broken silence

Every now and then I remember with the sharpest of pangs that I never really chose to write, and it was never anything I dreamed of doing, and who would anyway? I have to write to survive otherwise I just eat myself alive. I can feel them prodding me, words that need to purge themselves from me. They build up and they drag me down, they clog my mind, they drain my body, they make me physically and spiritually ill– then I sit down and I realize why I’d been so uncomfortable in my skin, with my organs, with my heart, with my brain. I thought it was something biological, but it’s far more esoteric than that because we are far more esoteric than that

I often don’t know what to make of life… sometimes I do, but then I lose it. Lately I’ve come to say there’s a sense of poetry,… not order, not chaos, just poetry. Nothing makes sense, but it does. And when it happens it just feels like something has been completed and for a moment everything does make sense, just for a moment I feel connected to everything and it brings a kind of ecstasy that can never be repeated

But everything in between can feel like I’m just stuttering and don’t know what to say or wouldn’t even begin to know how to frame such a word if there even was one to frame. And the phrase would be void of meaning and I wouldn’t know what I meant the second it left me. Yet at some point I just have to surrender to the fear of nonsensicality

lately I’ve been rather too silent and I only just realized I’ve allowed so much to build up within me like a dam refusing to give, so stalwart like it’s strength to refuse to be broken, like it’s not just fear of what’s to come when all the pieces lay astray. Ultimately I have to allow myself to be broken because sometimes we have to be broken to see all that is within, all the stale and withering parts squirming around not knowing where to go when we wouldn’t let them see the light of an open world. I let me break and for a time I feel weak, I feel lost and exposed, scattered and disoriented like all the cells of what I used to be could take any shape and I wouldn’t know which they’d choose. But I am the one who has the choice. I let go of who I thought I was or what I imagined was to be, surrender me to something beyond, the beauty of knowing I’m unfinished and there even is something more

and I have a sense it’ll be something magnificent, whatever it is, but I don’t know for sure. I know we’re all just going about life blind continuously searching for reasons, losing reasons, losing sight, losing self, losing loss, finding beauty in the loss, surrendering to what there is to gain that we never planned on attaining. Something always keeps us going even when time is so fickle and as I say, nonlinear. It’s not like we can plan for anything, but that’s just it… it’s not chaos, but it’s also not order. It’s something else entirely, something beyond words and I have a feeling we can all feel it, the lifeblood of the universe

I realize we’re all in a period of transition, harsh transition. Twelve months ago none of us would have thought we’d be here and now all I can think is that the world is never gonna be quite what it was. We as humans tend to become attached to what we’re accustomed to and so we can’t ride that lifeblood in all its tides and currents, sudden hangs and turns. All of this feels like chaos, actually, it feels like the end of the world. But what happens when we all strap in ready for the killing blow and it never comes? They say it’ll be some rogue, monstrous asteroid, a viral “pandemic” that has so far killed off less than .01% of the Earth’s population, alien invasion, time collapsing into itself, the sun suddenly vanishing without warning, the next ice age, nuclear warfare, biological warfare? Maybe we’ll all get cancer, it seems to be in everything nowadays anyway. Or maybe we’ll all just drink the laced kool-aid because choosing our death is a much less harrowing expense. Well, the truth is, parts of us are dying and parts of us are purging, but those are the parts of us that were already necrotized into worthlessness and ready to be amputated lest they spread. You can only wrap it up for so long and pretend it’s functioning

Sometimes things need to be broken so one can see what was always there. We were already dying a slow death and now make way for a new kind of life. There’s a new line for us to write, a new book, a new beginning. Not a word of it in English or any Earthly language. We’re children again, but there’s a freedom in that. We’re here to learn how to form our fingers and our hands to a new system because the only one could never support us. When we see the brokenness, to the human mind, it registers as chaos, failure, death because we were taught time is linear when it’s not

if time isn’t linear, that means there is no end. What’s true in a second may be wholly untrue the next. Two truths which contradict can exist simultaneously. Truth may not even be a relevant concept, not as relevant as experience because experience is sacred and experience transcends words and can never be repeated because it is ritual

I don’t really know where I’m going with anything here but I’ve truly been feeling physically ill and I really did just figure it out tonight that the reason why is because this is my lifeblood and without it I’m just draining myself away

Dreaming in Lucidity

I am sleep deprived and I tried valerian root—

my first night on valerian, I heard strange noises like paper rustling in the further corner of my room across from my bed, and my half dreaming mind imagined my favorite cat was there moving around or something, although the half awake part of me was afraid a cockroach was the culprit and if I fell asleep, I’d wake up with my worst enemy attached to my face. Nevertheless, I eventually did get back to sleep and when I did, I found myself in a horrid nightmarish realm in which my favorite cat, Delphine, was indeed in my room along with my other cat, Skadi, who shuns me for reasons I can’t comprehend and therefor wouldn’t have been in my room anyway. The nightmare wasn’t that Skadi was in my room though, but that I heard he and Delphine fighting and he being larger cat, though far less bestial, managed to tear part of her ear off, eat one of her legs, and defying all laws of rationality, burn her skin. She was still alive and I was carrying her throughout the house attempting to get someone to help me take her to the vet because I’m 26 and I can’t drive(I choose not to for religious reasons), however everyone in the house was being so cavalier despite the fact her entrails were leaking all over the floor. All they did was clean up the mess and say they’d take her to the vet later

Later. I do despise when people say they’ll ‘do it later’

but of course, the beauty of nightmares is that when you wake up, reality seems a whole lot more beautiful than it did before you fell asleep and all I wanted was to hug Delphine and smother her until she demanded I let her return to whatever it is that cats actually do when they so feverishly desire to go outside

so the next night I decided I needed to put in some real deal spiritual practice, right? If I wanted to have some wicked vivid dreams and have those wicked vivid dreams not actually be wicked, I needed to call upon the gods, my guardian angels, the universe, fucking Thor or Sehkmet or whomever. As much as I’m joking, I really did take it seriously. I have a particular protection sigil I use that works for me and I developed a new one last night devoted to dream travel. I prayed to my spirits to bring me guidance and clarity and any tools I need for my journey forward, although admittedly, I’m a child and a part of me just wants to play and explore in the astral planes. My initiatory experiences have been a lot of fun so far, so I want to keep that momentum going

I prayed, I asked my guides to be with me, I used my sigils, and enacted a bit of a ritual with intention of dream lucidity and exploration. I have developed a technique of lucid dreaming that works for me, so I used that as I fell into my lovely valerian haze and I had quite a few very vivid dreams with varying levels of lucidity, but generally very keen lucidity

But the true climax of this experience was something more beautiful than just play and adventure…it was something I didn’t consider even being possible though I do claim emphatically that the possibilities with dream lucidity may well be infinite…I decided at one point in my dream state that I wanted to go somewhere new, somewhere different. So I focused and I found myself in a dark, dimly brown hall with many, many identical doors and very few lights. Not a place I enjoyed, very simple, just a dim brown hall with basic lights and ordinary doors. I chose one on the right hand side a few doors down at random not really knowing what I’d find on the other side—

what I found was a child with straight blond hair and freckles-sweet, smart, independent, and largely left to her own devices as I assumed her mother was neglectful or busy and gave her daughter, Abigail was her name, money to buy foods and go exploring through her town

I followed Abigail and we had many lovely conversations. Oddly enough, I had this irrational sense that she was a real person and that somehow the astral world and the physical world were connected as if I was actually there with her, not just in spirit or in dream, but in reality. I even carried a journal with me to write things down and take the notes with me into my waking life.  I knew I was in the astral world, but there was this meshing collision that occurred for me and I’m not sure why. I’ll write it off as general stupidity on my part

Regardless, I stayed with Abigail throughout her day and I recall one instance of her mother opening the door to her room and half walking in, as I assumed she halfassed just about everything with Abigail, and yelling at her about something. I forgot what it was, but I could tell Abigail was upset. When I asked her about how she felt, she denied anything was wrong even though she’d suddenly closed up and gone quiet. That reminded me of how I’d react to my own mother when she would yell at me, so I could empathize and I knew she was just stewing in self hatred and questioning and so many chaotic emotions she couldn’t begin to speak about it if she wanted to

Another moment I remember with Abigail is that we were in a hospital and strangely enough, she was there to pick up medication for her mother. I looked at the mother’s name on the prescription papers and her name was my mother’s name but with a single letter different. It didn’t dawn on me quite yet that that wasn’t a coincidence and I was still caught up in this belief that Abigail was a girl living in another part of the world whose life I just randomly barged into in some strange astral form

There was another instance where my uncle who I lived with for a few years and just loved to antagonize me showed up in our adventures together to antagonize me some more which should’ve been another sign to me that Abigail wasn’t exactly a separate entity I’d visited . I could tell this greatly disturbed Abigail as his yelling only escalated, though I couldn’t fully comprehend why since he was directing his anger and screaming toward me and not toward her,…but I could understand she was a child and was sensitive to such things whether directed at her or not. I held her and attempted to comfort her by offering her some insight into why my uncle was behaving so vitriolically and so nastily— I did confide in her that I had considered killing him in the dream to ease my own pain since he wouldn’t actually die in the physical world, but I decided against it

I still didn’t quite get ‘it’

We were getting ready to part ways, so I asked her for her name and location so maybe I could find her in the ‘real world’ and I took out my notebook to write it down. She gave me her name…Abigail from Cheese Field(yes I know, funny name and I have no Earthly idea what it might mean because I don’t think it’s an actual place), and I attempted to write it down. That’s when I woke up as my physical body was filled with urge to write down that information

What I came to realize upon examining the contents of the dream adventure and trying to make sure it would store in my memory is that when I walked through that long hallway filled with identical doors, I was walking through a hallway of my own subconscious. Abigail was a facet of my childhood self. Her mother’s name being just one letter off from mine was symbolic of the fact so much of her own experiences resonated with my own experiences, but there were differences in context and some specifics

I’m new when it comes to exploring lucid dreams, but when I reach that state of true lucidity, I realize just about anything can be done in the dream world. I’m eager to explore all I can do and to maybe speak to ancestors or explore far off worlds, even worlds of my own creation, but I think I’m gonna be visiting that hallway a lot in the coming months

Working through childhood trauma and general healing from my self destructive mindset I carried for years is a new endeavor of mine and largely it can leave me feeling powerless as to how to approach it because so much has become boarded up and suppressed. But I’m doing this because I have to to become who I need to be and to no longer let my light be obscured by my darkness

I believe darkness is vital, but I believe it also must not control us. When issues related to past trauma come up, my darkness controls me and I can’t be the person I want and need to be with this beast reaching out from within me every now and again and threatening every fiber of my life and soul

Poetic Experimentation – See

This is kind of an experiment in prosaic poetry as well as just a little bit of what I call ‘decomposing language’. The words that seem like they’re not in English aren’t in any structured language at all, but they’re still meaningful. That’s the most intriguing thing to me about sounds. They have inherent meaning that has nothing at all to do with systematic language. That’s one of the things I’m exploring. And in truth, this really needs to be heard, not read. True meaning of is translated through the body and the sound so I’m gonna look into getting some decent recording set up so I can actually recite these writings rather than just share them as written

I also experimented with a bit of visual poetry and automatic symbol drawing to accompany it– Warning: I’m not a visual artist, but that’s not gonna stop me 😉

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Glossolalia- Decomposing Sytematic Language

I’ve been a ‘writer'(someone who enjoys writing badly or otherwise) since I was a small child and for me, it was a source of liberation. From what, I hadn’t an idea. Not yet. I was always searching for something that seemed so close to me and yet I couldn’t touch it nor penetrate it with my mind. I understand that now to be wordlessness. I was using words to imbibe myself with this beautiful wordlessness, that force that takes you over when you just can’t help but dance, that energy that pulls you through creative inspiration

I’m not delving deep yet, but I’m moreso setting up a little foundation for myself to bounce off of as what I really want to explore is glossolalia. And it’s funny because I used to want so badly to be able to learn every language in the world because I figured if I could do that, I could understand and see everything and that divine, sacred energy would flow through me without hindrance. But now I realize it’s not about learning these systematized languages as I’ve come to view every system as antithetical to soulfulness, but it’s about escaping the confines of language into that wordless realm and transcribing what can only be felt in vast impressions

As a writer, that brings me interest in glossolalia. I’ve only just dipped my toes in it, but I’ve explored linking sounds with feelings and with symbols or sigils made with my hands and body, using voice and physicality as a language rather than binding myself to these strict systems of language. I believe these systems distort meaning and only enable us to access a small fractal of something infinite

One of my goals in life is to explore this and go so deeply that I can easily flow into glossolalia, translating my feelings and thoughts and impressions into dance and sound. As such, my interests are not strictly in words. I aim to explore music and visual arts, but of course I could never say I’ll be a master of anything. I’m an explorer and an experimenter first and foremost, not someone who desires to tie herself to the past or to strict rules and systems or research. I’m aiming to create and see what can’t be seen with concrete, Earthly systems and rules. My idea is that sounds have inherent meaning and our words aren’t just arbitrary but also cannot be controlled because meaning doesn’t exist within systems. It’s free and everevolving, never rooted in the past

I’m gonna be experimenting with what I call ‘decomposing language’ as well which is basically writing, and then pulling the words and concepts apart to their core, bare essences, and then creating new words

Apocalypse; Purification; Rebirth-Are we living in the ‘end times’?

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Right now, we’re in the midst of ecological disasters, a financial depression, and of course, a pandemic. It sure does seem like the apocalypse, right? And if we observe recent television, it’s almost as if the powers that be have been preparing us for an apocalypse over the past decade. It’s like they want us to believe the universe is hellbent on cutting the cord to all humanity

But this is not the end of days, this isn’t the rapture, this isn’t us heading for a raging, fiery collective death. This is us preparing for vast transformation

If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that great transformation doesn’t happen softly and soothingly, slowly and smoothly. It doesn’t happen while you’re being cuddled in your mother’s arms. It doesn’t happen with a single scratch you can put some Neosporin on and bandage up until it heals in a few days. And it doesn’t happen when you expect it to. Ever.– No, it happens while you’re smiling and thinking of all that beautiful progress you’ve made in life and without any trace of a warning, it hits you with a great gaping hole through your lungs that threatens your breath and every fiber of being left. It spreads itself like a virus through your veins and you’d swear you’re no longer bleeding and that viscous liquid squeezing itself from your body isn’t you, but some cancerous invader bent on wiping you clean away

Life destroys you. It destroys you. It puts you in your place, it humbles you. That coming transformation happens with laceration after laceration as you struggle to heal before the next one comes. It’s brutal and doesn’t dare hold back its punches. It hits you until you can’t walk, and you can’t even crawl. It brings you to the depths of hopelessness and waning light and makes you question if light ever existed or if it was just a figment of your imagination, just an illusion

But while you’re there statuesquely posed in the fetal position as if if you just stood still for long enough perhaps you’d be taken back to that sacred womb and not have to experience this brutal world, it forces you to contemplate why you ever breathed in the first place and why you kept yourself alive for all those years before the fatal blow. You’re faced with a choice: Life, or death. You’re forced to review what really matters, the beat and pulse of what you’re living for. Who and what you love. It destroys you so that all you are left with is what could never be destroyed: your soul and your passion, your love. Not a thing in this world could ever take those away from you. The human body is such a resilient thing, as is the human mind, and every aspect of it is built for survival no matter how dire the circumstances

So we stand here with all the systems we thought we could rely on crumbling, that false warmth and security failing. We stand here and we see just how much of what we thought mattered could be so easily destroyed and we have to question what it is that really matters to us, what it is that can’t be taken from us. Many of us are uncomfortable with our solitude because all those systems kept us distracted, they kept us from feeling our heart beats and from following their rhythm in favor of the cacophony of the modern Western world

This is a time for purification… as they say, purification by fire. Purification is not a beautiful thing. It hurts. It hurts like hell and it will bring you to the brink of death. But as your last breath splits itself, half alive and half dead, you seize it. You remember why you’re living, you remember why your heart beats and what makes it beat faster exuding light. You see so starkly what no atrocity could ever take from you. It could take your breath away, but it could never take your love, your spirit, your passion, and it could never truly take your life if you have those in your hands

It’s often when we stand to lose everything that we become aware of what really matters and what we could never let go of because it matters too much. All our egoic desires just dissolve when we see an entire world in peril and consider that we or ones we love could very well die. It’s through death we seize life and as a collective, we are symbolically dying so that we can be reborn

Reflections

I have a strong feeling that nothing is ever gonna be as it was and when that became apparent to me, it felt like a shock to my system. But upon further contemplation, I realized that this is the moment I’d been waiting for. I knew it was coming but I didn’t know how. I just knew that despite all my previous deaths, I’d face a single greater death that would far eclipse the rest. We as a collective have had the rug pulled out from underneath us. We see now that we’re all in pain, we’re all suffering. That is forcing us out of our own little bubbles lined with illusions that our individual suffering is somehow greater than others’ suffering

This awareness will propel us to more than ever join together to heal and to form new systems that work because so obviously the old systems didn’t work. It’s a time for newness. It’s a time for rebirth. It’s a time for new leaders to step up and create their own movements aimed at creating systems that run on symbiosis; symbiosis between humans, but also with the Earth

This pain is real and yes, I know people are dying, but we have to focus on the prospect of new life. What I know with absolute sureness is that when grand destruction occurs, the opportunity for equally grand growth is introduced. Yes, the world seems to be in shattered rubble, but what’s really occurring is that the parasitic systems that previously reigned are being torn away. It’ll leave a mark, but we’re being called to heal it and to rebuild, re-create, to use our creative power to introduce true symbiosis

For right now, I believe we’re being called to take a break from the oppressive, soulless systems that have been leeching off of us and to return to the heart. It’s an opportunity to tend to family and friend dynamics, but also to return to passions we may have long forgotten out of what felt like necessity. It’s a time to think and contemplate the coming changes we will be enacting when we’re released from lockdown. Pick up that guitar that’s collecting dust, pick up a pen and just start writing in that journal you’d wanted to start months before, pick up a new skill,… just whatever you do, create

I must admit that I foresee a great amount of turmoil we’re gonna have to endure before we can start rebuilding, but just strap in. Keep your spirits up. Dance. Engage in what you love. Enjoy time with your family. Heal what you hadn’t been able to heal while being parasitically leeched off of by corrupt systems

When ‘this is over’, things won’t be the same. Nothing can ever be the same. But what we’re gonna be left with is the pure foundation that had been seized by corrupt individuals and turned into the parasite it became, and we’re gonna create a more beautiful world in which everyone has the tools to thrive

Evolve or Die

Transformation. Think ‘rebirth’. To be reborn, you must die. And so we’re going through the flames and when ‘this is over’, we’re not gonna be the same people we were before just as the world will not be what it was. Collectively, we’re being called to grow up and as I said, it’s ‘evolve or die’ time

The choice we always have no matter the circumstances is to either fold, or evolve. You as an individual have your own choice as to how you’re gonna react to the chaos. Chaos isn’t the enemy. Chaos is inevitable. But the human mind is so powerful that no amount of chaos can overpower it unless it chooses to be overpowered. Humans at the core are creators and when you’re in the hands of your creative power, nothing can overpower you

Ultimately, whether or not we’re living in the end times is up to us, but it’s important to know that that’s our choice and we have all the power in the world to evolve, to transform. Would you rather live with limp breath, or embrace the call to transform?

So we will not be overpowered. We will evolve. We will rebuild. We will be reborn

Shifts

words, magic, wordless, sounds, glossolalia, dance, ritual, energy, perception, perspective, infinite possibilities, sigil, metaphor, symbolic, impressions, feeling, emotion

with just a few shifts, you’re in an entirely new universe

nothing and no one can overpower me because my creative mind will simply shift its way through whatever threatens to grasp it

isn’t it wild that with simple perspective shift, nothing can overpower you? become a master perspective shifting, seeing all angles, then you’ll always be free

my theory is that there’s far more we can do with perspective shifting than just getting ourselves through everyday obstacles. I’m thinking perhaps there are infinite layers to existence that can be uncovered simply by shifting perspective and doing a little wordplay

more poetic ramblings of a madwoman — Vaka

I don’t even remember writing this one, but I know it’s an automatic writing exercise of sorts I wrote around two weeks ago. Automatic writing is by far one of my favorite creative processes. Again it’s not exactly poetry, but that’s the closest category I could really fit it into. ‘Poetic ramblings’ is perhaps the best descriptor

trigger warningit mentions meat a lot so vegans may not enjoy this, for that matter I’m not sure nonvegans will either

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poetic ramblings from a madwoman– Jacob’s Ladder

I just last night started a journal to write down all my poetic ramblings that come to me at the most inconvenient of moments but nevertheless I must bend to their divinity. I usually have these things on my phone or in spare sheets of papers, but I wanted a book I could look at for inspiration for my poetry as all those maddening bits of nonsensical words and phrases and images do become poetry

Today I’m not sharing a poem, but a some of my poetic ramblings melded together into… some writing. I don’t believe there’s a name for this as it will all seem nonsensical and primarily I work by ‘automatic writing'(channeling my core soul)

Jacob’s Ladder

Jacob's Ladder

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