I named the idea and the idea appeared
Three inmates, no,
initiates, so they say,
published
the Kybalion, 1908, vibes
kinda kabalistic, alchemical and all,
C.G Jung really read this book, no way…
no lie, it seems I may
be, have
been led to lead some lamb astray as I try…
stop. I can’t say I know
this is the way
save,
safe so far, no palpitations and knee smiting,
dare deeper, past the last paint
on the wall. This is
The cave.
You heard of this, eh?
At your peril
,
fear nor fret come past this
point. Both, into the NULL.
Now. Or veer away
This, point on the trail less travelled,
the other way, post definition of repent, or veer,
next
starts here.
All, you know, is all. As luck would have it, if you
imagine random
all things
being
possible,
Take position and be still. You believe nothing.
Be still.
Center.
the point,
of no return…
Pressure rising,
points
to expansion or solidification,
permanence,
sealed on every imaginable dimension
AH, a way
deeper,
Belly crawl, you have no fear.
The weight of the world is held by the walls
you cannot see,
the cave, the dark,
sealed
with light bent into
points.
past which, we are deeper,
belly crawl, scrape your should,
bump your ought,
pass this
point
you know no unknown
you
never seen such darkness
that a spark,
a single strike of steel to stone
reveals hands
Yeah, the caves in Spain, as seen on TV
maybe, but now, in the days
of firestarter’s rules being taught to story tellers
called to knowing by
firestarter
struck sparks to the beat of
baskets beaten soft, as drums,
shuffling feet,
swish sweep click swish sweep click swish sweep click
seen dark seen dark seen dark
sing-song-heyyahwayyahwayaway hey and on and on
as above, so below, as below, so above anon anoff anon anoff
know, so knowing may show knowns to non. Anon.
A taut string thing twined twang twang twang
motion, trembles the mercurial fellow
follower of Hermes,
hermetically sealed,
he begins to vibrare, a rare Latin vibe
pulling down the last wall,
Knowns loosed, seals broken
Swoosh, the sound swoosh swoosh swoosh
contact
pain to the brain to the buttocks that crunch up
nexts uncounted, none demanding more
than no more, no more the thought next
Seven, right, one spell, seven seals? No shshsh
fuzzy logic. My guide electrified. Ahee I name thee,
though Hermes was my first choice,
to call thee. Jesus,
you thought Jesus was leading us?
He taught me, I can do this,
hate to love,
will you know what power may make the magic,
the craft of the act? The act
That changes, hate to love?
Words. True.
Spoken as well as spelled, mere words, like these
spooky
touch
a me asleeping in you awoke
mere me dear me dear reader, don’t mis-
take me, I’m given
freedom, free dominion of my own
imagination, to you and of you,
I think. Causes never merely happen, eh?
What you see you say. No more.
Jah. Fear not. Not here, here we’re
safe. Non-named
beings such as
your self in me, or relative to me,
to the pure all things are pure, and
its corollary,
for minds of the baser sort, both,
true as true.
Clear sight of next approaching,
per-spicacity,
a gift, that word alone, a charm
on the chain of knowing
hung around your neck,
for protection some say,
others say ornament of honor.
Whose? Yours? Mine? Jesus’s?
Call the magi to
transmute
knowing into unknown,
with a simple heir-tite seal.
That was done and un, but
the knowing…
Lock it up in a word.
Incredible.
Then vacuum every belief being hidden,
credibility can escape on those,
seal it with the word: UNBELIEVABLE.
Hey. We are three seals away.
Mental.
All in the mind we share at the moment
we act as if
we know we know we know
Strange new thought realms, re-ifed in words,
a test
a trial of the breaths I breathe, imagine
hear
swoosh
Easily entreated, I recall that is an aspect of Wisdom.
I think, I am safe. Crazy is a conceived state other
than this.
this is the substance, the thing in itself, per se
of these words
alone
all else is other, save me and thee, dear
dear dear find ameaning in the word or slip here
… faraway… hear
swoosh
Coffee can, new coffee cans swoosh.
Each seal, broken hermetically by the hermit,
the old desert dweller
teller of truth,
whistler in the wind.
there is no space beyond space,
no bubble beyond the all
encompassing bubble
you can imagine,
for a reason, simple or sublime, your call.
all is all it can be if it can be at all
the allness of all is nameable, not tame-able
Wisdom, in me said that. I thought it.
Or was that you? All I know, all things are
possible in the all in all, you know.
Signals in the sounds of spoken words are
lost into the wind, the respiring spirit
in which we live and move and have our
being, dear reader, your role,
acknowledges mine
Mismeasure man at your peril. Repent,
if that means pent again, pent up,
practical pressing against re re re albeit
mysterious, knowns
all in all
new, save in books, silent books
repent, define, or lie.
a maker, a fector, affections make waves,
waves move mountains
back whence they came
when the little hills skipped like lambs
in aftershock from Thera,
StopWhere you are not conscious,
there can obviously be no freedom.
Through the analysis of the unconscious,
you increase the amount of freedom.
A complete consciousness would mean
an equally complete freedom and responsibility.
From <https://theunityprocess.com/carl-jung-and-the-kybalion-on-free-will/> We do not wish to enter into a consideration
of Free Will,
or Determinism,
in this work, for various reasons.
Among the many reasons,
Is the principal one that neither side of the controversy
is entirely right
-in fact, both sides are partially right,
according to the Hermetic Teachings.
The Principle of Polarity shows that both are but Half-Truths
the opposing poles of Truth.
The Teachings are that a man may be both
Free and yet bound by
Necessity, depending upon the meaning of the terms,
and the height of Truth
from which the matter is examined.
The ancient writers express the matter thus:
“The further the creation is from the Centre,
the more it is bound;
the nearer the Centre it reaches, the nearer Free is it.”
From <https://theunityprocess.com/carl-jung-and-the-kybalion-on-free-will/> Ab-solute, ah I see,
if you believe me when I say I may not, not cannot,
lie, deceive mit intent to harm.
Abuse of words, I admit. Obtuse use, as well, what the hell.
Words. No one of us may take a personality, and
be imagined a body
speaking our writing our own self.
We matter, merely, in the realm of mere words,
abuse us not with grammars that can’t contain,
wait,
grammar is essential to meaning,
I proved that with commas myself.
Here, I found mere,
the often idle word,
applied to a concept I claim known,
C.S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity,
meaning
in the sense, that I have defined in my mind
the state of being
absolutely bereft of shame and, it seems,
blame for imagi
imagi imagi imaginational
national war games.
Winner take all.
Here. Veer from mere to more
intended to tend to
ward,
re-ward the warden-less lost in the darkness
dazzled in the after glow of that spark up there.
trembling at seeing the little hills skip like lambs,
or did you notice?
Imagine we agree, I may not know if you know what I know
from experiences beyond
the occurrence,
the knowing evil, kicking in
the
door, I hid behind, as a child might, having known
hidden perceptions of
exceptions as clues,
except ye become,
as a hidden
child
knowing and imagining are some same,
not same same
not chiral same, in terms of fluent wind heirs riding
here
to shine and feel the fluid
form icarus tears,
flowing
down the candle arizen, in the west, as seen
from the east,
or north or south,
we answers set free in winds once,
are free being,
still,
you know.
Believe it or not.
ideologies as enemies, must you hold these up as just
ifiers for war?
I trow not. Reason’s call is still the rule of common sensed math
bound knowledge,
held in ever
bablance betwixt b and v and bs, by way of Babel
texter-tinker-apps
setting
perceptors tuned to five gee,
we can hear bats, with the proper mic,
yike, krazy-ikes, erector sets, tinker-toys, take the lego boys
to task.
Make makers not fakers, or your role as
formational essence embodied in rect
angular
possibility
equi-valent
balance seventy-two dpi greyscale stochastic edges
of two dimensional stories gestating in games from scripts
mandelbrot made thinkable,
by third year minecraft educated minds given to the good,
the blue pill is bad, why?
hanging in the lighthouse, strangling like epstein,
huxley’s savage, gasped,
I heard,
why
but
I don’t know if the ritual removal
of cultural intuition
initiation to the way, we
learn
we live,
the secrets, we know,
we learn from these songs sung long
long ago,
hmmmm we hear now, hmmmmm soft hmmmm
breathe
in rythm with the winds you hear,
be still,
all thoughts in the currency of this frequencie
of social hope
fast fix for waxen wings come too near the core,
adapt
ting. Try your wings.
