledge, Healing, Uncategorized

Memoryall

Fire lights the sky.

Dirt, soft  from burial.

No need to cleanse this new skin.

The eyes, they feel the same, though they are not.

Ever-changing shades, how different the scent.

Courses, taste bitter as usual.

Over consumption bleeds exhaustion,

Frailty and bruises sink, no room in the shallows,

My hangman, the Windsor, is calling.

 

 

Image: Alex Grey