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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2009 5:26 AM CST
9-Fold Path or the Path of 7 Tiers
Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here
The sign that should be hung upon both the wounded mind and soul.
Avernus is the first circle to which I have personal residence and I often drift endlessly through this plane with fine company of those lost. I have walked in and out of this circle for years at will and am comfortable enough to recognize the faces of others that have likewise managed its key. Here there be monsters. And they are real and very protective of their realm seeking news of the world outside. Every scum-covered river, from trickle to torrent is naught but the blood of my life. This is the common hell that permeates all mankind and coexists simultaneously in each of us.
Dis is the second circle and is both a plane of infinite expanse and a city that equals its growth. Here lie the infinitely compounded fractions of being. Often mirrored, inverted, duplicated, excised, prosected and vivisected. Some have life of their own and all have the essence of ghosts. Travelling, as they will with direction having no reality. Small parts of this part of hell manage to creep to the surface and attach themselves to life. Many unnoticed and others truly disturbing.
Minauros and its leaden skies covering the endless mire with the stench of a cesspool. Rain and tears pour down eternally with the sound of a thousand drums accompanied by icy sleet that leaves behind an oily residue. Here lie shames and the victories of personal devils. The atrocities endured haunt here with every footstep and threaten to draw the incarcerated into the sucking pits that are nurtured in the broken self. This circle is less travelled and for good reasons, yet upon occasion a ray of light disseminatingly descends through the bleakness from some voice of wisdom and illuminates a portion, revealing its essence as a shell.
Phlegethos is the realm of personal fire and the source of all fury and ire that exists in one’s world. It is the heart of vulcanism and the flow of every spot of heat that propels the failings in life. The hatred and malice that exists from years of indoctrination burns deep here and is reserved for those to whom folly is a game. Rare are those who witness this circle within and always as a bystander when it is unleashed upon fools and miscreants. And of course the occasional bystander too close to the fury when it erupts, and then they become one more of the endless monuments of Maladomni.
Stygia is the frozen abyss of the heart. Ever static and cold enough to burn. This is an empty circle at the best of times as there is no life here. A solitary berg of isolation to steal the heat of any heart that approaches. The only movement here is the winding serpent of black writhing water, the River Styx. The essence of the tortured soul as it cascades through the hoary landscape. The waters of which always drown in despair any that touch them.
Malbolge is more a blockade than a circle but it has the grandeur of a world of its own. Jagged slices of razored rock and angles jutting everywhere. A virtual deadfall of tortures that prevents furtherance of travel to all but the most foolhardy. It is fuelled by doubts which constantly overturn the surface and from a distance make it appear as made of liquid for its frothing flow. Despair is in the winds here and never ceases to whisper death and forlorn hope.
Maladomni and its key watchword decay, are the realm and circle of all that has been lost. The abandoned efforts and failings carved monumentally in crumbling stones. The ground itself lies strip-mined in all directions to suffice the materials for the cairns and obelisks, which stand tribute to each and every failure and subjugation of the spirit. A veritable museum of horror and despair.
(con't)
Posted: Sun Jan 18, 2009 10:46 PM CST
Fairy Love
Sitting on a riverbank smiling as the ripples roll off my bare feet, the cool water flowing between my toes with the occasional piece of debris clambering for some sort of hold on my ankles. Leaning back on a tree at the edge of the water I drift into the clouds and the crisp blue sky. A piece of grass lolling about in my mouth tickling my cheeks with every roll of my lips.
Music plays within my head, threatening to come forth and shatter the sounds of nature all about me. Cautiously I open my mouth to let the pressure of its passing come forth and to my amazement the words fall right into my outstretched hand. Closing my lips tight to prevent more from escaping I raise the brow of my hat and look into my palm. Tiny little letters, and even more impressive were the notes and bars of music that accompanied them. Gingerly I pick up one letter to find that it is strung invisibly to the next letter in the formation of a word and roughly an inch behind that, hovers the bar and notes that completes it. Drawing my hand higher the entire strand dangles below my fingers and just above my other open hand. I shake them to test the strength of the bond and find that with each jolting shudder the sounds that are visible became audible and lit with energy. Fascinated I put them to rest on the grass beside me and proceed to pull the entire song out, one verse at a time. Laying them all out on the grass in order I can see the music shivering to create its sound and the words dancing to that almost audible chiming.
Once the entire song is laid before my eyes I relaxed back on the trunk of the tree and quiet my own heartbeat to feel the pulsing rhythm through the ground below me. The leaves begin to rustle in tune with the song and the water, wind and grass began to play the song for me as I drift off into relaxation. My head emptied of the music on the inside but inundated with its harmony from the outside. After what seemed an hour my eyes open slowly to allow the glaring sun to enter and I nearly drop to the ground. All about me the words to a dozen songs float in the air shimmering and chiming their essence into a blinding white noise. Not deafening, but oddly blended together into one perfect harmony. The words, notes and bars hanging like silken spider-webs from the branches and covering my legs and the grass all around. Stranger still, small animals and birds are gathered in great numbers as well and they seemed entranced.
A gust of wind, oddly chilled, blows across the field behind and tinkles the gossamer strands floating all about. Animals perk their ears and raise their noses to the wind and relax as if certain of safety. Tiny zephyrs of wind lift the songs and twist them about in cyclones all about me as the wind continues to buffet me now from all sides. Each miniature tornado speeds off across the field as if drawn through powerful magnetism to the path entrance behind me and I strain my neck to follow their passage. A light begins to emanate from within the arched branches that enclose the path, blindingly pulsing with vibrant colours. The physical songs begin to chime louder and no longer as a whole as if competing against one another for attention, as a form draws out of the luminous cloud.
(con't)
Posted: Mon Jan 12, 2009 12:01 AM CST
Looking For Your Face
From the beginning of my life
I have been looking for your face
but today I have seen it
Today I have seen
the charm, the beauty,
the unfathomable grace
of the face
that I was looking for
Today I have found you
and those who laughed
and scorned me yesterday
are sorry that they were not looking
as I did
I am bewildered by the magnificence
of your beauty
and wish to see you
with a hundred eyes
My heart has burned with passion
and has searched forever
for this wondrous beauty
that I now behold
I am ashamed
to call this love human
and afraid of God
to call it divine
Your fragrant breath
like the morning breeze
has come to the stillness of the garden
You have breathed new life into me
I have become your sunshine
and also your shadow
My soul is screaming in ecstasy
Every fiber of my being
is in love with you
Your effulgence
has lit a fire in my heart
for me
the earth and sky
My arrow of love
has arrived at the target
I am in the house of mercy
and my heart
is a place of prayer
~Rumi~
Posted: Thu Jan 8, 2009 3:47 PM CST
Thunderheads Below
Another long shift end and I meander up the broken ground of the ramp towards the cage and the first of three way-markers to the surface world. Turning the corner my face is assaulted by a wave of heat and a roiling cloud of dust. The dust swirls angrily about lashing at my face and seething by, carried by the burning winds. My headlamp flickers ahead in the partially obscured darkness and I see the reflective tape of a tractor marking the entry to the collar of our 9000 level. Swinging to the left I glance ahead and see a motley collection of lamps ahead. Some pointing to the back others lance toward my own. The men are gathering for our first shuttle home. The cage drops into view and everyone gets into single file, nice and orderly to prepare to board. Stops at 88, 83, 82, 77, 75, 68, 56, 48, and finally 4700 and we have completed the first leg, well almost, as there is now a quarter mile walk to the awaiting train. Camaraderie and friendly cajoling accompany the walking trail of the near dead. Not many have any sort of energy remaining but whatever expenditure lies ahead far outshines the prospect of remaining behind so we push on. The air is cooler and slices through wet coveralls but it is refreshing at the same time, heavier with oxygen and lighter in noxious diesel. Weary bones and aching muscles creak and groan as more than a hundred men pile into the small open cars of the train. Eyes and teeth poke out of the intermittent light showing the smiling faces of the men whose lifework is plying a filthy trade in the bowels of the earth. Even after whatever individual difficulties each has faced the knowing looks of men recalling families and lives on the surface world begin to bolster faded energies. A blaring dual blast of the horn and the iron wheels begin squealing as the train pulls out and into the mile-long tunnel ahead. The rush of air muffles the conversations of men seeing hours ahead. The noise almost quells the voices but some are loud enough to carry broken bits on the winds. The tunnel is completely straight until the last corner, which indicates the end of the ride. As we enter it, the men about me begin gathering their water jugs, lunch-pails, tools, and other gear. Ready to hand for a quick disembarking and final walk to the last cage. A slow and grinding halt and a slight jolt stop the iron horse and we pour out of the open doorways to turn the corner into the raging winds from surface that pour down the main shaft. The last vestiges of wetness expire in the face of the cool tongue of icy winter above. It licks at our bodies and reminds us of what lies ahead. A brief wait and the cage arrives. Two decks fill and the cage tender rings the bells to send us heavenward. The smell in the tight confines congeals and is gratefully broken by the gusts from each level as we race upwards. A slow light bouncing stop and we are back at the head-frame area. The door slides up and men pour forth like rats from a sinking ship. Past the waiting area, and into the hallway where lamps are set to charge on the lamp racks for the next day. Up the final flight of stairs and the tag board where filthy fingers pilfer the tag that somehow manages to represent a single man in the vastness below.
Just as I drop down a level to our wicket to file my report for the day. The air goes quite and then a resounding blast echoes throughout the halls. Tiles in the shower fall to the floor. Desks are shaken and our counter rocks back and forth. Men stumble to regain their footing and paint peels from the walls in sheets. Concern and astonishment lights on the faces of every person as they look about to find some cause for this disturbance. Concussive waves emanate from the ground below and talk goes immediately to some improperly timed blast that has gone awry.
(con't)
Posted: Mon Jan 5, 2009 8:53 AM CST
The Time Machine
All the memories that have ever lighted upon your heart like a butterfly on a fragrant blossom are captured in all their essence in the heart. The memory of a long faded first smile yet remains and with enough quiet can bring heat to your collar and a stirring in your blood. A glimmer of hope in each memory that rises like a bear cub greeting a new life from a hibernation.
There is no amount of time that can dull the edge of these moments when the heart is in tune with the mind. Like a photo album of the soul, each page invokes the depth shared between two people. A living testament to the glory of Hope, Faith and Love. We can choose to keep these moments alive as long as we feed them with some sort of effort. The effort required is not great in truth but rather simple and innocent. When pressures in life force us on our heels there is great strength found in private moments that can invigorate the mind, body and soul. These moments exist within each of us and are always there in easy reaching distance. No matter the physical gulf that separates two people in our mind’s eye there is no separation.
When we remember we keep these time capsules alive, and in truth that is all the nurturing we need to maintain this private store of internal strength.
Some may say that we are dwelling on the past by doing so, but in the realm of the heart and soul there is no such entity to create such a barrier. It is natural to cling to these bright spots in our lives and the evidence to this is in how our mind and body responds to sounds and smells. All of our senses are to some degree responsive, but it is in these two that the strongest links to memories lie. For me there is the strongest connection to my angelic Love through numerous songs and the smell of lilacs and lavender. Certainly there are times when I can feel the distance because of them but at these times it is quite apparent that it is my unwillingness or inability to release my earthly bonds that creates this distortion. Once I realize the cause for concern I am free to journey forward or backwards to times that inspire the greatest moments of my life, and the rejuvenation that awaits with but a hint or glance. A virtual wellspring of fortitude that too often lies shackled as though it could escape if left unguarded. A treasure so precious that the keeper has locked it deep within a musty safe and thrown away the key for its ‘protection.’ In truth can there be any reason to own a work of art if it is not displayed somewhere that its vibration can touch you?
The only limits on time and space we have are the ones we impose upon ourselves.
I have just awoken on this fine day to a blue sky radiating with the glow of the sun. It’s glare invoking the beauty of a crisp winter landscape and I am off to drift lazily through a field of memories more alive than any place I have ever been. None of this is lost as long as it remains unforgotten. The rewards are evident in the grace that follows in each day that is fuelled by the best of who we have been and impels us to be the best we can. Infinite potential in a simple time machine…
Posted: Mon Jan 5, 2009 2:01 AM CST
Ode To The One I Love
100 Things I Love About You (In No Particular Order of Course…)
1. Your “looks.”
2. Your ability to cry with me.
3. Your ability to learn.
4. Your ability to let me Love you.
5. Your ability to teach.
6. Your ability to touch my heart.
7. Your ability to touch my soul.
8. Your acceptance.
9. Your adventurousness.
10. Your aggression.
11. Your anal-retentive moments.
12. Your appreciation.
13. Your artistic expression.
14. Your balance.
15. Your boundless spirituality.
16. Your calming presence.
17. Your carefree nature.
18. Your childish joy.
19. Your companionship.
20. Your compassion.
21. Your complexity.
22. Your composure.
23. Your control, of you and occasionally me.
24. Your corrective tone.
25. Your creativeness.
26. Your curiosity.
27. Your curvaceous body.
28. Your dancing.
29. Your determination.
30. Your devotion.
31. Your direction.
32. Your directness.
33. Your dreams.
34. Your dreamy skin.
35. Your emotional depth.
36. Your empathy.
37. Your expressions.
38. Your eyes that light up my life.
39. Your faith.
40. Your fearlessness.
41. Your femininity.
42. Your fidelity.
43. Your freedom.
44. Your friendship.
45. Your glow.
46. Your grace.
47. Your healing.
48. Your heart.
49. Your heart-shaped behind.
50. Your hobbies.
51. Your honesty.
52. Your individuality.
53. Your infectious laughter.
54. Your Inner Child.
55. Your innocence.
56. Your insatiability.
57. Your intellect.
58. Your introspection.
59. Your intuition.
60. Your journey through life.
61. Your lilacs and lavender.
62. Your lips that entice me so…
63. Your Love of animals.
64. Your Love.
65. Your mindfulness.
66. Your minimalist simplicity of life.
67. Your motherhood.
68. Your musical voice.
69. Your night-time deliriums.
70. Your opinions.
71. Your passion for nature.
72. Your patience.
73. Your Positiveness.
74. Your posture.
75. Your prankish nature.
76. Your pronunciation of certain words.
77. Your realism.
78. Your reliability.
79. Your security.
80. Your seductive sensuality.
81. Your self-sacrificing nature.
82. Your sexuality.
83. Your strength.
84. Your style.
85. Your survival instinct.
86. Your tantalizing way of eating. Mmmmmm…
87. Your teasing.
88. Your time.
89. Your timeless beauty.
90. Your timely words.
91. Your trust.
92. Your truth.
93. Your twisted sense of humour.
94. Your understanding.
95. Your vibrancy.
96. Your wholesomeness.
97. Your willingness.
98. Your Wisdom.
99. Your wit.
100. You.
I Love you honey.
Posted: Sun Jan 4, 2009 3:40 PM CST
Dawning of A New Year
The medications I am currently suffering through because of an eye injury from work have laid me low and left me less than lucid for the past few days. I tried to manage my time well enough to witness the birth of this glorious New Year filled with all the promises left unfulfilled from the one previous but I have failed miserably it seems. My long-term inability to maintain any regulated sleep however has raised my head from the distorted sleep of pills far too early, but in this time of solitude I have time to reminisce and dream.
Looking out my window at this early hour I can see the snow gathered on my backyard trees, strewn like the confetti from the last nights celebrations. Its pristine sheen glimmers, reflecting the orange light from the streets and to a lesser degree the light from the heavens above. Each sparkle representing the endless possibilities that began at the stroke of midnight throughout the world.
The cottony white blanket on the boughs of my evergreen leave a dual impression in my mind. The weight of time bears them down in some ways, but there is also the warmth provided in their clinging grasp. Sweet serenity in the togetherness.
Later today I will see the doctor for my eye issue and with any luck the splint will be pulled from my eye. Physically this will be much easier than the ongoing battle to remove the one that resides in my heart. It is more unwelcome than the material one as it does so much more harm. Not only to myself but also to others that I share life with. The doctor will heal the one in my body, and I am at a loss to define the exact nature of the healer for the one in my heart. I can only imagine that it will come from the spiritual bastions that excel in spiritual evolution. Many of whom I have met here in this lovely world online.
My one wish for this year is that we all practice the medicine of spiritual healing for the benefit of all around us. If each sparkle in the snow represents a union of sorts in a poetic manner, then perhaps we can in unity become that simple pure blanket that comforts the tree.
And the tree could become our community.
The birth of a New Year is upon us, hopefully in more than a mere chronological way. Let it sink into our hearts and truly this could be the dawn of a New Year.
God Bless,
~ Mark
Posted: Sun Jan 4, 2009 3:37 PM CST
A Single Tear
Take one simple tear. Watching it pool delicately in the corner of her delightful sapphire orb, building like an ebb until it lunges out over her lashes like the pray from a waterfall in slow motion. It hangs precariously for a fraction of a second and drops into open space before shattering on her creamy cheek a thousand eons away. The fractions of liquid magnification create maps of the stars on her face enhancing the infinitesimal hues of her perfect skin, until they begin to be affected by gravity and gain their release from friction. As if through knowing or purpose they begin to move together gathering the droplets into a lustrous bead that once again begins its graceful decent. Leaving a glowing sheen as it washes down her face following curves so ephemeral highlighting the simplicities it encounters in greater detail than the finest art in the Lou-vre, or any private collection in existence. Wistfully it rises and falls through the contours that shade each chromatic change in her skin as it seeks to trace the most delicate lines that define her illustrious glory. Slowing as it nears the rise of her polished lips it deepens the faintest natural pink as it crests and resides for an instance or an eternity upon this dreamy landscape. The cushion of her exquisite pink lips suspending the diamond sphere, then it slides down into the heat of her pursed jeweled mouth, desperate for a lifetime in the comfort and security invoked by their promise. A shudder so slight from a smile that bursts forth like a fast forwarding of the most lush garden urges it onward and gently pries it loose from its perch to follow the traceries of yet another perfect lip, the only match in a lifetime of lifetimes to the one it crossed mere moments ago. Downward and inward back to the feathery softness of her chin, again following paths defined in the heavens it reaches the culmination of its reason d’être. Time slows to a near halt as the globe of light and sweetest salt begins extending outward beyond her being. As if knowing that it’s end is near it clings vainly against the assured. Stretching and deforming its celestial sphere into a elongation of its original form until only the slimmest portion yet has any handhold upon her purity. The saddest moment occurs as it is released to fall unseen and be forgotten. The only memory it leaves behind is the map of its journey, which in my heart and mind I could trace unerringly the rest of my days. I could easily write a book about each and every square inch of her physical body and reams upon reams to Shame the fabled collection of Alexandria about the intangibles she possesses to shame the myriad stars above. Each tome would assuredly be written in my soul and have the same favour and grace in my heart until the end of time.
Posted: Sun Jan 4, 2009 2:50 PM CST
The Four Seasons of You
Spring
The time of renewal, a blessed time of flowers and birth. The smile on your face broadens as you witness the glories of life. Your yearning for the rivers and creeks, overflows with the bounty of jewelled life glistening in the currents. The smells lift you on the currents of the breeze, and your footsteps linger little more than shadows, which grow less solid with each passing day. The bounce in your step, a life of its own, leads you deeper and deeper into uncharted territory. Adventure and seeking driving you to explore, the myriad facets reviving before you. The warm breeze caresses you skin and sets your hair aflutter. The scent of you drifts in the air, mingling with flowers and the abundance of life about. Eager to take it all in, your eyes wide, your nostrils flaring, glowing skin and a pace like your heartbeat. Steady yet purposeful. Dust begins to follow in your wake as you no longer follow the beaten trail. Branches bend before you with the slightest touch and spring erect behind you, blessed by your gentle glance. They seek the glory of your desires and stretch forth their limbs to reach the sun. The light twinkles in your heavenly eyes as you peer about constantly, and butterflies constantly attempt to alight on these gleaming mirrors to the flowers blooming everywhere. Your innocence baits the deluge of young animals to witness your ethereal passing through their domains. The curious follow a while trailing in your afterglow, seeming to smile and happily start back to their families, fulfilled. The days pass in series with your blessings passed out about you radiating like the petals on a daisy, lingering on each and every gift before you. Warmth increases and the days draw into something else.
Summer
A time of happiness, full of the warmth of life. Sounds of vitality echo throughout your passage, making the colours shine like they were created just for you. The heat of the day comes just to hold you tight, and forces tiny jewelled beads of perspiration to roll enticingly down your bronzing skin, joining in little streams which run paths along your curves adding to your luminescence. Life is in full concert at the beginning and ending of each day, like they play an ode to your very being. Dancing pollen and seeds alight upon you seeming to grow stronger with but a single brushing glance and plummet off to begin their stories. The coolness of night is like a blanket thrown about you to preserve your strength, and enables you to continue each choreographed step you take. The light has deigned to stay alit in your hair and your eyes are full of radiance providing the light by which the night becomes visible. The purity of your being blesses the land and the night rejoices in full harmony with your presence. The jewelled treasures of the waters have grown and dart and flit about desperate to catch your eye and the blessing they promise. Nature’s children bow their heads reverently as you pass them, each in a state of fearlessness and pride to share the same moment with you. The leaves begin to dance on the wind that heralds change again, and they tint themselves so as to take naught from your beauty as you pass. The days grow shorter and the blustering heat gives way to more placid climes.
(con't)
Posted: Sun Jan 4, 2009 2:45 PM CST
A Dream
Sweat running down my forearms and face, I curse, wiping the swelter from my brow as it leaks into my eyes. The sun is pounding down upon my head and my clothes are soaked as though I was swimming all day long. A gust of wind rises and carries a swath of dust that carelessly covers my face and arms in streaks of grey. The humming scream of the machine whirs is my head drowning out the peaceful sounds of nature.
The top of the bluff where I stand, overlooks a wondrous Eden filled with tiny figures frolicking in and on the river’s edge. Even from the distance I can see the most glorious angel lying with her shades and a wide-brimmed hat on her hammock between two trees. Relaxed, yet aware of the children who play all about her, and of course the fishing pole lodged in the fork of a slender branch thrust into the ground a few feet away.
A loud snapping sound tears me from my reverie, and I turn just in time to see a length of metal hurtling toward my head from the machinery, which is now howling in outrage from a lack of water. I throw myself to the ground in a heap of dust and cuttings narrowly avoiding the rod as it plummets over the edge of the hill. Reaching up, I stop the machine before it does more damage, and survey the scene. Filthy with rage I stomp off the bluff to race down the trail back to the aerie of the angels.
After a few moments the sounds of children in full flight slam into my ears knowing that just over the next rise they will surround me with innocent questions. Aware of the mask of irritation from the machine’s breakdown I draw a smile to my face knowing what lies ahead. As certain as the sunrise I am mobbed just as I crest the last hill. Carrying the youngest and with the others in tow, I head off seeking desperately for the vision, which will make everything better. She never runs to me, and always has the calm of a catnap, but this time when I turn the last treed corner, her hammock lies empty. Curious but not surprised I shoo the children off as best I can and head for the shed to find materials for the drill to run again. The children are like a pack of puppies always at arm’s length and filled with more questions than a court case.
Rummaging through boxes looking for the object I need to continue working I notice that she has still not arrived. Standing to stretch, I head for the doorway to see that her hammock yet lies empty and there is no sign of her. Smiling at her mischief I look at our eldest son and ask him to look for her in the house. He runs off with his younger brother in tow. The two girls are chasing butterflies and their youngest brother is heading back to me, upset that he cannot keep up with them. Hoisting him up in the air he screams with delight and wraps his arms around my neck. Pulling him away I notice that much of the dirt on my body has mysteriously transferred to his face and shirt. Knowing that it is much too late to worry I let him hold tight to my neck and bend to the ground where he regains his feet. He of course hammers me with a barrage of questions, “What’cha doin’? What’cha lookin’ for? When are you coming swimming with us? What’s for dinner?” Until I tell him what it is that I need. He starts looking in earnest and I am drawn to sounds beyond the doorway. The girls suddenly march right up to their brother and take him by the hand, he fights to stay but they show him a beautiful yellow and black butterfly that they have captured in a jar and he is mesmerized.
(con't)