In a snapshot~
there are windows upon windows on an edifice standing in the middle of a block in an urban downtown cloudy dusk,
and the focal point is a golden shimmering crescent moon on a nightstand that reflects the lamplight from the street and perhaps the light of the moon if the luminary is near full.
There is life behind the crescent shape, is it important?
What does it all mean?
Does it all mean nothing?
And we fade, the colors swirl in a hypnogogic whirl,
a psychedelic trip of contemplation,
and back to basics.
I am a nexus of awareness, an energetic body,
animated matter, put together
by my ancestors, bones that are the stones of the Earth,
rivers of blood and tears,
full of particular fears,
Who are we? And what are we doing here?
Most of us, we react to being poked.
Cause effect cause effect cause effect cause effect cause effect
But we are the Architect,
and matter is our clay,
to be molded.
I am an Occult Angel~
here to serve the coming.
The numbers you see, numerology,
crystal grids and magic spells,
the way that woman crosses and uncrosses her legs,
the way you know she’s watching you,
and you are watching her, and it’s a game
of how long you can stand the torture of not colliding,
atoms wanting to merge.
interconnected star seeds.
None of us are alone,
but we feel alone.
To hold my hand, you would feel the Goddess’s love,
the everything that is and the everything that was.
Do you notice the way that rotating fan just hits you enough to make the fuzz on your face stand up?
Or the way you can unravel an angry person by truly listening?
What do you see?
Could you see me?
Because it all matters.
You are the architect. What are your dreams?
How does it feel when you notice purple peonies,
take pictures of all the various kinds of knees?
I only rhyme to please.
But in truth, we can breathe.
We are alive. Everything else is cherries on top.
Do you see the tile with RIP?
The infant cemetery plot. There is energy here~
on a spectrum of light—> matter.
Can we raise it together?
Everything you notice is important.
The way the trees look like our forearms, the branches our fingers or hair.
The way something tastes like potential,
living each moment like the stars are our witness.
Don’t go through life oblivious.