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iii. mythos of interiority
By Feral
Consider this an attempt to cultivate something
like gentleness.
I can offer no preface; merely a vision,
held high and most tenderly…
…In the throes of a solitary intimacy,
I dreamt the night was tidal.
The piercing immensity -
drawn in with every breath,
substantial in itself, almost painful-
The shock of the real.
I am waiting.
The sand, black basaltic tiny shards
and sea stack towers jaggedly pressing upwards -
ageless remnants of a time prior to the conception of thought,
I am waiting.
The stars, the planets, the galactic core
are all closer, all brighter, all pull stronger
all call stronger
It is dancing, shifting, staggering -
the celestials are moving in counter-rhythm with
the ebb and flow of the wild waves at my feet
water, foam, dust, gas, salt all intermingling, yet remaining
distinctly their own entities.
I am waiting.
I am waiting…
I am waiting. In silence -
allowing the beauty to work within me.
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Copyright 2023 Feral
Published on Friday, August 11, 2023.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Comments on "iii. mythos of interiority"
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On Friday, August 18, 2023, blue
(1454)
wrote:
Consider this an attempt to cultivate something like an objective intuition...: Nocturnal hued sand, darkness, darkness, the lisp and lap of wavering waters, oceans of dense darkness, darkness, the incontrovertible depths of the unknown. Great stores of molecular motion! …flickering and faltering upon their endless transmutations, interior species of light, orbiting, orbiting, gravitationally bound to such renowned hearts that called out from within. Called out and never left; sustenance of soul. And, like a brush stroke across the landscape, a seemingly frivolous fog; the howling of history emerging from it’s arterial winds. Wheeling round, we find a geologic curiosity, petal, pistil and stamen perk their bony heads, full of wonderment and wile, a juxtaposition of fervent feeling. And suddenly, out of the soil of their abode, rising forcefully like the white walls of Gondor… the towering cliffs of equanimity, sure to tempt one’s heart toward humility. Straining with upward glance one can see, or more closely feel a vast arboreal wilderness heaving itself upon the world, and trickling through its kaleidoscope of leaves the distinct laughter of youth. Playful, like call and response it rises and falls, an invitation that beckons. Come, come, we have being yet to discover. Celestial bodies, slow burn of stars, galactic agape, how can you possibly speak my name? Godhead of the universe, eternal internal flow, whispers into your dream state… am I not all that you ever are…? ~b
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On Friday, August 18, 2023, blue
(1454) wrote:
In other words… blood magicks. ~b
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On Friday, August 4, 2023, carlosjackal
(3016) wrote:
This feels like a magical rebirth.
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