2.18.10

I was simultaneously pleased and awed and grateful to discover yesterday that we have had at least one 'honest-to-goodness' Saint from our own dear San Francisco in Alta California. The former Archbishop of the Russian Orthodox Diocese here. He was a true mystic, clairvoyant, and dedicated servant to his flock. He was truly a living example of the selflessness of Christ and of the Jesu's dedication to the poor. Read up on him here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_of_Shanghai_and_San_Francisco

He was also a miracle worker, healer and his earthly remains are said to be incorruptible. An amazing, amazing example for us all.

2.17.10

when he calls, answer.
when he comes, follow.
when he closes the door, submit.

2.17.10

The Spirit of God.

If you have not prostrated yourself in fear and dread of Her, you have not seen Her.

If you have not stood before a porcelain basin and prayed to be released of Her, She has not had you.

If you have not wept from fear and ecstasy and terror, and not been filled, and your very flesh rent to allow more of her wine to flow into you, then you are not Her thrall and not her Lover.

If you have not cried for her return, and cried at her return, and sobbed at her leaving, you do not know Her.

The Spirit of God moves over the waters. Say not that you will not be afraid. For you will be.

Have you seen her crash and crush worlds together?!
Have you seen her rise, terrible, in her majesty?!
Have you seen her raise her arms and feinted from her loveliness?!
Have you seen her, felt her, hold you, like a child, till your fears were calmed?!

And there is more. Gird your loins and open your heart and ascend to her Temple. Then She will decide what to do with you. For it is not you who will decide who SHE will be to You.

Courage!

2.16.10

flying.

the god soaring the short sea between his world and this.
and his tentacles of power, his tendrils of light, his lassos of binding--
and the blue-white light of his power: lapping now, shooting now, screaming, hissing, calling, a blare of trumpets that breaks all drumbeats, blazing white, whiter than white--
and the immeasurable weight of his mass pulling all things, all pasts, all futures, into himself--
his size in contraposition to the depth of his pull on space/time. a tiny marble sunk deep into the black velvet on which our sun and stars roll obediently, lightly, dumbly.

all stay on their courses only by his will. if he did not stay his hand, the oceans would fly out of their salty banks and caress his golden beauty, his supple hardness; surround him with their mighty waves, reduced to ripples in his puissant grasp.

and of men, it cannot be spoken. * * * *

flying.

2.10.10

if i close my eyes, i cannot stop but live more deeply, see worlds flashing by, find crowns, scepters, robes, lovers, swords.

if i open my eyes, i weep.

"I"

i laugh when i ask myself 'who am i'. for one thing, it's hard to keep track of just how many "i"s there are at any one given moment. and even if i could come up with the list, just who is who today anyway? and how to describe any one of them? they disdain description, defy categorization, are singularly unconcerned with how they are viewed; they are.

1.29.10

Shadrack, Meshak, Abednedo. And the fourth.

The firey furnace is not what you think.

Go in willingly; the trouble will be in getting you to come out.

12.30.09

There is no escape from destiny. No escape that is palatable. In the gutters of the world lay the geniuses, the mystics, the transformers, who feared, who shrank from their greatness. Perhaps that guru of 20 years ago who created a colony from beggars and drunks had the right idea. It is the scum of the earth that are the fallen, or descended gods. Awake! Awake! Awake!

All mean and women are gods. But they are sleeping. They are comatose. They are emasculated by fear. A religion comes to free them, but they turn freedom into a sash, then a belt, and then a straightjacket. Be Free! Be Free! Be Free! Ears be opened! Tongues loosened! Eyes opened! The blind, deaf and mute dominate our cultures. Just imagine a world of magicians, of mystics, of geniuses, of craftsmen and musicians and scientists greater than all that have come before combined. and then what? We shall flee to the stars, colonize, decay, and regrow, but we shall be the greater for it.

Let us be the greatest golden age of all golden ages! Let us turn Greece into a Silver age only. Perhaps we can leapfrog into an age of platinum. Whatever it is you desire, take it! Have it!

Walk, Peter. Along your path. Your time is coming, and soon. It is overtaking you.

I begin to understand what 'lack of mind' means. It is not lack of thought--rather higher thought. It is not lack of analysis or understanding or perception or decisive action. Rather, it is the transformation of parts of the common mind, their deification, and their slow removal from the center of mind. eventually, a super-mind or higher intelligence is born like a flashing, like a swirling white dwarf star--and then, what is left is a room left only with remnants, like fine pernicious dust, which must be swept away.

swept daily.

12.2.09

there is no sea wide enough
nor mountain high enough
nor desert dry enough
nor harem enticing enough
nor monastery quiet enough
nor career fulfilling enough
nor wife wonderful enough

to escape

to escape the truth that our lives are all wasted.
flowers that never opened completely or often enough.
trees that never reached their full height.
we are all failures. and one cannot escape the ashes in one's mouth.
ashes and fine sand. death!
the taste will never leave me. i feel that this is how god feels too, yet always also full of life.
he is the ghost of christmas present turning to ash while he laughs one last laugh.

but even though i am dieing and this is good, what of my wife, my children?
i must plow my field. you are dead anyway, might as well plow.

11.30.09

Tread confidently, lightly. Whenever a strange or horrible or hideous vision comes to you in your contemplations, let it be, it will unfold to become a great gift from you. It is only your 'mind-function' or perhaps some other internal structure trying to keep you from a holy gift. Once used to these false wrappings, you become fearless. A good feeling. For the master fears nothing inside his mind. All is open to him. And if there is anything unopen, he commands it still. This is a sacred command hidden in Jesus' teachings. Look even to the Lord's prayer: thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. what is heaven? what is heaven other than G-d's complete and utterly coherent and masted mind/existence. be that. be G-d on earth. Be not fettered. But fly, fly, into the arms of our Sacred Brother and you will see.

all for the good

oh! those days of sweetness. yet nothing different in the particulars.
the same exertions, the same sweat, the same itches unscratchable.
the same drudgery. but a modicum of relative ease--the number of inanities reduced.
the luck of the draw giving me concern and empathy rather than derision when i fall.
the comeraderie of the workaday brethern sweet and simple and stern and mystical.
the sounds of a favorite song come with ease to my mind. and the gods retreat from their strangeness, put on robes of human gentility. and we quaff together under the stars of my imagination. cigarettes shared.
but then the psychadelic dreams and ultra-fluidity begin again and the gods their fiery unearthly aspects resume. and chords begin their denoument. but even that is sweetness too.
the last few dregs of my coffee; the last tiniest sip of my beer.
on a dark desert highway . . .

a better class of enemy

you've heard the saying that you can judge a man by the caliber of his enemies. i have decided to consider whether i will allow myself to be a better man. it is a serious and dreadful question. full of peril. but, in the end, there can only be one answer. to the bat-cave, robin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

my hand

see? i have extended my hand. and lo! the nations against whom i have turned crumble into dust and my generals soldier-knights collect the booty. and all shall then enter into the basilica and worship the true god. and those whose love for justice and for each other is pure, they shall i bless. they shall i make those whose works never fail, and whose lines extend forever.

9.24.09

g-dhead as undifferentiated, all-encompassing variety and potentiality. that apparently is the orthodox view from augustine to the psuedo-dionysius (or vice-versa).

if so, and if we are created in his image, then how is there truly an 'i' and 'thou'? when i bow down in worship of the ONE, why does the one, whom i respectfully 'see' as infinitely far and infinitely cold and infintely pure, flit thoughtlessly and irresistibly into my own skull? how then am i to arrange myself for worship?

what if the Jesu were to ask to be my blood-brother and grasp arms with me, and then pull me onto a stone altar and take my body wholly into his? what then?

what if apollo, that fore-image of the Jesu, were to become my lover. what then?

what if ploutos, god of plenty, were to slip into my spine?

what if the 9 muses were each to impregnate me? what would happen? what if.