March of the Celestial Butterflies

March of the Celestial Butterflies

In a space beyond time, where souls are born
the wings of the dawn expand
into an infinite landscape spoken into being
by a limitless loving sound.
Waves of bliss ripple out into the fabric
designing Love's destiny
as rays of light rain down from the sun
and drum on the surface of the sea.

A primordial luminosity ascends in the air
from the mist of a mornings emergence
and a choir of crickets initiate a prayer
with the winds of the breath of heaven.
From the center of the star's all-knowing eye
a stream of rainbow consciousness opens
a portal for a parade of celestial butterflies
marching to the rhythm of its currents.

Their wings are woven of the five pure lights
scripting languages of power and virtue.
As they dance through the sky, a magnificent sight
snowflake dreams fall to the ground in graceful hue.
They fly towards the fountains of radiant Divinity
and splash beneath the peach tree of immortal prose.
They sip in the golden nectar of the Godself spirit
and transcend into a life giving rose.

The butterflies dissolve into the five pure lights
and accompany new baby souls
from the prenatal paradise into their mortal dwellings
and watch as their lives unfold.
With every laugh of a child, butterfly wing-pedaled blossoms
flower, and set the listeners free
as the five pure lights shine out from the heart
and drum with the sun on the surface of the sea.


written by Marya Stark and Phoenix Lanning

1:52 AM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

searching

where is this melody coming from
what is this color, its spinning me into
why is your symphony haunting me so
searching

i'm searching
i'm searching for source

it seems evanescent whenever pure
it whispers 'come hither', and nothing more
and through your hologram, i stumble towards the door
searching

i'm searching for your valor
i'm searching for love evermore
i'm searching for a source
of relief

12:33 AM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Boogie Monster Trance Dance

it was a full moon on the night the tribe gathered to dance
a young yogi warrior meditating in his tent , the dj transitioning
to a dark neoro-funk symphony of drum and bass
as the practice of being present took on new meaning

the young warrior stood still as a witness to his possesion
by the notorious Boogie Monster, a most fierocious,
and fearless chaos that would not tire
tongue out, roaring of the lion: Nurshringadeve

and all
all he would say
all he could say
was oogaliboogali

he trampled back and forth, a whirling dervish moving
in low diagnal spurts across the desert dance floor
stomping the sand and encoding the sky
with light codes expanding from the tips of his flailing fingers

a gentle sage, sensitive to this transcendental experience
approaches him cautiously and begins holding asanas
and after several moments, the hidden language of hatha yoga,
grounded out most of the chaos, and he joined, feet up in the air

but all
all he would say
all he could say
was oogaliboogali

as the night carried on
the warrior sang his song
the possession was no more,
and a peace came over


but still
still to this day
still will he say
oogaliboogali

1:02 AM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Bumblefuck

Bumblefuck

Keep feeding the metal dragon

Just watch out so your ass doesn't get burned

Keep feeding your insatiable hunger

For God

For Love

For an answered prayer

-- --

It goes and it goes and it

-- --

Ladies, keep the dime between your knees

Cause when it drops    .

                                .

                                .

                                .

                                .

                                  all hell breaks loose (mmm)

Fellas, keep a lucid skip in your step

Don't Stop (oh!)....

Or you might get caught

In some bumblefuck train wreck

-- --

It goes and it goes and it goes

-- --

Fools after gold

                 Souls gettin' sold

                                             Bodies growin' old

                                                                   Hearts turnin' cold

                                                                                           Fortunes gettin' told

3:48 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
Current mood: eccentric

Om Doom Durgayei Namaha (4x)

The apprentice awoke from his sleep with the sudden chill
of the Rakshasa Demon, haunting his lineage for centuries.
It was dark, and menacing as it crept into his mind
revealing the horrors of memories implanted there in his youth.
Hollow and hungry for fear to feed apon,
the Demon attatched itself to this young warrior,
possessing and vampirizing his soul.
As the life force energy drained into this entity
He spoke, softly, the prayers of Kali, saying "Ohm

Ohm Eim Hreem Kleem Chamundaiye Viche Namaha (4x)

He had been such a young child, much too young
to act in such ways out of his own free will.
Yet the guilt he has carried, the maddness he's endured
flashes before his paralyzed eyes, as the laughter of evil
resounds in a disenabling cascade of conquest;
of victory over yet another mortal slave.
But the apprentice, knowing better than to feed into this darkness
envokes the power of the thunderbolt, pushing the Demon away,
saying

Hung Vajra Pay
Hung Vajra Pay
Hung Vajra Pay
Hung Vajra Pay

The apprentice, now, tapping furiously at his chest
forgives the mistakes he's made,
accepts them and sends them to the light.
He brings down a Divine Chord, connecting him to his highest good,
illuminating his core into a phosphorus and radiant sight.
His own strength now growing, he draws forth a golden pearl, pulsing
as he speaks the name of his tormentor one final time
Then he wraps the Demon with the pearl, commanding it into his crystal
and as he breathes the binding words of power
it is so done
it is so done
it is so done

Om Doom Durgayei Namaha (4x)

2:48 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

anxious caterpillar

.. ..

spinning in and out of cycles,
weaving spirals of light into a cocoon....

an anxious caterpillar, I am....

ornamenting the delicate wings....

(that are still deciding
the who's, what's, when's, where's,....

and why's of emerging)
with light code laced embroidery,
and astral projected glitter-lit star seed buttons
and sacred geometrically oriented zippers,
unveiling the holograms of infinite spectrums....

of broken mirrors reflecting complimentary angles....

of the sound-scape of Love I'm preparing to explore....

with hundreds of legs twinkling in the air....

tapping ruby red slippers together that yell nostalgically....

"There's no place like ohm"....

as drops of liquid bliss are left in a trail of rainbow delight....

 decorating the soaring fantasy of flying free....

while I attempt, I-m-possibly, to un-define
what that word really means:....

.. ..

FREE....

.. ..

Free to draw my version of what God is....

And what his song looks like
the edge of my paint brush is just the tip of the iceberg
and the frozen tomb of my heart runs deep
into undiscovered oceans harboring life forms
that have not yet been inspired to evolve
and my future self takes a look at my memories
a library of photo albums

each snapshot, framing time capsules
of poetically organized processes....

of the cyclical nature of sound storms
of love suspended in timelessness
of light specs swirling to the music
of God humming his own name inside the mirror ball
just to see what would happen

....

BOOM!....

.. ..

Out of the Silence came.....
systems embedded within
systems unfolding into
systems exploding out of
systems of never-ending
systems
sih stem
sister....

mister
mystery
my story
my story of finding courage and grace....

of how to dance joyfully along dualities race
how to fly FREE within the systems of this place

....

its still a mystery to me
but hey,
God said it
so I let it be the light I see....

as I spread my wings....

8:31 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

mirror ball

mirror ball hangs from the center of time
angels looking out from every view
eyes blink, snapping still-frames of loves design
every camera captures something new

as each angel develops their favorite portrait
the one that speaks to their highest truth
they form, together, a mandala-style labyrinth
a mosaic of a meditative journey through

I pray to always walk along this pattern
and make my way to the center of the whole
to feel the wisdom of their collective vision
to see through the mirror ball inside my soul

9:19 PM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Enharmonic Love

We shared an enharmonic love

We spelled it in diatonic poem

Of chromatic dramatisms

And prophetic altruisms

And synthetic mysticisms of the drum

Do you hear me now

In shamanic dreams

Painting the sounds
 of our beat

We stared boundenly into the sun

We shed our uncomfortable skin

We started out with a vision

Wholeheartedly walked on our mission

The parting confusions were not what we’d seen

But I hear you now

In shamanic dreams

painting the sounds

of our beat

we sold out

we bought in

we met God in between

and the beat goes on

9:57 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

pregnant daydream

You began as a pregnant daydream
An abstraction made concrete
A passing thought I wrote down
And like waving a magic wand
you appeared from the paper
A manifested figment of my unconscious imagination
A song I must have hummed to myself once,
quickly forgetting the tune

but then you came parading in
on a float of far-fetched ideals
singing my misplaced melody
at the top of your lungs
because you were the one that heard it
from the depths of your own chaotic fantasy world
you called to me in my made up language
and for once I didn’t feel so alone
for once I felt understood
for once I felt heard

and when our senses became merged
into the ultimate expression of cosmic dance
our revelations became immortalized
in the delivery of a song
that neither of us could ever describe
without dissecting the signature of our passing time

I can still taste your heartbeat with my toes
I can still hear your thoughts passing through my hair
I can still smell your music in my dreams
And I still reach out to feel you
Even though you aren’t there

A hollow drum, I am
sitting untouched in the corner
Of an abandoned practice room
My body shakes in echoes of the sympathetic resonance
of our song playing, on repeat, in every dimension
but this one
and as I wallow in the currentless dead sea
of your lingering scent
I am amused by the associative powers
that poetically organized sounds have
to trigger memories we may or may not wish remember

I don’t know what I fear more
The inability to escape this timeless journey
that our music takes me on still,
Long after our paths have diverged
at the fork I threw into the road
Or the possibility
Of our love song fading back into the wisp of a daydream
From which it was birthed

2:59 PM - 4 Comments - 7 Kudos - Add Comment

“The Seven-Lesson Schoolteacher."

Got Kids? check this out

John Taylor Gatto

In 1991 Mr. Gatto was named New York State Teacher of the Year, at which occasion he gave a speech, "The Seven-Lesson Schoolteacher."

The first lesson I teach is confusion. Everything I teach is out of context.  I teach the un-relating of everything.  I teach dis-connections….Even in the best of schools a close examination of curriculum and its sequences turns up a lack of coherence, full of internal contradictions….Confusion is thrust upon kids by too many strange adults, each working along with only the thinnest relationship with each other, pretending, for the most part, to an expertise they do not possess….In a world where home is only a ghost, because both parents work…or because something else has left everybody too confused to maintain a family relation, I teach you how to accept confusion as your destiny.

The second lesson I teach is class position….The children are numbered so that if any get away they can be returned to the right class….My job is to make them like being locked together with children who bear numbers like their own.…If I do my job well, the kids can’t even imagine themselves somewhere else, because I’ve shown them how to envy and fear the better classes and how to have contempt for the dumb classes….That’s the real lesson of any rigged competition like school.  You come to know your place.

The third lesson I teach is indifference….When the bell rings I insist they drop whatever it is we have been doing and proceed quickly to the next work station.  They must turn on and off like a light switch….Bells inoculate each undertaking with indifference.

The fourth lesson I teach is emotional dependency.  By stars and red checks, smiles and frowns, prizes, honors, and disgraces, I teach kids to surrender their will to the predestinated chain of command.

The fifth lesson I teach is intellectual dependency….It is the most important lesson, that we must wait for other people better trained than ourselves, to make the meanings of our lives….[Only], the teacher can determine what my kids must study, or rather, only the people who pay me can make those decisions, which I then enforce.  If I’m told that evolution is a fact instead of a theory, I transmit that as ordered, punishing deviants who resist what I have been told to tell them to think….Successful children do the thinking I assign them with a minimum of resistance and a decent show of enthusiasm….Bad kids fight this, of course, even though they lack the concepts to know what they are fighting, struggling to make decisions for themselves about what they will learn and when they will learn it…Fortunately there are tested procedures to break the will of those who resist; it is more difficult, naturally, if the kids have respectable parents who come to their aid, but that happens less and less in spite of the bad reputation of schools.  No middle-class parents I have ever met actually believe that their kid’s school is one of the bad ones.  No one single parent in twenty-six years of teaching.

The sixth lesson I teach is provisional self-esteem….The lesson of report cards, and tests is that children should not trust themselves or their parents but should instead rely on the evaluation of certified officials.  People need to be told what they are worth.

The seventh lesson I teach is that one can’t hide.  I teach students they are always watched, that each is under constant surveillance by myself and my colleagues….The meaning of constant surveillance and denial of privacy is that no one can be trusted, that privacy is not legitimate.

After giving this speech, he resigned as a teacher, and formed his own school.

for more info, come check out his book review

Dumbing Us Down: the Hidden Curriculum of Compulsory Schooling
http://www.johntaylorgatto.com/bookstore/dumbdnblum1.htm

12:11 AM - 5 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Desperate Times

I remember my first job, I was 16

In the music store, a fresh canvas for your con-artistry

To explore and decorate with your philosophy

You just wanted to stretch my mind, I'm sure

You were twice my senior, and I didn't understand

Why I felt so strangely excited around you when

 we'd take our break together and talk about the

 Zen of guitar and how China's taking over

It was a desperate time for us all

That unforgettable month we watched twin towers fall

And you were of the first one's to get the call

To duty, an Arabic interrogator you were

 You asked me for a ride home that day, I said sure

But first you wanted to stop somewhere for dinner

And you drew me in crayon as a rock star

With your guitar in hand

Upon finishing you asked if you could drive, naively I said yes

And you drove us out into the middle of the desert

You grabbed my face, stared thirstily into my eyes

And said 'this is the only moment we have'

And you kissed me rampantly, with cigarette breath

I said 'Stop. Please. This is more than I can handle'

And you cried, and said 'its situations like this

That I smoke in the first place,' as you lit one up

We got back to your house; you gave me your guitar

Along with your nana's ring, a mix-tape and your army pin

And you whispered something to me in Arabic

And said that you'd be back for me

2 months later you called to say you were home

and wanted your guitar, so I dropped it off

without staying to hear what kind of story

you had for me

I held onto your attachments for years

In a box I kept hidden on a closet shelf

And ill never forget the day I liberated

 Myself from the memory of you

 I threw it all away,

started to walk and burst into frustrated tears

 that I wept for being mislead and spoken to

 in a language that I didn't understand

when you took back your guitar

 you took back that piece of your heart

And you took back any love song I would have mustered

And you took back your psychic injections

And you took back your rhetorical questions

And you took back whatever it was that you muttered

And all that you left was this story

7:29 PM - 5 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

under your wing

I went walking down a boulevard in Paris
and heard a little bird singing
her mourning song it reminded me, reminded me
of how comforting it was to be
nestled under your wing

oh the tickle of your feathers
on my chin
as you held me close
so i wouldn't blow away with the wind

it was warm
it was sweet
it was just what i needed
before spreading my own

(ahhhhh ahhhhh
ahhhhh ahhhhh ahhhhh)

5:29 PM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

prelude to an Open heart

I remember like it was yesterday

It was a late late night, and I was fading away

Into a tumble dry dream in your bed

You were sitting at your desk

Preparing a potion of a sound, a mad scientist

Who tested all your medicine on my twisted head

Your twinkle-tip fingers hypnotized my guitar

And the song they discovered's the most beautiful I've heard so far

In this tuning, the same one I wrote your first song in dear

Each note danced like a fairy on first flight

Sprinkling down their wisdom, opening my heart up to sights

That I'd been seeing in my dreams for years

I hadn't known the true meaning

Of love or sound healing

before hearing the song that would become

A prelude to a broken heart

I lay there quietly absorbing every tone

Encoding my cells memories with the lights they'd shone

To show me the way out of my darkness

The next day I started writing you a song

Whose lyrics would try to go along

With the flowing waves of love to which I'd witnessed

I could not finish writing down

What had come up for me through sounds

That echo loudly now within my heart

So you are gone, and I do fear

That nothing but our song I hear

And maybe

Maybe now I just might finish it

And I hadn't known the true meaning

Of love or sound healing

 before hearing the song that would become

A prelude to an Open heart

6:41 PM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

funny little thing

There were days when i was so easily impressed
by any charming smiling sage disguise of foggy consciousness
it took very little for me to get undressed
and into a state somewhere between confused
                                                            amused
                                                                 sedated
                                                                        consolated
                                                                                oscilating and depressed

these days i try to spend more of my time playing
hopscotch in the chem-trail grids, unafraid and always praying
to the sky whose limits are still undefined
equations cracking codes in-between the lines

that i am writing
                                   to keep myself occupied
                                   to keep myself away from suicide
                                   to decorate the void i wish to hide
                                   to keep it real
                                   to keep myself from forgetting how to feel

And I've met several men now who feel that they are Jesus
here to assert upon the world their own enlightening agendas
to seed some sort of concept of light into the darkness
of their own projections
                              to feel important
                                    to feel affection
                                           to be remembered
                                                   to be redeemed

And I, too, have worn the burdened mask of this savior complex
wanting to sing the world out of its dissonant nonsense
wanting to create a sacred stage where anyone could play
any song about whomever they wanted God to be

and in my story
                         God wanted me to be my own Messiah
                         God wanted me to raise myself higher
                         God wanted me to heal myself from my denial
                                                  to heal myself from the burns of my desire
                                                  to heal myself from my addictions
                                                  to trust, in love and intuition,
                                                  that all would be revealed

And as it were, I reveled in a masochistic dance
revealed symbolically as Love and Death's crazy romance
a viscious karmic cycle that I so easily convinced
both my light and shadow selves to jump right into head first

and whole-hearted
                                          just to heal from it breaking. Open.
                                                to heal from all the lies left yet unspoken
                                                to weap the tears that I've been chokin' back
                                                to feel the fears
                                                to feel their lack
                                                and then to hear my Godself laugh

                                                                                   at such a funny little thing

11:11 PM - 10 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

how this started

I haven't written a song in months
for fear of having you hear it down the line
I haven't dared come out of my silence
for fear of running back to you again and again
I haven't let myself feel the sadness
for fear of admitting that i'm still in love with you
I haven't moved on very well
for fear of having to learn what lessons are yours

and i could spend a  lifetime
writing songs about our whimsical dance
and i could compose myself mad
recounting every cosmic sonic experience
and i could maybe be convinced
that one day we might still be friends
if that were how this started

I haven't played the songs we wrote
for fear of having to hear them without your rhythmic support
I haven't slept one night alone
for fear of having to suffer in your absence
I haven't heard a metaphor in weeks
that didn't remind me of our mythical trance
I haven't once closed my eyes
and not seen you standing there, me aching to advance

And i could spend hours whining
about all your stupid bad habits
and i could sing myself in circles
reliving every creative breakthrough you catalyzed
and i could maybe be convinced
that one day we might still be friends
if that were how this started

I have wished to recreate our song
so it didn't have to end in sudden dissonance
I have been present to our fallout
bringing new meaning to the fucking Tri-tone Paradox
I have been upset by this
but songs usually seem to come channelled fully formed
so i have learned to accept and be greatful
for this gift of music your spirit has bestowed

I could spend all my creative energy
whimpering and crying about how much i miss you
or i could craft a whole breakup album
resembling all the one's i've been repeatedly listening to
or i could break new grounds of healing
through these sounds that may get back to you
cause i think that healing is how our love song started

11:50 PM - 7 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment