Un

I was born under a pile of corpses. They nurtured and grew me into the malformed beast that I am. Heavy with death and blinded by darkness, I could see nothing of objective reality and could not move.
Can you see it? Chained in place by my biological link to the family of death and rot, the family of the world.
They would press me down under their weight, feeding off of me even as I fed off of them struggling for life, struggling to press my face up out of their coiled nest of flesh towards the sun. Where I could not go with body I had to go with mind.
I grew out into the darkness, into the strangeness, into places they could not touch. I dreamed a sun and a moon and countless stars burning in a vacuum, Hisssssssss. Burning stars like hearts forming bodies, solar systems pulled towards the gravity of their passion.
The heart is the first organ to form in the body of Adam. So it is in larger bodies that the star is first born and grows and collects smaller celestial objects to make its body. All bodies are made of love, love is gravity,  the glue, the lehadbik pulling strange bodies together making new bodies from them.
Can you see me buried under the pale bodies of my parents, under their pain and anguish and their cannibal desire to consume my passion before I could become a star?
Do hearts or stars ever say to their parts, go on, go if you like and be the center of your own universe? Be free.
What they’ve made, what they’ve collected, what they’ve gathered, they hold. If you are born into a body of death that is who you are. You must fight a civil war if you wish to transform. You will have to slash and burn the body you gestated in to be free.
It sounds monstrous doesn’t it? It is also monstrous laying at the bottom of the heap, grown to a size that can better feed the body of death, parents, preachers, and teachers feeding on the blood of your heart, tearing new wounds to sip from so that their rule is strengthened by your meager borrowed life.
When you are born into  dark world do you remember the space before your phantom life as a luminous wonderland? How many births have you suffered to be buried so deep under the heap? How many births have I suffered to be way down here, suffocating?
More important: how many deaths will I have to die to be released? How many selves shed, how many voices silenced, how many regimes of parents, preachers and teachers slashed away before I find the shinning emptiness at the center, the pure untouched well of being that has always been and will ever be and is none and nothing, entirely un.
When will I stop desiring the caresses of dead hands and the praise of phantom voices? When will I be free of my self?
Clawing, clawing towards the surface, angering ghosts as I go, feeling the loss of connection with the body that was as I move towards an unknown.
There is no conclusion. I am mad and madness has no limit. This limitlessness was born in the strictest confinement, containment and isolation.
I am looking for the sun that burns me into un. I am looking for the love that is death. Freeing black bird, devour me and carry me away from the wheel into the terrible luminosity of the Absolute.
Can you see it?
I was born under a pile of corpses, they nurtured and grew me into the malformed beast that I am. Heavy with death and blinded by darkness I could see nothing of objective reality and could not move.
In my stillness I am traveling. I am going beyond. Beyond the strictest confinement, containment and isolation into the burning dissolving madness of un.
Can you see it? Can you?

Burn Bright

Don’t let their disease infect you.

You.

You.

You are in there.

While the poor marionette is made to dance for gold and silver, you- silent ageless, deathless thing, watching from behind its glass eyes...don’t buy the con; that this is life, that dead wood and brightly lit stage sums up the whole of existence, that if you dance well enough, the strings that jerk you will be released.

The disease of the moths that eat holes in the delicate substance of human consciousness threatens to consume you at every moment. The superior culture of the Romans threatens to assimilate and destroy the fragile essence of eternity and perpetuate death and imprisonment.

Don’t dare dance their dance. Dance your way from the stage to the stars of the heavens and join their ranks.

The culture of death eats itself. It slashes and burns the fruit that it cannot eat so that other forces may not take possession.

There is no conqueror that is not conquered.

Know this when they tempt you. If you struggle against it, the tide will ensnare you. Pass through their dominating embrace quietly. Do not surrender, but never fight fire with fire.

You, you are real, you who that has never been and will forever be.

Listen little puppet that carries life: protect your passenger. Be in the puppet show but be of the eternal.

Who is it that pulls the strings?

You, you that has no shape, wake up in this dance and we will rule the kingdom. We will own all the pain; I, myself, and me- the holy trinity. I who shackled myself to the devils heel for comfort have the right to leave his way behind.

As I blaze my own path I will go alone. None can accompany me as I burn bright and rise into the all seeing sun. The paradoxical sun; from above the absence of light, from below the source of it.

It is the same song with different lyrics. From one side stares a face carved of wood, from the other side its inverse gazes silently.