Always the Ocean

The sun had just immersed itself in that beautiful golden rainbow water in the distance. She came out, this beautiful creature, out of the ocean. She walked towards me. I remember it. I could almost see her, but not quite. But she was there, I think—or almost there.

She was barely true, almost real. I could tell she was there because of the soft shimmer on the outline of her body. The light of the sun, indirect and gentle, almost as if saying goodbye, would reflect on her surface––small glimmers of dew telling me of a hair, a curve, a breast, maybe a mouth.

She was almost there. Barely there. But the likeness of her being was unmistakable. I could feel it in my skin. It would tickle me. It would make me burst with a small gentle smile. It would make herself known when I took a whiff of air into me, and she smelled like the ocean. She smelled like the sand. She smelled like the sunset. And there she whispered in my ear.

She told me the story of the doll made of salt who would sit by the ocean as I sat by the ocean, waiting for the water to come close to her, almost kiss her, and go back; come back and go back; and one day it came too close and it kissed her on her feet. The oceanic water touched the feet of this doll who sat just as I sat. But her love and yearning for the ocean was so great that just one kiss of the ocean begun to dissolve the doll of salt. In her love for the kiss, all of her dissolved and she became the ocean.

When she told me this story, I asked:
-“So, what happened to the girl made of salt?”
-“She became the ocean” she said.
-“But, aren’t you the ocean?” I asked.
-“Yes” she said.
-“So, do you remember being the girl made of salt?”
-“I was never a girl made of salt,” she said. “I’ve always been the ocean, and I will always be the ocean.”

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Why I Lay This Soul to Be Torn Apart

I have seen the dunes of time, rolling with the shifting sands of the endless desert between the dream of life and the wake world of the House Absolute.

Who can cross this unforgiven vastness?

Who survives the ancient whirlwind that tears apart gods and worlds?

Who stands whole before the terrible stentor of The Heart Of The Sky, whose voice creates and destroys the infinite abode?

Who will cross this desert, whose ever shifting dunes are formed out of the cold breath of the eternal void upon the sand of time where every grain is the unique divine point of view of every traveller, of every dreamer of the House Absolute who ever entered this desert void?

And why is it, beloved of my soul, that I would lay that very soul to be torn apart, to add one insignificant grain to the infinite sand? It is so that you too may come to find your completion, your satiety in the constant embrace of the beloved, and that you may also know the glory in plenitude as I have.

God Fearing

The god-fearing are victims of their ignorance. Ignorance is not knowing who you truly are. Ignorant of their true nature, they believe the little gods of their imagination have created them. The more they fear, the more they channel the force of fear to create a world full of evidence that they are powerless. They become trapped by the power of their own ignorance. The gods they created are placed as guardians of their prison.

The free human being does not draw from the power of fear.

The people of knowledge, free from ignorance, do not hold guards to keep them trapped. They are free from belief, and free from fear.

The End of Suffering

The source of suffering is in you, and the solution is also in you. Hold on firmly to the knowledge of truth within yourself, and resist the seductive allure of the stories of Maya. Only then can you be a beacon of hope and refuge for others. Their essence will see in your essence the effect truth has on you, and they will naturally seek relief from darkness under the light of your spirit.

Fear Is our First Obstacle

Fear is our first obstacle. It comes from believing that the ego is real, and the supreme consciousness unreal.

Ego is afraid because it does not know truth.

It is okay to be afraid, the important thing is not to mind the fear. Do not act based on fear. Do not listen to the whispers of fear and do not follow its commands. See the fear, as you see everything else.

Fear is in the mind, and behind the fear is ignorance. See the fear. Observe it. It will also unfold and vanish like the shadows of night when the sun rises.

When I Can No Longer Remember

What is this, penetrating me over and over again?

What is it that pulls me out of myself, over and over again? What is impregnating, causing me to give birth to words and stories and thoughts? What presence is sending these words out to see if any survive, to hear some of them coming back to die in the vastness of my mind?

Thousands of children created, all living inside myself; a few of them daring to come out in words, in teachings, in thoughts and stories. What is their life like out there? I don’t know. All I know is the swelling in me that sends them out; and they go out there not knowing why I sent them. I can’t tell them that. They cannot know why. That is for me to know. That yearning is mine, and I send them out, each one with its own orbit, to live and die, to one day come back.

More and more are created in me, from the pulling of that Goddess-priestess––her silver touch pulling all the way down to my womb. And that sun God! Harsh, brilliant and penetrating, hitting my flesh, burning.

This womb of my heart is ready to swell, to live, to yearn, perhaps one day to surrender into that vast thing I call the ocean, when I can no longer see it because it’s too big, when I can no longer hear it because it’s drowning me, when I can no longer remember myself stepping into the waters.

 

This Impulse to Know

My mother ocean, maybe she’s hoping one day to have swelled so much that one tip of her womb would breach the infinite ocean above and become one.

One with what? It does not know. It only knows that one day long, long ago it must have come down from that big, big, big heaven. One day it, the ocean, was only a drop that came down from that roaring, infinite vastness of which the sun and the moon are just two tiny creatures that play with her, that penetrate and pull her, making her give birth over and over again.

One day––and this is for sure to happen one day––she will also die and become one once again with the oceans whence she came. Then she will forget herself as the waters above swallow her whole, and her consciousness and vision become stretched way beyond her capacity to know, to think, to remember, and to be.

And so, every star, and every galaxy, and every God one day too will dissolve into the vast, vast ocean-void whence they came.

That part I know. That part I remember.

What I don’t know and cannot know is why that vast ocean of mother Binah swells once again and sets me forth into this harsh and vast light. Why again am I down here where I forget, where all I know is to yearn, and to love, and to desire?

Not even having the memory of what it was, I only have the pain of the yearning; and out of my soul, the depth of my being that has no name, no memory, no ego, nothing… but out of the depth of this pain, the memory of my origin pulls me, and the presence of God penetrates me day and night. In thought and in silence it pulls me. And out of me comes, now as a thought, then as a whisper, this little impulse to go back.

Go back… Go back… This impulse… This thing in my heart of hearts that wants to swell up, flutter up, and become and know what is there outside myself.

¿A Dónde Se Va el Silencio?

¿A dónde va el esfuerzo del amor
si tan efímero es el recuerdo
y tan feroz e indestructible es el olvido?

¿A dónde van las palabras que jamás se oyeron?

¿En qué rincones se quedaron los juegos de niño?

¿En qué paredes se vieron plasmadas todas las vivencias?
¿Y a dónde va la luz solar cuando en color se convierte
y se absorbe en la pupila de tus ojos?

¿En qué oscuridades cabrán tantas y tantas vivencias?
¿En qué rincones oscuros de tu cerebro penetra la vibración de cada palabra?

¿Dónde se pierde la comprensión de lo que nunca fue?
¿A dónde se va el silencio después que absorbe todo sonido?

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Check out SoundScapes—Otherworldly Sound Trajectories by Vox Angelus and Koyote: https://youtu.be/fR_D-AZSxEE

Why Does the Ocean Swell?

Why does the ocean swell?
Is it the pull of the Goddess Moon
high above at the heart of that other ocean,
holding so many stars?
Is it the yearning and the loving of this earthly sea,
stuck here in planetary existence with us
trying to get back to the higher waters,
to that infinite ocean to which our own is but a drop?
Is it that love for the divine,
the love for the womb,
that makes our mother ocean swell and become wave?

Is that what makes you, God, swell with pride and become life?
I don’t know. It’s not mine to know.
For I only know when I am the wave,
and the wave is movement;
and I move and I move,
and I grow and I play,
and I explode and I rumble.
I tumble, then I die.

Maybe after kissing the ocean,
maybe after touching the light,
maybe after giving way to a behemoth well,
maybe after swallowing a ship or two,
I am wave.
As wave I am the ocean
and there is no difference between my water and her water.

And yet I am not her.
I have all her qualities and characteristics.
The composition of me is the composition of you,
and all together we don’t even touch the infinite vastness of her.

From the Telling: Born of Purusha, by Koyote the Blind

They Had to Keep Us Ashamed

“The high priests of the slave religions knew that for the human being to never be able to reclaim the magnificent vistas of the higher worlds, and for the human being to nevermore be able to satiate the yearning and the pain, they had to keep us ignorant.

They had to keep us ashamed of this force that rises from the loins, that inundates the body. They had to make us believe—really believe—that this force was only for procreation; and for those who rebelled, to make us believe that this force could also be used for fun. While both are true, they hid from us that these forces are not just for procreation or fun; they hid from us that the very force that creates a universe is hidden in our flesh.

From then on, all those who create churches or gods, families and groups; all those that divide us between genders, clans, politics, casts, nations and social class, are only working to keep us away from the true genius that lies dormant within the dark confines of the flesh.“––The Witches’ Sabbath

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