I am one seeking Christ-consciousness.
I am a philosopher sculpting stone.
I am an anarchist literary playwright.
Meditation is Spiritual deep-sea diving. It is the avatar emptied of time. No titles, no tribes, no names, no-things, no narratives, no time, as one begins the descent into Being.
The destination that is all that is uncharted. The absolute absence as an act of presence. The no-thing of nothingness. The no-thing of Being. The no-thing of time. It is ideology that offers salvation. It is ideology that offers preservation of the ego, the illusion of separation of One. It is ideology that overwhelms the rational mind in service to ego, that overwhelms and dismantles compassion. The narrative map of ideology charts the surface realm as best is understood by limited perception, compassion.
It is the degree of attachment to these narratives and forms in the outer-world (surface-level) that wreak havoc. These are interpretations of filters of time. It is the outer-world that holds narratives. To exit the surface realm, to enter a timeless realm, to cease the surface world of noise, of form, is true freedom, liberation, Being.
ON the surface, everything is reaction. On the surface, it is a battle of noises. The emotion is the idea.
And the formations of thoughts take place thereafter. And once before time, love love dreams. As is the realization as according to the depth of consciousness. As with the passage of time, as slowed by meditation or accelerated by thought. The living, breathing no-thing. And consciousness realizes itself as the breathing ocean within and without. Until the shaping, the sculpting ceases. The shaping and reshaping of time as is according to thought, to mind and all corridors therein.
As is thought unleashed traveling an unmasked terrain as is belief beyond the case as is a time beyond time.
Writing on the ledge of time…
within complete immersion…. the world stops…. until there is no time… and
An entrance toward Olympus,
Athena lost in thought.
Carthage, Rome, Athens communicating via scribes.
The silence of a crawling mass of light disfiguring breathing shadows within darkness and light, time and Being.
Finding yellow-brick roads of myrrh
Waves of air extending upon light fantastic majesty to grace
the Imagining of different worlds
Transcribing every eternity
Traces of Christ, trails of Buddha, the faint heartbeat of Spirit lost
I was a monster roaming the streets of time
in search of god