The Truth: Neither Beautiful nor Ugly (But Honestly A Little Concerned With How Caught Up With Looks We All Are)

The Truth has been described, declared, defended, degraded, defamed and detailed in many ways over the course of human history, yet one thing is certain: the Truth is in no way affected by how human beings define it. It is already the Truth.

The Truth is not apologetic; especially by the mere fact that it exists. Nor is it deterred when it is snubbed. Public opinion and compulsory polling means nothing to this often elusive force. It has no preoccupation about your race, class, creed, genitalia, pension, or perversion. Those are all your issues as far as the Truth is concerned.

The Truth cannot be abridged or rushed but it sure as hell can make you go at any pace it damn well pleases. The Truth expects you to keep up.

The Truth cannot be destroyed, obliterated, demolished, drowned or decimated- but it can walk on water, reincarnate and come back to life. In fact, the Truth is Resurrection.

The Truth cannot be watered down, blown-up, by-passed, or filtered through. It excels at being swallowed and absorbed; changing one from within and becoming a part of the consumer as much as the belly or breath.

The Truth can be massacred in the most horrifically imaginable ways, but again (to much of the dismay of the maniac) it will reanimate. It is Resurrection. And remember maniacs, it will have learned during its death a thing or two about the enemy’s tactics and will be reborn again and again and again with greater strength to defeat each and every simple d’esprit foe. Truth and death go way back… like further than clansmen or college roommates. So in other words, the Truth does not fear death; but it knows you do.

The Truth does not fear time either. Rather, it is refined and revered by it. Truth ages well. It sees wrinkles and hunched postures as beautiful testimonies of its mercy. It finds the worship of youth extremely tacky.

The Truth is not necessarily beautiful or ugly. The Truth can take any form it wishes. But in all honesty, the Truth is a little concerned with how caught up with appearances we all seem to be.

And Truth cannot be pigeon-holed by space; it is a master of dimensionality and the engineer of creation itself. It finds our exploration and explanations of these matters cute (most often).

Truth is the most skilled of all lovers, despite many blaming their misconceptions and denials of the heart on it! They are, of course, mistaken. It is not the Truth’s fault we are messy, uptight and fickle creatures. The Truth finds this to be an odd combination for a species, yet undeniably enchanting too.

Truth is incompatible with what most choose to see, feel, and touch. The Truth cannot be changed- it can only change you.

The Truth does not worry, although it does experience twinges of pity for those who neglect, persecute and attempt to control it. The Truth’s heart is so big yours would burst into flames if you could fathom it for even the briefest of moments. But you would die happy. But the Truth doesn’t want you dead… It loves you and knows you are capable of so, so much.

The Truth is not tolerant (although far too many still mistake its kindness for weakness). It demands you succumb or be destroyed (subtly). And again, it does not wish this for you. It is but its nature. It has trampled over more carcasses of ego-surrendered flesh throughout history than you or I could ever dare stomach.

Truth is the ultimate survivor. The Truth expects nothing of us other than to seek it, acknowledge it, and endlessly pursue and defend it with our very lives. Perhaps expect is not the right word. The Truth expects nothing. The Truth just knows that without this adherence, mankind will squander everything that is good and pure and unlike the Truth, we cannot survive this. You wouldn’t want to survive that.

If you truly know love, you truly love Truth. If you do not, the Truth will not spare your ignorance or betrayal. The Truth attends every funeral; it is up to you if it weeps or not.

If you kill the Truth it will haunt you. If you sabotage it, it will go back in time to avenge your ancestors so that one day, you will sabotage the Truth. This is humorous for the truth. The Truth loves to laugh. It is a comic’s comforter because the Truth knows how absurd it can be. The Truth is not bothered by contradiction. This, again, is our problem. The Truth knows what it is, and is unashamed.

The Truth will set you free, but beware. Loneliness cannot be cured by the freedom its companionship ensures. Until more of us learn and practice trusting, cherishing and fighting for Truth, one may find freedom a solitary sentence in a land that is quickly becoming emboldened by the ideology of prisoners. That is the Truth.

But take heart! The Truth is not hopeful- But hope is always truthful.

 

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Life is a Stage; Get an Acting Coach

 

“All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts…”

 

theater2

At this juncture, it seems that the clouds and stars and birds and trees and wind and sea are all murmuring the same thing:

Play your part….

 

Occasionally you’ll catch a “…better… or else…!” 

If the tide is too unseasonably low

And the beauty of that present presence isn’t caught Up

all at once,

in the bat of a lash,

sparkling with indignation through and through,

Before it breaks into

gentle laughter,

a

reminder of

kaboo.

 

Then a long sigh

floats aside our

ego savior-

faire

 

How long before our parts are played with the beauty and precision

for which they were written 2 dare?

 

When exactly will we accept the magnificence of these roles,

scripts, parts; all already cast,

already ours? 

Though perhaps our delivery is languid

in the turbulence of something so

allegedly far.

 

***

 

DIRECTOR’S CUT:

And what are we to make of the Director’s Cut of our tele-Vive

that makes us weep for all the assassinations

the television war has made us grieve.

 

If life is a grand show

that inevitably has the curtains shut,

Wouldn’t it make sense

to watch the Director’s Cut?

 

I, this mysterious Brilliance, in charge of every last detail

 

Says your line is as follows:

“Fret not my dear, your script reads ‘Prevail’ ”

 

So seek out your coach once the play itself has been studied absolutely true,

For eternal are His precepts,

Though only She acts as if they were

 

new.

 

So as you read your lines, watch to see,

why is  your role {if at all] lacking in dimension?

 

 

In utter originality?

 

Like any true artist knows it is in the love of the craft

that ultimately renders the villain’s role

indubitably daft.

 

So rest not in their pension of blood and disarray so concord,

4 it is in the destiny of our drama and performance

that will eventually move us Upward.

 

thehighpriestessarchang

Selah*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Organic Conspiracy

Conspiracy theories are a dime a dozen these days and most aren’t worth a quarter that. That’s why I only go organic these days. You haven’t heard? Regular conspiracy theories are ladled with the kind of toxins that make mercury look like chamomile. Only organic conspiracy theories are good for you. They are harvested from the same fields of imagination, but these conspiracy theories cover the good that is going on so covertly we never would have dreamed it possible (right?) S0 the next time you read online, or hear from an acquaintance, or stumble blindly across a conspiracy theory that makes your insides slither just remember to go organic and see the world for what it truly is: A maze of wonder and creation so beautiful you dare not know it to be true. 😀

Fractals & DNA

121785_25-mind-blowing-beautiful-fractal-art-16 THIS is your DNA.animal-prints-beautiful-fractals-fractal-for-your-desktop-or-as-94098

THESE are FRACTALS.images-13 images-12

images-11

THIS IS YOU…

images-10

Fractals are infinite

fractal-ipad-wallpaper20a

And so is the essence of you.

e5122cc447c122bc5a0269c471d8a0b0images-15 images-15

Experience yourself in all your grandness,

By speaking, envisioning, and recognizing the great

Hatching!

Unknown

Don’t think chicken or egg,

Believe, knowing

you are now the swan.

d-b-c-abstract-digital-art-fractal-life_is_beautiful

You’ll be amazed

by how amazing

your genetic make-up

makes-up reality.

fractal-world24

Look into your own fractal/genetic code

and you will find the spiritual astrophysicist

3d-genetic-fractal-root-larvae

Who will do wonders

for all.

tumblr_mn85ubyn2h1srikp5o1_500

Addressing the innate/fractal/genetic resonance

images-16you give off just by recognizing it within yourself.

obseffkris1

To Those Who Write In Disappearing Ink

 

To write in the darkest ink

Upon onyx page

Spells words of hope blind men read

 

Though black and white letters

Kiss the pupil now

With simple remedying 

 

They’ll lose their easy glow

For lights will flicker

And oculus form Cat’s Eye 

 

Stars burn bright and enlighten

Red Candelabras

Blossom the fire flowers  

 

That drips their goo of waxy

Dew onto our quilled

Parchment of scribing when pure

 

As cosmic beacons collapse

Upon their own weight

A super nova clean slate

 

Time now lurking in shadows 

During those blackouts 

Leaving behind only thought

 

Many transform paralyzed

With contagious fear

When all is wrought with the dark

 

But there is a class apart

A misfit breed true

Persevering by design

 

Pocketed armament deep

Tethered tablets low

To conceal when others glow

 

For their marrow dictates truth

That putrefying

Princesses produce bouquets

 

And sweet kits at play surely 

Slay sleeping mothers

Atop nests of golden eggs

 

Coffins low take you home high

Ripping orchid flesh

Seraphs blow kisses goodbye

 

Scriveners ex or cross check

Your hatched demise 

With irony spilling spit

 

Ye see, 

Thee 

That frolic only 

 

In Summer’s sweet

Glare

Can never win the battle 

 

 

Of precious everlasting light

Because, remember now

Night can simply never be bright.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To write in the darkest ink

Upon onyx page

Spells words of hope blind men read

 

Though black and white letters

Kiss the pupil now

With simple remedying 

 

They’ll lose their easy glow

For lights will flicker

And oculus form Cat’s Eye 

 

Stars burn bright and enlighten

Red Candelabras

Blossom the fire flowers  

 

That drips their goo of waxy

Dew onto our quilled

Parchment of scribing when pure

 

As cosmic beacons collapse

Upon their own weight

A super nova clean slate

 

Time now lurking in shadows 

During those blackouts 

Leaving behind only thought

 

Many transform paralyzed

With contagious fear

When all is wrought with the dark

 

But there is a class apart

A misfit breed true

Persevering by design

 

Pocketed armament deep

Tethered tablets low

To conceal when others glow

 

For their marrow dictates truth

That putrefying

Princesses produce bouquets

 

And sweet kits at play surely 

Slay sleeping mothers

Atop nests of golden eggs

 

Coffins low take you home high

Ripping orchid flesh

Seraphs blow kisses goodbye

 

Scriveners ex or cross check

Your hatched demise 

With irony spilling spit

 

Ye see, 

Thee 

That frolic only 

 

In Summer’s sweet

Glare

Can never win the battle 

 

 

Of precious everlasting light

Because, remember now

Night can simply never be bright.

 

 

To write in the darkest ink

Upon onyx page

Spells words of hope blind men read

 

Though black and white letters

Kiss the pupil now

With simple remedying 

 

They’ll lose their easy glow

For lights will flicker

And oculus form Cat’s Eye 

 

Stars burn bright and enlighten

Red Candelabras

Blossom the fire flowers  

 

That drips their goo of waxy

Dew onto our quilled

Parchment of scribing when pure

 

As cosmic beacons collapse

Upon their own weight

A super nova clean slate

 

Time now lurking in shadows 

During those blackouts 

Leaving behind only thought

 

Many transform paralyzed

With contagious fear

When all is wrought with the dark

 

But there is a class apart

A misfit breed true

Persevering by design

 

Pocketed armament deep

Tethered tablets low

To conceal when others glow

 

For their marrow dictates truth

That putrefying

Princesses produce bouquets

 

And sweet kits at play surely 

Slay sleeping mothers

Atop nests of golden eggs

 

Coffins low take you home high

Ripping orchid flesh

Seraphs blow kisses goodbye

 

Scriveners ex or cross check

Your hatched demise 

With irony spilling spit

 

Ye see, 

Thee 

That frolic only 

 

In Summer’s sweet

Glare

Can never win the battle 

 

 

Of precious everlasting light

Because, remember now

Night can simply never be bright.

 

 

 

To write in the darkest ink

Upon onyx page

Spells words of hope blind men read

 

Though black and white letters

Kiss the pupil now

With simple remedying 

 

They’ll lose their easy glow

For lights will flicker

And oculus form Cat’s Eye 

 

Stars burn bright and enlighten

Red Candelabras

Blossom the fire flowers  

 

That drips their goo of waxy

Dew onto our quilled

Parchment of scribing when pure

 

As cosmic beacons collapse

Upon their own weight

A super nova clean slate

 

Time now lurking in shadows 

During those blackouts 

Leaving behind only thought

 

Many transform paralyzed

With contagious fear

When all is wrought with the dark

 

But there is a class apart

A misfit breed true

Persevering by design

 

Pocketed armament deep

Tethered tablets low

To conceal when others glow

 

For their marrow dictates truth

That putrefying

Princesses produce bouquets

 

And sweet kits at play surely 

Slay sleeping mothers

Atop nests of golden eggs

 

Coffins low take you home high

Ripping orchid flesh

Seraphs blow kisses goodbye

 

Scriveners ex or cross check

Your hatched demise 

With irony spilling spit

 

Ye see, 

Thee 

That frolic only 

 

In Summer’s sweet

Glare

Can never win the battle 

 

 

Of precious everlasting light

Because, remember now

Night can simply never be bright.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Made of stars, moon and the Sun

I

Without my eyes on you Panthera onca

Your play is as pure as the torch’s touch;

A lamb in fleece upon the snow

II

Weighted pads of worn romance red carpet silt,

Clay seas parting for oily Moses’ musk

Priest one two, pyro three four,

You, Jaguar, must walk alone

 

III

Sun and moon fight endlessly for Jaguar’s starry eyes

Their only requited gaze

IV

Her rosettes must tutor leopards

Tigers, tooth and nail

Lions get the silver screen

But Jaguars guard the gold

 

V

When you are black your mysteries run deeper

And you become the stone of the meadow

VI

Your pelt is where pixies hide,

Loved by Saks and the ransackers near and far,

Cars too calloused and women too eaten and starving

To know just what they possess

 

VII

In reptilian nurseries your legend

Makes pretty little crocodile tears

Scaled fights of flight, Jaguar teaches

The cold-blooded how to fear.

VIII

Supple chlorophyll coitus into her arms of vine and bark,

Slit-throat life purveyor I long for you like breathes of eternal spring;

 

You were not made to look back

Hearts in tulip shade tuft twitch – parabola switch,

 

VIIII

I will try to tell them about you

And how when you are gone

There is no need for another dawn.

 

Why Should I Be Responsible?

Before reading please take this 1-question

poll on responsibility.

The words divine, angelic and transcendental are designed to make the heart flutter, whereas the word responsible has a weight to it that seems to linger in the air like a bad smell. Suddenly the ethereal world of lightness and acceptance is dependent upon a real-life circumstance… and by “real-life” I mean the soul-crushing gravity of our world that seems so intent on blocking you from Oneness.

So why should you be responsible? To make money, to avoid future problems, or simply because you’re supposed to? To be loved?  Your brain will exponentially expand with justifications, citing numerous causes for the knots in your shoulders and the sidewinders in your intestines. It will respond to these things as mere side effects of “responsibility”… yet quite often the flurry of neural activity sparked by such a notion can stop the flow of the essence of responsibility~ to respond.

We all respond to outside stimuli all the time. So therefore, we are all responsible. The question is how do we respond. Does our response enable us to be happier or merely more intwined in questions? And which is ultimately more beneficial to our hearts, to our souls, to our higher purposes? To be responsible is something we all do whether or not we choose to so why all the stress? Somewhere along the way we all interpret that to be encapsulated in led is “responsible”. We learn that to be an adult we must lug around hearts like a steamboat dragging it’s anchor. And we learn that if we do not respond as others expect, want, or believe we will be the most irresponsible creature created. We live and grow and die in an irresponsible world. Respond accordingly beloved.