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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Saturday, March 28, 2015


He is all
All is but a passing vision in his dream

He lies on his back suspended in nothingness
His hands on his chest
His legs spread comfortably wide
A smile rests on his lips
A silent trance playing on the edges of his meditative eyes
He is just there
Beginning and completing universes
Everything caused by his being

I have seen him
I know him
I have embraced his stony blue coolness
I have drunk from the sea that swells in his eyes
I have smoked the enchanting air he breathes
When he smiled at me I became him
I became all
All the world was a mere gleam on a slight ripple in the vastness that lay within me

Thursday, March 26, 2015


Strange stirring in my head makes me open my eyes,
One last gagged glance at the existence crippled by life.
I’m floating on a cloud just outside my window,
In the far distance ether in shiny strips makes up the horizon-
Seductive invitation to an eternity of Secret Truth,
A place we cannot reach trapped in the confusion of Self.
So I let my eyes slowly shut
And before there’s total darkness,
Before I’ve totally lost myself,
My vision is nothing but a narrow crack,
A microcosm of the welcoming horizon,
Shimmering as if it’s about to vaporize.

Ages have passed
Or maybe a moment froze,
All is one when time sleeps.

Suddenly, something looks around.

Nothing remained of me but dissolved Darkness,
Now, Light weaves itself in intensely fine threads,
Patching up torn consciousness with masterly needlework-
The first seed of Self finding form to begin a fresh cycle of chaos
After an interval of soundless serenity beyond remembrance.

Death is an irony