like a wild mountain man
staggering out of the woods
muttering gibberish
disheveled beard all dripping in the rain
spawned by a lightning strike
plasma etched of solid stone
new body heavy
gravity crushed
fingertips arcing electricity
eyes glowing
scent of ozone thick upon thunderstruck airs

with sufficient awareness, ‘nightmares’ are re-writable.

sometimes the ‘matrix’ or whatever..

maybe the karma/grudges from my daytime actions
(for i am not perfect)
is what they really are

..gives me something approaching ‘nightmare’ material

but really, it’s more mirth than anything these days
i watch the dream as a detached observer
still and silent within the great clear hot
even hear the sounds of real life as i dream
the braking and acceleration of diesel trucks
the droning hum of the nearby commercial heater
the screams and yellings of drunken passerby
the bicameral shouts in my otherwise deaf ears,
the mortal peril of some ‘nightmare’ dream sequence..

and all of it is delusion
not real
and there is no delusion
this is why it is named delusion

these binaural beats are designed to centre the mind
generating awareness from silence

it is more or less inevitable

as evidenced by shakti
arising to her consort shiva
the yin yearning for the yang..
and yet there are no gods,
this is why they are named gods.

the kingdom of heaven is within you,
(and all that)

this shakti/shiva mythos
is mind pictures for the following truth:

energy arises from your spine,
travels upwards to your crown
shivers
undulating the spine
a smile on one’s face..
all signs of this truth

ten years later..

how’s it going with that snow?
and howling wind?
and teaser chinooks?

followed by more freezing cold
cracked and twisted, stunted trees
dead car batteries
desparate eyes that dare not make contact
dusty snow
drifted against the sides of gritty concrete
garbage fluttering like trapped birds
panic stricken within the chainlink fences

if you’re still there
i feel sorry for you
if you’re thinking about emigrating to canada
the prairies are not what you think

and it came to pass in those days
that the people of the world
were wound straight up
twisted close to snapping like a rubber band pulled too tight
it was as if.. the walls were closing in
wreathed with jagged, rusty spikes
some vile and filthy poison dripping from their points
shrieking the ragged rantings of the ancient dead
and everyone was shaking on the inside
quaking with a world gone mad