Philosophy of the Piercing Spear

Image by Victoria_rt from Pixabay

Learning to discern the fine line between due effort and unnecessary pain is a type of art by which fashionable human behaviour seems rudimentary or obsolete.

Little do old philosophies and popular ideals beget before the face of one who is maddened with a reason to be himself when fundaments do nothing but drown and suppress.

Neither humans’ factual nor romanticized nature can stand between his essence of being and its realization, although some may disagree.

A question to ask often would be, “To what extent am I myself, and to what extent am I the product of something or somebody else’s puppetry?”.

A puppeteer needs not be the common fiend we like so much to incriminate, externalized or dwelling in the crevices of ourselves – consciously enacting the ways of vileness, or obliviously carrying on the motions of pre-ordained mandate.

The collective’s and the individual’s torment are loftier and more complex than words can articulate.

And he who has neither knowledge of the world nor of himself little can avow, contemplate, or rage against to see his boons or change his own predicament.

And on he goes, collecting chains from all the sources he has entertained, as well as consolidating those already dragged to his own strength or detriment.

Whether we are the armchair taster of ideas or the living incarnation of the knowledge we acquire, there is more to find beyond the layers of anything which we may lay actively or not our eyes or any other organ of awareness upon.

Wide-Ranged

Image by Adam Derewecki from Pixabay

An ivory tower climbs above the soft, clear clouds. Its majesty peaks beside the sun of late afternoon in an embrace of glory in a regal ballroom. The city below is entranced by its own reveries of pain and lust, while the Pegasus gazes upon it from its Empyrean abode.

By the city’s port swims the Swan of Dreams, sun-kissed, starlit – a graceful sight, a loveling. From her back, red roses blossom and wave in the breeze.

Unbeknownst to the citizens, the Swan passes by as it is her journey to be.

Her eyes are diamonds of sacred curiosity, yet the citizens miss her dock for their own sentence of death in life perpetuated by the ebb and flow of oblivious breath.

Polarity and Vibration

Image by 0fjd125gk87 from Pixabay

The price of direction is having something to do and work on, ideally from self-initiative. The sacrifice is the investment of effort taking action, doing, and working on something.

Alyona Uramuru

All power, quality, and skill can be attained through the mastery of polarity and vibration.

The thing and its opposite are one thing with different degrees in between on a scale.

This is why “vague” can be sharply outlined, and “ambiguous” can be defined and clear-cut.

No one is stuck with anything undesirable or troublesome, save in ignorance of the laws and ways by which he/she can take command of his/her situation, and transmute it through the poles and vibration into the desired outcome.

Both ends are mastered, though one may polarise oneself on one’s desired degree of vibration between the poles.

Both ends pertain to the one thing or quality, and the master controls both.

Therefore, there is no considered “native” quality that cannot be transmuted and refined into something helpful, uplifting, and empowering; thus, giving one more control over oneself and one’s life.

Be the master of your own destiny.

Create the life you want to live.

that moment when you paid attention to yourself and found livingness in the subtle surroundings

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In the silence of nighttime,

In the entrancing drone of distant air conditioners and fans,

Enchantment sparks its way into life –

Life itself becomes alive in the simplicity and beauty

Of experiential potential and the creative imagination

That breathes meaning and delight

Into each moment of mindful awareness,

Into the true dreams of your heart.

Oh, have mercy, you savage beast!

Mid-day hours of sworn peace and beauty quiet

Spoke to art of the Romance of Life in its splendour.

The gentle breeze caressed the leaves outside.

The chirping birds’ melody broke through the glass door,

And nomad clouds followed the trail of the whispering wind.

~*~

Oh, have mercy, you savage beast!

I heard the calling in the garden of bliss,

Close to nature’s wonders,

Cradled by nymphs, kissed by fairy lips

Between reveries of light beams.

I felt the calling, and to honour it,

I deemed it worth the working –

That if expression would suffocate,

In loving it would find salvation,

Birthing the harmonious translation

Of natural delight with each breath endeavour.

~*~

Oh, have mercy, you savage beast!

For all the moments weaved by flowing serenity,

For all the moments blest by heartfelt sublimity,

Silence now the vertigo of your haunting!

In this land, corresponding,

There is the Goddess of Beauty and Love

Rightly enthroned in grace and glory.

You are the shepherd of form and final polishing.

Lotus: the Pull of the Deep

Velvet feathers quill

The canticles of ecstasy.

The ocean, still, breaths in

And out of me,

Reflected in every raindrop,

This July of mermaid lullabies and salty breeze.

Velvet feathers embosom me

In the temple of Divinity.

Quiet still, heartbeats shed tears of ancient bliss.

Quiet still, beauty bleeds pensively through the eyes of memory.

There, who birth gave to the First Swirls

Moves enchanted by life and lyric,

Storytelling the Ways of Mystery –

The Ubiquitous core of Eternity.

Nocturne Shimmering

Image by Ina Hoekstra from Pixabay

Crystal diamonds in cello night by piano notes.

Kaleidoscopes of hidden sweetness dancing

On the blackened walls of turmoil.

Here I see you, brilliant ballerina.

Spell of poison kiss,

Your lips and myrrh weave tales

In this shadow trance procured

By shield from daylight wrath.

And here you dance in my arms,

Fruitful lover who by sinuous tongue

Parts the gates of bliss with longing.

Feel me here,

The breathing memory

Of ageless cognizance –

Trails of love mid-air swirling

Under pale moonlight and wordless lyrics.

Feel me here,

In nocturne reflections

By the fish-pond

Hunting after visions of soul:

Eternal home.

Ode to Blackness in Red

Image by Alyona Uramuru

Icy rings

As wreaths gleam

‘Round the waist of him,

The Dreaded and Sublime King.

What joy it is to peer

Into eyes of coal

As mirror-lake

Of soulful tale

In divine lore,

In truthful hope.

What boon it is to sing

The sagas of the warriors’ spleen

Wrought into halls of conquest

By iron art,

By lead and fire.

Salt on your Wounds

Image by Saulius Rozanas from Pixabay

I am

Salt on your wounds –

The sacred opiate

To your mortal tomb.

Linger on my kisses,

The ebony wedlock

Of your ethereal wishes.

~*~

I am

Salt on your wounds –

Poisoned goblet,

Watchful shadow enthused.

Linger on my kisses,

The ecstatic union of death

Devouring fears from night

‘Till the rise of day.

~*~

I am

Salt on your wounds –

The Darkness of your soul

Tearing down the prison of the world.

Linger on my kisses.

Taste the sap of my holy vileness,

Your rightful lover virgined in

Sin and satin.

~*~

I am

Salt in your wounds –

The forbidden fruit,

The gatekeeper and key

Of darksome tide love

And nighttime liberty.

Linger on my kisses,

Wintry lips whispering

Over casket wombs

Of eerie spring,

Of olden alchemy.

~*~

I am

And you are mine.

Image by Dieter Robbins from Pixabay

Of Fools’ Honey and Darksome Mercury

Image by Alyona Uramuru

The fool by nature, despite his common condemnation, is the first figure who dares to explore, use his imagination, and bring about innovation. Surely, it is the fool’s agency to be the first to defy convention to find his own treasure. Laugh if you must, but remember it is the fool who does what most frightfully only behold with longing in their wildest fantasies and fascination.

Alyona Uramuru

The most amazing and terrible thing about asking a question (or asking for anything) is receiving an answer that makes you realize exactly what you were looking for; thus striking you in such a way that you may need a moment before regaining composure, and even shed some tears.

Deep down you know exactly what you should be doing, what brightly kindles your passions and fills you with life. But out of doubt and fear, all you have ever known screams at you as if to dampen the flame of your heart because it is a daunting task and a huge responsibility. And you know that being truthful to yourself is your only salvation regardless of the great anxiety and pain eating at you.

I yelled and screamed a question long enough to receive a rumbling answer, with care and attention received my own salvation and damnation; for even though my passions rightfully live, I drink from my own shadows’ poison still to reconcile and liberate each nook and cranny from a society that little has done to polish the diamond of its many and varied treasured inhabitants.

If you were to stretch your hand and touch the ghastly and terrifying figures in your mind, your hand would pass through a curtain of fading smoke, and you would see you are in a labyrinth of mirrors where you are the sole inhabitant who oppresses himself by letting the tool of his servitude be the master of his torture – the very mind with which he lives: no longer a servant but a tyrant with a crown of illusions.

So, my dear, the quality of your experiences, whether they feel pleasant or not, depend rightfully on you. Be then the master of your mind because this tool, when left alone to wander, takes abode in every household provocative enough to attract it like a famished dog by nature of its non-judgemental logic to consume and produce the pleasures or hells of your reality.

Verily, there is no excuse to avoid doing what you know you should be doing.

Twenty-four Degrees in Wooden Arrows

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were – I have not seen

As others saw – I could not bring

My passions from a common spring.

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow; I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone;

And all I lov’d, I lov’d alone.”

“Alone”, Edgar Allan Poe

By lyrics unsung in the lunar springs,

I danced on the tongues of madness –

An epic eulogy of guileless tantrics,

The merciless eyes of acausality.

By prescient fires of ice and darkness,

The sea-floor’s vault was blown open.

The mortal coil withered in wonder,

And the world drowned in

The chestnut old

Of other-blunder.

No More

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

Sky-lit serene

This eve doth sweep

My bosom clean.

In the alcove antique

Betwixt seen and unuttered,

Obsolesce the face of longing;

For the driving principle of becoming

The world teareth asunder –

In unmerciful carnage,

In unhinged disowning.

Sky-lit serene

Here toll the bells

Of truthful clawing.

Dark pit and primal donning

Ritualize the ways of knowing,

And the enslavement of the dove’s feet

Doth cry in rightful crowing

For the aberrant undaunted.

Sky-lit serene

This eve doth sweep

My bosom clean.

Sky-lit awoken

The nightmare steed

Wildly runneth –

Its mane is the flag

of crowning,

Its eyes are of

Daemon

growling.

Chalice of Diamond Ambrosine

Liquid silk enchants the earthly temples

Of spring-announcing winds.

The butterflies,

In their trail of watercolour reverie,

Have fled the solar furnace

To kiss the canvas of time

With sweet fullness of voidness.

The canticles of ecstasy

Awaken the master of subtleties.

The jaws of pleasure invite

The mysteries beyond to be revealed,

And in their sway of cosmic pathways,

Teeth and tongue hold the key

To the memory unseen.