Friday, September 2, 2011

Dancing with Stars

Dancing with Stars from the Book of Worms and Lilly-pads L. Edgar Otto Sept 2, 2011

The soul is not concerned with what of the design of your heart binds the feet or grows the twig- these things are secondary, and the descent into the light or our arising from it is the prime glory of creation wherein all things love.

You with false beliefs who have found the false god- certainly a match made in Heaven, and who am I to enlighten you, deny you the mercy of what the soul can bear, steal your dreams and change your path that among the mistakes of nature you shall not awaken.

The light is the source of things in this world and yet it is the end of all, the final mirror fall to back whence we come- and no one knows if our view into the light and dark is an endless walk or a final destination calling us to some higher end. We but pass the days to get there or we stumble flashed to the clouds to arrive there- and no one keeps the clock.

The stars and these centers of creation, the depth of tunnels and the descent of spirits, demons and angels, these things are part of the thought and dreams of man.
For what is vanished in the sea of broken toys is built again. The Norse men seek the trade winds and the equator, the desert tribes dream of the top of the pyramid as the door to heaven fixed at the dog star. Howl then, and heed the loops and hidden passageways pointing North- and in the secrets these alone the protection of the prophets and priests. For as you bask in the light you collect it into grain and drink of the flood waters, stars and death stars vie for the sky and the gravity that holds you on the thirsty earth does not know if it is the metal and the chalk that holds up the sky that one day will crush you.

You who sleep on the ground face its coolness in the heat of summer or face away from the sky and dig into its warmth in winter - creatures of the storm this is why for lives keep to the days capricious climes and begets the fog.

The cloud does not allow the vanishing of hard gained wisdom by the aging human soul as much the grasp as contained in a lifetime one mote of light all of space and time. What a shabby design that would be for mankind and universe - only the sunlight craved by the wanderers lost in it can welcome and dispel the fog.

Denizens of the cloud cannot hide from us as much as we have journeyed far from them as if we need not the dew when all else is dry in the desert.

Have I lived by the cloud, my ancestors there or in my soul this side of the bright end light, or do they now live by me?

God is like unto the owl, his pounding wings and rapid dive in the stealth of starlit night and only the wind felt too late to see him after he plucks a single hair from the numbers on your scalp, razor sharp his talons. All for a string among the countless to build his nest.

God gave you as lovers a double soul like the dolphin's brain, not that you crave to return what nature has torn asunder but that you can play freely like the dolphins.

You ladies born rotund and Ruby-esque, recalling how fleet and slim, immortal and innocent your fleeting fragile youth, playing fasting games or denouncing the imagined jibes of inconsiderate devils, you cannot hide the beauty of your camel's toe.

You who live a like but appear to believe it so that others conform and in the main heed the laws, but do not believe in your hearts the book, the scroll, the awakening. You will have a double surprise before you pay with eternal night having plucked out your own eyes.

When we lost our brother, and his lingering shadow now forgotten in the rust and dust and light, we lost everything again and so became shadows. Only the spark and isolation from the living souls keeps my heart from from being now made of only shadows.

The day of martyrs has past - the fear of them and holy days and gilded Mare maid memorials in their honor will no longer protect them nor the prophets by their examples.

At the gate of Heaven, traveling to it through time and time around, what guarantee is it we enter therein and our unique soul persists beyond the vanishing of the old memory grounding of the stars?

The animal soul sees and responds to evil - but in stealth the immoral higher incarnate soul knows and uses this to control the animals.

Not that we must die to know if there is more beyond the Gods-eye higher dimensional view through the depth tunnel into the light, there at the gate so to speak, but that we can know about if we return.

Only he who knows the game is fantasy can play it well, win and learn something from the game as real.

There was a time when the runes were magic and divination with them gave warnings and bearings. The seafarers close to the land played Morris with counters and wagers, their compass in the fog and depths.

The adult of your species have lived beyond their years, fragile shells of seep spent time held together by drying seaweed. That you evolve is nature's struggle to reach the point where the jewel and purpose of creation is a long and happy childhood.

Once a soul awakens no matter how short its life past quickening, it cannot vanish - only in rejecting it comes the rejection of what your life with it could have been, regrets or not you have taken away from your own light.

In ancient times, in war there was restraint and mercy or formal respect for those villages obeying the laws of conquest and defeat, for the fear that some souls may return seeking vengeance. We have forgotten that as now more than the wine and lime we insure that no skeleton breaks out from the grave, slow the iron womb that sends all things to fire and ash. Dismissed as an unknown we er on the side of dust and light against simplistic superstition. Consequently, wars are now more unrestrained in violence done with indifference.

No one in heaven or earth can accuse the innocent soul when truth is known in our own open hearts, to only ourselves and God some ever uncertain testimony that is our right of being against the torture that welds swords of lies. But only God can advise and forgive, permit, allow for expediency our actions and for others our sacrifice or intervention, if contrite and worshipful of life even the self-deceptions in our soul's heart.

If we cannot talk to the spirits, the tower strong through the depth tunnel and that as much with us as our shadow made of the dark pure light, how can we know or talk to God? The city roads to heaven are easier to prove and hard to surpass in understanding than what of God is that He exists.

You think yours is the right by knowing another, an accident or by birth to make some claim on their love and life- insist this tax on my time, little bird who could fly keeping an open mouth- beware how I might fill it.

You are drawn to the cloud in the screen as with any light, mistaking it for a purpose, end, sharing of wisdom- the moth in a mindless holding pattern mechanical the brush with flames until it cannot fly and becomes insensitive to touch.

But is this not implied if our animal soul shows no relation of the physicality of the world and the entropy and stacking of diamonds, the steps of our animal and higher souls as we dance until the closing of the feast, with the stars?

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L. Edgar Otto 2 September 2011

God is like the field mouse that peeks so fast from the mouse hole to see what you are doing you are not sure you've seen Him save for an uncertain feeling. If you try to see Him no matter how you turn looking over your shoulders you still but glimpse this feeling.

The Devil is more a shrew or mole that assumes you're looking for him. You will not catch him in a mousetrap, for he waits until the mouse takes the cheese then he has both.

You rabbits, long your ears and reversed the silhouette of ducks on the sky your eyes seeing innocuous as evil. So you stand still at one with the grass or snow as if God's-eyes cannot see half again in the depth of dimensions.

While we cannot see the other half behind us, God has perfect vision. His eyes in the back of His head.

Only the bunnies captured by man long enough to cross the channel survive, unlike the adults who freeze and die from shock and fright.

In love as in faith we can see a wider picture, see our selves and each other with greater clarity that banishes all other stalking, prying eyes.

If our bond, its joys and mirth and tragedies were foreseen, such prophesies in our eyes, as with God's, would make no difference come the Kingdom.

God is as much the weaver of the dust, His eye for colour, and greys, as His warps and woofs of light. Our pale logic, our designs and explanations, cannot improve upon what in His we see as lack when that is the most sensible, free and beautiful- without His permission.

The philosophy of God serves to bind the seed and tribe of men over as long as the traveling star crossed the constellations known before text and script. But outside the pale of its people united by iron and steel it has no reach or can remain this useful function. The people beheld the star and saved its light by voice as wisdom.

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Lockean Spring

Democracy of the revolution where justice blind can give good weight but cannot weigh anything truly, the chandeliers of powdered wigs, ripe and perfumed the falling figs splattering on the Tri-cornered hats of cavaliers ever half way lost through the forest but full of hurry, like the girdles and bustled gowns hang down through the crystal beams of light like dangle berries.

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He Used to be an Expert at the Dawn of the Age of Computation

I am not so sure of that One-that-Sleeps-Long-without-the-Sun, they have no more funds to study you? They admit they could not make sense anyway if they biopsied your lumbar? At least that is honest. Surely the world can hold vastly more beings that you do not have to vanish that the new ones have place.

Neurologists come close and it is interesting that they cannot explain how you sleep at all without melatonin. Something must serve that function.

But do we need the nerves anyway to transmit the messages of touch and motion? And what is the light of which we dream so as to turn our heads away from the brightness of that sun? Did not the motes before animals so arrange the chemicals for the mind to come? What are we, lowly bacteria on the face of the world, so make like it for greater things to come?

Does not your furnace of your cells emit light even a thousandth as bright as day? Or is there some deeper light to which your mind in stroke so see by it halfway into the place of only such light?

Does the oatmeal work at least in summer when you hibernate the less? Why do you find in dark meat so much that is bleached out in the white meat of the fowls?

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