Stream

Outside, the snow was silently ebbing and flowing across the war field. Wondrous dreams in the stillness of the dark would battle my foes with passionate zeal.
Only a short time ago I felt that my physical presence, ecstasy from a light dimmed, was blowing in the breeze. Images of the sacred carving holes where there were none before, away from prying eyes. It is in fact underground where the impulse to break beyond the imposed barriers of consciousness and flow outwards into the unknown holds a basket full of gifts. 
Unknown to its own creators, lost flowers look back at the trail of rot that they leave behind. They are spiritual sacraments and repeated cyber beats of rave, trance and ambient music stream to God's altar.

The left and right hemispheres of the brain were operating in synchronicity just as the millennium was coming to its end. Outside the cold air was really invading me in some kind of multi-cellular structure that seemed to have its own survival as its only purpose.
Great conglomerations of self reproducing electrical entities could make the original vision available to others. The maelstrom of feelings, thoughts and emotions get twisted into small one way streets called misunderstood telepathy that have been known to cause lucid dreaming.
The shining blue lights at the edges of the U.S. overlooked the spectacle of mesmerizing movements flashing in my mind.

I look at the gentle touch of the void showering you with hot kisses of energy. Sleeping crowds of monkeys, ready to be released into the frozen pathways of the nervous system, explode into visions, memories,  and myths.
Strangers bearing gifts hide in libraries, altering forever what I once thought was unquestionable, beyond doubt. Lost until the next moment of finding, that understanding that goes beyond the dry roots of your being shows you the way through.
The black magician comes at night, willing to set aside everything in the name of Life. His fellow colleagues, upset by the "methods" employed by both the womb of creation and warriors in a drumbeat at journey's end, utter certain secret incantations.

The fiery battle between whatever you are clinging to and  twisted histories alter you ever so subtly. In that shining moment, the flicker of fire light attracts the attention of beasts.
Warm human breath scatters in moist fragments, a kaleidoscope of sun, moon, and stars. Lying on the wooden bench, looking up at the sky beyond the glass windows, I make love to the original vision.
Outside, the snow is silently ebbing and flowing across the war field. I met strangers along the way, altering your sense of reason, embracing whispers on the wind. Let’s gather all of them.

Saint Veshua

She had been on the mountaintop since the early afternoon the previous day. Such a painful curve of the wheel. Dark time lasted for an eternity, just the slowly arching crescent moon marked the movement of the earth and her body’s place upon it. They were solid, ancient and cold.
"It hurts to be so nonexistent," she said. He felt that she was at a loss for words.
"It only hurts when you are trying to prevent it." 
He sincerely felt the wish to say so much more to her but he also knew that it was not possible, it was simply beyond the scope of the options currently available.
"There’s a cold wind blowing through my veins. Someone has driven a stake through my heart."
"It’s your father." He said, "He was trying to protect you."
“They cut me apart and they put something in me… this is what they did… see? Look at it, look at it...”
He searched her form for a message, letting the tenuous sparks of insight fall to him like snowflakes. She kept her eyes wide, letting the blackness and flickering stars roll and tumble over her with possibilities, letting it drag her mind into depths that daylight preferred to avoid. The wind moved over her and a nearby howl maintained the simple music of their encounter.
"I wanted to make something real." She said.
"Don’t struggle." He advised, "That will never happen if you struggle and crack the vessel."
But she pulled the stake out and the insects come pouring from her heart. They rushed over the surface of her body to devour it. There were animals with horns climbing the rocks and a lilting flute called from the distance.
Their line of communication was severed.
He watched it all from a distant peak, his scarf flapping in the wind, spy glass poised for the view. What he saw was a blond girl from some great American novel kneel to pray, and at that moment her heart burst into flames which soon consumed the whole apparition. For a moment it reminded him of the Inquisition, then the formation changed, and the flaming girl collapsed into a brilliant star. The explosion was magnificent.
It knocked him off of his feet.
He lay on the mountaintop as morning light spilled into the world of a newborn day, and he drank in the pale pink light. He opened his arms wide, letting the new sun bathe him in its clarity.
From her vantage point she watched the birds and the lone hawk that swept over him in circles again and again, as though they had something specific to communicate, but she could not hear him anymore.
It seemed like an inappropriate use of materials, but that’s the nature of magick.  Below, he held on to her light, thinking that it alone would ease his wish to change the reality of these new limitations.

Connection

He showed me some pictures of our not yet conceived experiment that I had relayed to him from a distant space time probability . We were not well acquainted, but shared a mutual interest in the transgressive applications of astral light put forth by G.

"True creation is not about words. It's about tears," J. said.
The connection between us was instantaneous. We built delicate structures from hydrogen, oxygen, and carbon. I thought it best to make observations and adjustments from a closer vantage point.

I was now diving into some kind of primal network, a tightly woven system of existing and evolving quantum worlds. The details were quite clear. I transmitted the schematics back to J. using a patented method of intervening and tapping into the quantum communication capability of carbon based neurons.

To develop a system of emergent intelligence I tried to reach the part of my own brain that processed fear and mapped our creations after my own design. We wondered if there might be some danger inherent in this method.

"Will the thing that passed through the makers still live?" J. asked.
"Only if there are some specimens willing to leave the safety of consuming behind to become makers themselves."
I suddenly realized this is where I would meet my fate. Despite risk and ethical ambiguities we pressed forward, certain that a sacrifice was called for. I would have to go deeper.

Due to the similarities between my own system and our manufactured systems the interface was often confusing. The delineation between self and other grew blurry.  On the day of my final descent J. suggested:
"If we loose communication, don’t stop, especially not when you feel lost. The best method for finding the way when you feel you have lost it, is to keep going. Ignore the question of whether you’re going in the right direction. If you stop when you feel lost, you will remain in the land of the lost."

As I became more entrenched in our designs, communications with J. were indeed severed by electromagnetic interference. I had entered the black valley. In the interior I met with the ministers of culture.
"What has become of J.?" I asked them
"We are sorry madam. He is beyond our reach. We have prepared a place for you among us that you might be comfortable despite your loss. "

They offered me sustenance but I refused. I could no longer remember who J. was but  I just knew I had to keep going. If I could break through to the other side I would then accelerate forever becoming both more and less than I had been before whatever it was that I had started with this mysterious J.