Wardrobe in the Land of Mumbo Jumbo

Propaganda with bass scores in its music theme,
call to fear caverns in the caves of unconsciousness.
Media manipulation beats up the bored mind
looking for zones to grow vegetables in,
eating on emptiness costumed as full.
Minds snoring in the sleep of double standards,
blindly ignoring ignorance humping its reptilian stem,
wait for saviors in fanaticism’s prison.
Phantasmagoria is on stage 2, a design
of impending mystical possibilities.
Delusion’s kin rides piggyback on purpose.
Criticizers bounce around for controversial dollars.
Bells of bondage sound with choirs of formulations.
Cruelties maintain overpopulation.
The always has always been unlawful.
The prophets make advent garde claims.
With the normal phenomena they cry wisdom.
Wars have always been, so what is another.
Eclipses and comets came then, too.
Tragedies, disasters -- nothing new.
Atheism not a sign of something cometh.
Hatred not born in modern times.
Reruns of mumbo-jumbo in a new fashion.
Wardrobe employees seeking work in make-up.
Alterations of deception dressing over lies.


Vashti

The Art of Listening

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Skittering Sijo 3 & 3/4

Tribal escapades seeking accolades traveled up nerve endings looking for repose.
Pulsations of blood and breath hibernated in digestive fields.
Dawn didn’t wish to be placated at an alarming rate along characterture pavings.

Callous calculus codings added equations to matter.
Fahrenheit factors rose the temperatures to heights feverish.
Madmen doctored the healthy with scalping glances.

The clouds lifted into pink parities above the horizons equator.
Sarah compromised blinking to tear ducks and eyelashes.
Gridlock found the tunnels of density in the dense city.

Hail formulated crystalline structures with paste and prose.
An avalanche of security sloped down imaginary figments
Building soft fluff to bid a skittering a fluke.

Vashti (c) September 2007

Sheltered

The next hue-man allegory that arose in my conscious mind is the concept of being ‘sheltered.’ Recently, having been working with children ages 3 through 5, I began reflecting on this term, wondering if it was healthy to shelter a child from social chaos. I then wondered what being sheltered could mean in the fullness of things, in its multi-dimensional aspects. Shelter often denotes a place of refuge. In a time of need we can find shelter. We can be sheltered from a storm. But, we can also be sheltered from the mass mind. We can then be sheltered in a smaller mindset or in the sanctuary of a religious institute.

Sheltered under the one-sided belief systems that exist in the world is where my reflectives began to take a more serious focus. Although being sheltered under the shadow of the wing of the Almighty is extremely comforting doctrine, I am left to question why it doesn’t seem to apply to all believers. Why do kind hearted, innocent, lambs wind up getting raped, being in car accidents where 46 bones are broken, or fervent believers left in poverty and struggling to find a loaf of bread for their family. When these things happen, it is explained away by terms like: undeserving, unworthy, unready, imperfect. These types of explanations are fine for attempting to keep one’s psychological well-being intact when rejected by a loving god, but shelter takes on a much different tone then protection when it comes to being boxed in for only temporary survival or becoming limited in scope by the shelter of a belief system. Where is the vastness of the greater when being shrouded by the smaller.

What happens to those who peek out of the small shelters of temporality they were initially protected by and make those first steps into the greater world, the greater mind, the greater experience? Are they lost and frightened? Are they confused and unequipped in macrocosmic adaptation? Does the small child really grow to conform into the greater world schema or into another sheltered existence? Can any one hue-man being see the whole and survive? Are hue-man’s shattered by the storms of cosmic flux too great for their ability to contain? Does the light truly shatter the vessels?

Does an umbrella solve the conundrum?

Explosions - A Life Metaphor

Traveling from the mundane to the lifted versions of metaphorical explosions, I found anger at the low end and consciousness expansion at the other. I guess I could call it anger and hatred lifted to enlightenment and/or illumination. This sounds slightly uncanny to my own ear. How can anger rise to enlightenment? But, both are but effects of the deeper cause. Anger is an effect of lower level explosions. Enlightenment or illumination is an explosion of heart and mind into lifted expansive awareness. Explosion is the root of both in the metaphor.

In the lifted version of explosive expansion, the light pulsates its rays outward in a panoramic display designed with vibrations of enjoyment and seepage of love nodes. On the other end of this particular spectrum, anger blasts fiery war signals from an uncontrolled hue-man container, sending hate and distaste for others to private campgrounds, spreading unwanted and uninvited flavors of life into another person's domain. Love is often invited, while an attack of any kind is not a common desire. Is this what was intended by the splitting of the atom into daughter particles at the beginning of formation? Did the explosive breaking of nature intend for us to have a free range of choice between negative explosions and positive, like the weather can storm or nourish? Or, were hue-mans a breed, intended or not, to reach higher refinements of nature? Could our growth and progress influence planetary combustions in the future? Are we possibly connected to the whole in this manner? What if we are. Can our planet be saved by maturing ourselves? The hue-man mind is not singly a creator of disaster, we have a choice to be creators of radiation that forwards our progress into kinder times.

Surely, it is a wonder what we should do when encountering ignorance (negative explosive natures) long established in the collective thinking, or even overly sentimental petting is not a solution. There is a middle ground and we have nature to look at to find our answers. In disaster, people pool together and lean upon each other. In comfort we generally seperate into our narcisstic puddles. Again, there is a middle ground --pooling while retaining individualism. It seems like the school of nature can be a wise teacher if we would but enroll. In the overview, hue-man's have not been able to learn through their mistakes or any system that keeps some people poor and unable to attain higher education. Arrogance still exists in the educated. That has not been the answer. Religion that is supposed to promote soul growth often produce fanatics who kill in the name of their god. That cannot be the answer, either. Nature has long kept her manuals at hand, but she doesn't market herself, nor does she charge for the information. It is a funny phenomenon that modernized hue-mans tend to not respect that which is free and not promoted through marketing ploys. And making no mistake, nature is not still primative. She is evolving into destructive aspects right along with us -- ie. global warming. How far can we expand, might be a question, but for now, small increases are suitable. Afterall, we wouldn't want to blow ourselves up.

 

The Audience of the Self

I ran into a man one day at the grocery who went on a long rant concerning the product he handles. He was well informed about his job task and product, and flavored the information with his own personal opinion. When he finally came up for air, he apoligized. He said that he loved hearing himself talk. Afterall, he added, its quite hollow up there and the words bounce around like an echo that manifested in just the right conditions. It was an interesting justification for his long winded hue-man product presentation. From that moment to this one, there has been an occaision or two where the topic arose again - the adoration for hearing one’s own voice. One author suggested that humans write on blogs and really feel there are thousand of people reading. These two extreme views: the listening to one’s own voice and the sending out of a voice to any an ear which will listen brings to life the metaphoric experience of speaking to the audience of the self.

The beauty of hearing words escape the lips or find their way to a computer screen and file, that do not seem to belong to the brain we call our own, is admittingly delightful. The book knowledge psychologist, might wish to place this phenomenon in his folder of multiple personalities, but, to believe so, will deny him the awe of hearing his own soul voice in this life.

What of the muse who writes profound novels, and the artist within who sees the world from a very unique perspective, whose hands oblidge him in bringing transliterations of abstract reality into the world of images? Those who indulge in multi-dimensional speak tend to often look back with some sort of awe at some point, thinking, “I did this? I wrote this?” Yes, the psychiatrist doesn’t understand when such entities, like the soul, speak to self. Automatic writers also await their day to no longer be called cohorts of demons. 

What of these writings of words which speak to the ear that is talking? The writings, the songs, the voice, the thoughts, the visions, the dreams, and the ideas heard by the audience of the self are a living metaphor of a very wise, sane and phenomenal dialogue. Between the personal inner glee and thee?

 

Shackles

There are metaphorical chains upon our hue-man beings, found in several places. There are invisible chains collared around the neck, a ball and chain clamors around the feet, and hands, at times, are bound to taking. The mind is shackled by its notions implanted and cradled as if they were personal possessions.

This prison appears to be made by our own hue-man device of ‘holding on’.  Should we deem shackles so precious in this world as to love them more then freedom? Has ignorance been bliss for so long, that the tough road to freedom is seldom ventured? I am reminded of a chained animal trying to escape its bounds. It runs, pulls, jumps, and attempts to break free over and over, only to be pulled back to the holding post. Are hue-mans different from this? It is said in Tarot metaphor that the chains upon the man and womb-man are worn loosely around the neck, and for some odd reason, they do not remove them. Are hue-mans addicted to being bound. Is freedom too hard to endure? Can the world find change if it continues in the stance that ignorance and, not knowing real individualistic freedom, is a blissful state?

Freedom is often misconceived as egoistic license to be a narcisstic junkie. This is not the freedom that liberates. The 
mundane always has its divine and higher expression. Freedom 
to rage in another's face is not the same as freedom to soul-fly.