Jobo Pooks: Wolf Cries Man

Wolf Cries Man

Holds many gifts for those with a certain freedom of spirit who realise that the seeker never finds and that the truth as one perceives it is nothing more than a chattering gremlin, born within an energy that knows its own ultimate destination, but keeps itself busy with concepts that point towards a belief that there is something to find in order to maintain its state of being. To those who are ready to live in acceptance and allowance that they are the eternal, indestructible energy that moulds the universe, and also the silent space; the void of nothing that is an integral part of creation, there are many signposts and many keys that will unlock doorways that for many are perceived as simply not there. To those who are constantly searching for the sign posts, doorways and keys, it holds nothing.

The writing for Wolf cries man started out in 1999 and the book in 2003, but the content has always been with me in one form or another. A separate piece of work called A Unique Reality was merged with it in 2010. A work that has developed over the years, WCM began its life as a few scribblings, moving on to automatic writing and later to the product of thoughts derived from and linked to other levels of consciousness that are not remote or running alongside other levels, but are actually just one level with many levels running at a single point of observation that can be accessed at the same point of observation using thought energy, which literally means: Every level is happening now and there is no travelling involved.

The point of observation remains the same as levels are switched in and out. Everything that is observed to be existing is only doing so because you think it is. The unknown beyonds are only unknown because a single point of observation has not yet brought them into knowing and so cannot present them to the collective consciousness. The scientists are a part of the process, as are those who know what the collective consciousness has no idea about yet.

Humans search on and continue to find something out of nothing. The searching machines get bigger, more complicated and complication keeps the search on levels that create further complication. The observation of the scientists brings new meanings to the perceived masses and as the collective consciousness agrees, the new becomes the old.

Constantly asking what the nature of reality is, the scientists play with their toys and they, along with the product of their searching; the collective consciousness, fail to see that reality only exists because it is observed as existing and it is observed through an energy that will never be measured by that which is constructed from itself, but only by that energy itself. That energy is thought. Without thought there is no thought and everything that is observed is only observed because thought makes it so. Reality is simply the observation of itself.

As the scientists continue to seemingly hypnotise the collective consciousness into thinking they and it can pinpoint the answer to it all, the all keeps moving just beyond reach - the donkey walking towards the carrot that dangles from a stick tied to its head. There are things that are known that cannot yet be conveyed to an audience that has not the ability to conceptualise them and so the buffer of time is employed to allow the flow of observation its course.

As a child, I thought that God was external to me. As I grew, I questioned God existence. I asked: *If God is the ultimate creator then what created God?* The searching began and it was only after my total understanding and knowing of my conscious state I came to know that I was the ultimate creator of my experience - I was actually the God I was searching for. Sometimes, it's hard to see the wood for the trees - the searching ended and I became free.

What once was a form of expression to the others I deemed as separate from me when Wolf Cries Man was born and developed, has turned into something that is simply Me, I, Us, We, God, creating the writers and the readers and the players and the actors with an ultimate goal of keeping the creator busy in observation and so, if I were to summarise Wolf Cries Man into a single sentence it would be: Wolf Cries Man is merely Jibber Jabber in a lonely God's game of hide and seek for one.

Formally on Amazon KDP. This is now unpublished with Amazon and not available from any POD company. Given Amazon KDP reap profits from authors who are no longer with them and have unpublished their books; Amazon, via various methods, still profit from them. It's for this reason I will be placing this online as an epub book for free to minimise the profits of Amazon.

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Wolf Cries Man

By Jobo Pooks

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Zenith Leap

No sign of wind, the still cold night bites into my skin and eye water freezes on my jowls. The black blue sky makes a perfect canvas for the brightest cheesy grin moon and I catch a scent, only to lose it as a star bursts out of the speckled dome.

It seems like yesterday when I spotted something peeking at me from a small hole in the snow; a sad reminder that my memory tells me it was only a dream and that the yesterday I remember is but a wish - a fleeting picture of what my stomach tells my head.

I walked for days until a train whistle made me twitch and realise that I was walking and still here, still cold and still hungry. Where had I been? What had I done? Where did I start? When will I end? Why am I alone? What is my purpose? Suddenly, I'm ripping at flesh and the warm red fluid steams around my head, comforting me all over…. oh the joys of life.

In an instant I am in familiar surroundings with others like me and just as quick I am lost again to the wilderness and its smirking ignorance. This in and out of things annoys me no end as the in-betweens flash out of sight, never staying long enough to allow me to grasp the tiniest snippet of an image…. no wonder I howl at nothing.

I felt something touch me and turned sharply to see a white figure holding a large twig. I opened my mouth, but no words came out - only a low growl from the pit of my stomach as the figure lifted the twig high and spoke these words:

"I call onto the four winds of everywhere to grant me this most splendid of wishes. This majestic creature called me from the grave to stoke its fire and bolt springs to its heels. If I should fail to make the grade then strike me down before I begin, otherwise poke a hole in the frozen night and set this beast free."

No sooner had he waved his twig than I was staring at a tree that had lost its branches. Wires tied to its head sparked and I heard voices shouting and swearing that hell would freeze over before the search was called off. Lights danced through the trees and I shit and pissed as the crack of branches rang out behind a blood hound barbers chorus. I turned and ran only to find myself on a summer night street in East London, England with a stranger poking me in the shoulder and wanting to know directions to the nearest delicatessen.

What is this garb I wear? Where is my tension? How did I move across the ocean so rapidly and without a vessel? I sank to my knees and wept for the many that had sacrificed much for my deliverance, but felt a smile creeping in and let go of my holding to laugh out loud and curse the vanishing sun. Nothing could stop me now that the crossing had been made, and warmth seeped into my essence; flooding and surging and overwhelming me to endless orgasm.

"Dare I stand?" I whispered to myself. "Dare I walk upright and take my place amongst man knowing that at any moment my claws might let me down and my fangs weaken to the raw flesh on every corner." I was sure people knew me, but stayed clear for fear of being eaten, but then realised that the personal space of others was nothing more than an invisible donut - my spirit and manifesting form trapped in the central void, sugarless and jam-less.

I stood and at once a black mass formed beneath my feet. My falling became inevitable as the street lamps flickered and twinkled into the distance above me. I knew blackness once again. I knew numbness once again. Hopelessness crowded me on every side and I fought to envisage my longing for form, but without success. Time had left me on this windless desert of nothing; no frills here; no hope here; but I was, and in my knowing I held on for a spark; a message; a sign; a calling, but beams squeezed past me on all sides making me feel nauseous and dizzy. For a fleeting second my source became cornered and I knew I was in a state of grace. I’d left that place behind so many times it was starting to look like my mother’s back kitchen - empty brown sauce bottles scattered across a yellow melamine steel legged table and the smell of bacon and eggs easing my Saturday night indulgences.

Without warning, the hot searing pain sliced into my daydream as lead shot slammed me against the rough bark of a giant yew, shaking a mountain of snow over my form and hiding me from sight. Closer came the voices as the smell of man burned into my semi-consciousness and the fear of losing my view rose up hard, bringing with it a new and welcomed adrenalin surge. I burst out of my igloo hideaway and with red steaming liquid pumping out a gifted trail in the snow, I ran with all my heart and soul toward a place not yet thought of, least of all manifested.

Lungs cold burned and bursting, I kept on until the searing hot thud of another lead slug brought me down and paralysed my hind quarters; the delayed crack of gunfire echoing across my tortured imagination and my place in the frozen experience becoming warm and tranquil. I was happy as I bathed in the steamy heat of my life’s liquid, not caring for this learning any more. The lights were so bright and the hatred, like a thousand arrows all finding their target, bore into my very being and yet, I smiled. I was at peace as the axes rained down, for I was there myself with the upright beast - my hands gripped tightly around the willow handle as thought was manifested and the gap was at its least.

In shining we pick up traces; a lingering glance, by proxy, but clear and sweet. Amazing we run, and out of the pain we suckle and cry. A fear lives there; a faint whisper, clues, face to face from the endless beginning - the end so close to the beginning that the answer becomes the question as they melt into one. Best left, me thinks, until the whites of the eyes can be seen, as fear and caution lock horns. Dark corridors and open meadows cling and rip through the vastness; the weakness so evident. To know the fear, to embrace the fear; Father fear engulfs us and we are scalded by its love, yet wish for the deepest of sleeps as the tormentor wakes. Come play in hell. Come play in heaven. Come play here, for who would hurt us? The screaming silence tells its tale, but no one hears, as another victim waits on the mountain with a clear view of the valley and time walks a path polished to a mirrored shine - a smile of love baked into its eternal reflection.

The lake and sky are one, and in between, the separator we invent is seen as what we would believe, and we hold on for fear it will desert us, not knowing, but assuming that the picture is one of our own making, and knowing that our assumptions are mere pictures of a knowing that we know not. Nothing gets said again and again, creating babble, out of which comes nothing but babble, and is built upon by the confused and looking amongst us. Stop looking and you will see. Stop seeing and you will know. Stop knowing and arrive at the junction that is so familiar yet totally alien, and bask in its remembrance, like the warm softness of a mother's bosom - its fragrance locked away so deep.

Often, breeze tales tell us in a sweet cerebral taste, of trees withered in the purple genetic mist that suck at the baked clay - the drowning pool, not just a celluloid archive. A hand strokes my cheek and I know. Warm breath, perceived as a gentle open window breeze, whispers across the quilt and catches my imagination as the falling begins. Fruitless marriages dashed upon jagged rocks like silent fishermen caught in a dream; church bells wreaking havoc as we wend our way. Cheap thrills, fondue sets, bass guitar blends, babe columns, clue-less savages, sundries, foam quenching the flames and a heaven castrated by the scalpel formed from the many sick and twisted tomorrows. Fat, thin, medium, small, tiny, vast, obese, disgusting, beautiful, nondescript, full, heaving and wasteful as nothing seeps slowly in, and on the threshold we know that soon it stops.

The darkness catches our attention and we see it as another sample of wishes that keep us guessing. Ophelia, still waiting beneath her window, weeps as her sunsets become old and draws comfort from the fact that one who speaks not of their sorrow and pain to save the children from premature grief, lives now in a time where love is all that is, and in that there is peace.

I heard a sweet voice bawling repeatedly, “You are already at where you are trying so hard to get - it's just a matter of accepting where you are. Remain where you are and give it your full attention. There is nothing more to do. This acceptance will feed the reciprocal glow. You cannot buy this and it cannot be sold to you. Beware the many false prophets with words to sell.

Be all that you are in the now that you are; for all that is belongs to now and therein is your power. There is no fear in now; no death; only life. Beyond the spherical gate of now there is nothing. Seek nothing. Learn nothing. Embrace nothing; for the perpetual orgasm of now exists for you only when nothing is understood and takes its rightful place, within the spherical gate of now and your experience - your freedom is here only. Nothing can be gained by seeking nothing through the teachings of others, but only through the experience of knowing that your power belongs to you through experiencing what you experience now within the spherical gate of now. To know nothing is to live now and to live now is to know nothing. For some, now is a tiny flicker; a twinkle on the peripheral vision of consciousness; their power used and their lives constructed by others who rape their souls and force them beyond the spherical gate of now into the nothing, where they are forced to invent the past and future, and once there, the maze of misery and fear that masquerades as the joy of life is born again. They seek the joy constantly, not knowing that it exists for them within the spherical gate of now and refuse to accept that the dream they live is nothing; their fear of nothing feeding the beast that was created in the now, and by others who would profit through false teachings. Your imprisonment exists in denying nothing, and in that denial your wings are clipped. The human animal knobbles itself from its first breath to its last, and limps through life a cripple; confused and bewildered, despite its outward appearance. Those that would doubt me have not the courage to seek, learn and embrace nothing, but continue to trudge forward blindly in their ignorance of the true nature of existence. Yes, it's true - the fool knows nothing and is free.”

“Who are you?” The mirror smirked. “What do you know; where is the key?”

“I am liberated, your sadness moves through my joy. I know your pain; your sobs, echo-like, fill the void that once was us and burst like thunder in the warm silence of my changing. Your hurt is a wall; your bitterness its height, your grieving its depth, your darkness its light. Pictures of life hang on its face and its foundations are deeper than all your questions, all your searching, all your prayers. It lives forever in our midst. Many climb its unforgiving sheerness; many try to breach its hard and bleak façade. Few see the glory of what is beyond this leviathan of the adversative side of the incarnate soul. It is part of the returning spirit and is built on the hatred and the fear and the mistrust of what was left behind. It stands while all around it is reduced to ashes. It remains, resolute and strong. It does all this and yet does not exist; its non-existence helping to build it, brick by brick; its mortared ramparts dripping with falsehoods, deceit and the draft of its endless construction. Calm your heart.

Trust that all will be well. Seek nothing, but allow your being to become as a chalice full of holes; accepting all, but holding onto none; for in the fullness of time, as in the beginning that never was, the shell will be naked and only the learning shall remain. When dark imaginings begin, do nothing and all will become clear. When fear approaches, walk into its open arms in the sure knowledge that its embrace will bring forth the seed of its own destruction.

When despair looms heavy, remember that your journey was planned and all is as it should be. There are many roads to travel that are filled with pain and joy. They belong to you in their purpose. Nothing is good, nothing is bad. Let your covets be temporal, for the learning are the learned. Do not surrender your life. Do not surrender your life. Do not surrender your life, and when you stand before me with no wall to overcome and the dawn of your liberation begins to enfold you in its lustre; then you will know that you and I are not us, but I, and that I do not exist; and that from me all is born and all shall return back to me; this I promise. The enlightened know nothing of nothing.”

It was then that I remembered something that I’d forgotten to remember and a vision came to me; not in words, sounds nor images, but in a feeling. This vision passed through like a silent hurricane that had not the power to stir a ripple on the surface of a vast tranquil ocean, but served its delicacy like a smooth and efficient waiter, well below the level of almost every manic seeker. It was like minded we met by chance; fools on a risky voyage; so many beams apart that ours was an impossibility, but for unseen help – oh that impenetrable darkness. That thick void was but rice paper sodden by cosmic rain and split with a roaring whisper. In a time not measured, the birth had begun and the vaygors screamed in tormetulous ramblings before the cords were cut and the gornaster raised himself like a demon from the deepest of numbered crestvistorz.

The highest of sines waved and gave a signal that all was well before entering the eternal log and it was so. No vast light show, no bursting of tangs, no columns of belchandrigs reaching out to touch the farthest stacks, but a quiet knowing that a new light had been made and a new path had been forged. Only the few will laugh and rejoice at my words, for we will see the new light, and in that light will be the question to the answer that has never been given; the secret of Torl’s tribal semeculate. Bound since the end of its death it waited for the two who would break out from the prison of mathmetalisium and see the real freedom that cried out to be born; the freedom that speaks not; the freedom that hears not; the freedom that understands nothing and the freedom that brings a peace that only the gifted can ever hope to reach. I sit with Torl and watch as the pain continues and the gornaster swallows its last meal. Who would dare to walk with me should say so and stay silent thereafter, for in solitary specialising will the truth be understood and in giving nothing and receiving nothing will all be gained and the freedom won. Who gave me this? Why who else but my teacher. Smile.

Your experience as you experience is the master you constantly seek, but strangely can never seem to find. You look at yourself, but you don't seem to see who you are. If you do not know your teacher then you do not know yourself. If you allow yourself to be taught by others then you waste your existence and offer it up as a snack to the most persuasive who would wish to control you, but tell you otherwise. In effect, you forego your experience.

There is a gift inside each and every experiencer that is given by the experiencer to be experienced by the experiencer and in so many, it never is. Instead, the individual experiencer seeks to find an experience externally to give it meaning to why it experiences, not realising that the gift is already there and that the individual experiencer need take no further action but to experience the gift it gives itself.

Gods and great masters are invented by the individual experiencer to soothe the frustrated and confused individual experiencer. In its fear, born out of this frustration and confusion, it blinds itself to and restricts itself from its true purpose, which is to just experience and nothing more; to flow with whatever comes next and to realise that after the experience is over there is nothing for the experiencer to experience any further, thus nothing exists for the experiencer any longer because the experiencer no longer exists.

But what of the essence of the experiencer that no longer exists? The wave no longer exists, the essence moves onward without question and experiences its true nature as it unfolds, it does not question itself, thereby setting up restrictions to its flow, it goes with the flow, to where ever the flow may take it. Your progress is determined by your teacher; your choice of teacher is determined by your teacher.

The blue crack of lightning and I feel I’ve been somewhere, but can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s there and only a whisper away. As I move towards it to try and grasp, it moves ever so slightly away; just out of reach, as if toying with me. Is it controlled, and if so, by whom? I find my inner dialog constantly repeating; even though I know it to be just a series of complex chemical manoeuvres, the question that has taken priority over all other questions since the chemical and atomic construction of a species emerged - who holds my strings? And then I am back, to the knowing that I have the power to question, and that power I possess in questioning my existence is nothing more than an imbalance of chemicals which manifests itself as a fear of annihilation. That fear in so many is a merciless jailer that will not give up the keys. But the jailer, in reality, is just an integral part of the imprisoned chemical and atomic construction that has tricked itself into experiencing existence as being something that has been formed by a higher form of itself or something that is not as itself, but is greater than in some respect. So much to think about, so much to do, so little time to do it, must get to the answer, must get to the truth, must prove that I am the one who knows it all, must prove to myself that it’s all so simple and that there’s nothing to learn, and then the blue crack of lightning and I feel I’ve been somewhere, but can’t quite put my finger on it.

I am Drenched in whispers; pulling at the outer limits; implosive and wretched; weighted at the core. Each pull a last post, each post a last pull. Rivers on fires of half-baked hate topple and tumble across the event. Spirals scream into the core, sick and twisted. The last memory - no help for the knowledge-less. Fixed journeys hanging in shreds. The knowing of the Xexolian vortex holds the key to its rampant sky. Few hold the key. Few see the sign. Few know the door. Few seek nothing. The knowing of the Xexolian vortex holds the key to its rampant sky. Many severed souls. Many blinded in searching. Many ignorant of the ignorance. Many keeping count; fixed journeys. The knowing of the Xexolian vortex holds the key to its rampant sky. Each pull a last post, each post a last pull. Thought spins and is gone; returning to a point within the spiral; the spiral supporting many perimeters, and the many merging as unseen and unknown. The knowing of the Xexolian vortex holds the key to its rampant sky. Within the sweet cerebral taste lives the motionless cloud. The picture paints itself in its own colours. The sign that reads do not read this sign. The brink whereon is found what cannot be sought. Each pull a last post, each post a last pull. The forgotten forget the forgotten forgotten and forget to forget. The remembered forget to remember the remembered and remember nothing. The knowing of the Xexolian vortex holds the key to its rampant sky. Few hold the key. Few see the sign. Few know the door. Few seek nothing. The return from the Xexolian vortex. The key to nothing is forged. The door to nothing is unlocked. The knowing of nothing is embraced. Each pull a last post, each post a last pull. The Xexolian vortex is neither sought nor found, but is known, when knowing knows not. I have touched Zeeqzhol’s colours.

Navigating the same path at the same time is formed a circle that spirals ever on, converting yet remaining the same one ripple. Stacked, but running alongside. Moving outward to move inward. Fusion's that emerge from the spheres core, breaking the surface of the limitless. Moving in to one point and then beyond, ever inward. Inward being outward, outward being inward. Feeding the energy, feasting as it's fed. Scaling edges where none are. Trawling. Traversing. Liquid in movement, but solid in form. Saved, but wasted, given but wanted, loved but hated, grimacing smiles, behind the faces, below the rocks and stones that give life and take life. The palette moves as a cone, wide in its closeness and moving out towards a point that is, and encompasses all the individual parts. All is touch. Touch is its point, one sense. One colour but many; no names, but all known, even though never touched, even though never sought, even though never held. A gift if so taken. A void if so taken, but in all spheres, needed. In all times, remembered, till time moves to where it belongs and the voice that speaks of colours whispers a sleepy lullaby and says goodnight, I love you.

My head aches - a nagging thump like an angry landlord banging on my front door demanding the unpaid rent. “We know you’re in there. We have three gifts.”

“You trick me,” I holler, “I have no money.”

“Relax and we’ll leave them at the door,” is the answer. I take a peek, but it makes no sense to me. I relax and the sweeping begins. All in a hair’s breadth it becomes clear, but who would want to know this?

“Not important;” came the reply, “Speak.”

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The Perimeters.

Nates, Lorngst, Strelzhaq.

The school of Mestra in Azheeq is hidden at the nucleus of clearly envisioned plates that are envisioned only through knowing and known only at the point when knowing is first found. The first streams out at a point that is uppermost in the chain and is the first entered; in its centre the net, that allows enough flexibility to encroach upon and touch its lower, but higher partner when the need arises. Two perimeters each working alone, but as one; the third at the base, linked by a thread so large yet hardly existing; there in its calling and moving ever away as its gifts are won, until separation brings the first birth. Nates perimeter; a renegade at first meeting, but soon to become a great teacher. It is here that answers are given for questions to be received; the ultimate question bringing the stretch that fills the band to its edges where the plate or perimeter gives out its treasure and the centre, which caresses the focal point of the Lorngst perimeter. Herein is a cluster of potentials that must each be understood as a part of the fields or expanses that are scattered throughout the plate in a random, but logical order. Both plates merge as the fields are captured and released until the Strelzhaq mind is formed. There is a pause while the Nates and Lorngst perimeters surround the Strelzhaq mind and then dissipate leaving only the Strelzhaq perimeter, which surrounds the newly formed Azheeq. A final test is administered in terms that become known as they arise and are forgotten as they become known. This once completed, the plate or perimeter falls away - there is a birth, and Mestra is born.

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Mestra in Azheeq Fades.

Many chains are forged and much toil is undertaken. Ghosts are known and flake away as the mist clears bringing a fresh blue sky with nothing below. Striking resemblance's to fields once encountered flash through and for a time all is confusing, but soon there comes a message; a statement of all past, all future and all present stages that are here and now and shall ever remain. Bliss moves into the centre and wells outward in all directions as the fresh blue sky flattens into a multicoloured disc and spews its being to full view. There follows a blackness; a thick solid impenetrable blackness that starts at the base of the disc and transcends upward to fill the picture from all perspectives. Yellow spots; barely visible and clustering to form an oblong now move across the view from right to left steadily before climbing upward at speed and out of sight. The blackness remains and all has no wisdom until the grey lines begin to fall and the cold that creeps slowly into sense marks the entry level. Zeeraclluzegj begins its clasping and the hawsers snap as the coldness moves away and sweet warmth infuses the experience. A point of pure awareness becomes present and develops into a beam of smoky white, which moves away and to the side before bursting out into an endless cone which centres itself and displays the last wish at Mestra on either side. There comes a squeeze; a powerful forcing, and all that is, is known in that fleeting experience. The blackness returns in thudding ebbs and then crumples as Mestra in Asheeq fades and Zeeraclluzegj rises.

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Zeeraclluzegj.

A bell rings once and its echo remains until Zeeraclluzegj is fixed and calling forth Zqelxoix to bind the edges and close further interference by portal streams. A great calm follows and magnificent feelings manifest; sight, sound, smell, touch, taste, and hearing becoming as one. Sentients begin the filling process and the orgasm begins. Entering through funnels, the billions flow until Balzxejacht is reached and the funnels collapse to leave the final and ultimate destination ahead - a single point in a void. A call so strong and yet so gentle. An enticing, bewitching silence, that pulls that which can only be drawn. Onward, as all becomes quiet and peaceful. Onward as all emotion is relinquished and dissipated in the wake of the traveller. Onward as all knowledge is relinquished and dissipated in the wake of the traveller. Onward as the point is reached and the traveller is relinquished and dissipated in the wake of the truth, which holds no truth; the truth which holds no fear; the truth which holds nothing but nothing itself and gives itself up to the experience of the knowing of the Xexolian vortex and its gift of nothing.

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Onward Alone.

In an instant I was back and wishing I was on all fours again. How we wish for things only to find that those things, after much toil, anguish, pain and loss are empty of what we really need. I felt as if I couldn’t go on and walked away from the gathering - my hands still cramped from too many swings of the axe. The cold still night hung its head in shameful silence, but the screaming thoughts thundered across my aching mind giving me no peace, forcing me to turn and seek solace in the gathering, but I resisted and in my resistance I was transformed once again and saw that total surrender would only lead me toward a passive indifference; that my resistance to the happening and the gathering was neither good nor bad, but a choice that I was free to make based on my true need at the time, and I walked on with nothing as my companion.

The gathering followed. “Wait for us;” came the cries, “we are your friends.” I quickened my pace and stopped behind a large black rock to view them through a different eye. Their forms scanned the area for me as the outward smiles masked the salivating snarling jowls. I could smell their fear as the dark green and brown auras burst in all directions to fall like cascading rivers of putrid soup dissipating with effete spastic thrusts into the path they followed. Ahead of them their guide; a lone figure of bombastic sociolinguistics and thimble rigger intellect who lacked the courage to walk on and be followed or be damned, but who repeatedly turned to count his disciples - his lack of intestinal fortitude obvious to anyone with half the mind of a sectionalised lemming. I came out into the open to face them as the sound of scrunching snow silenced in their halting. Steam rose from each and every disciple; each and every thoroughbred, and the sound of laboured breathing was all that could be heard as the wind waited in expectation.

The lone guide raised his arms in a curling motion to give sign to his disciples to surround and protect the leader. I laughed and shook my head as the verbal diarrhoea commenced and the followers fell to their knees in orgasmic laudation at this pathetic misguided duffer. “I see a bear.” cried one.

“I see a wolf.” cried another.

“There are no wolves here;” the duffer spat, “they were buried in a sea of words to protect the guilty. What you see is a reflection of your own true selves. I on the other hand am free from such mundane and simplistic reactions. I have knowledge and superior intellect.”

“You are nothing, but a lonely guide - a sad and confused traveller.” I smiled.

I stepped forward as in the same breath the gathering stepped back and gasped. “He is vapour,” cried one.

“No, he is spirit,” cried another.

“Be silent;” cried the lone guide, “he is nothing.”

I walked away, leaving them to their confusions as flames rose high all around and the cries in tongues to multiple Gods and demons continued as ever. I walked and spiralled onward into caverns of orange joys and the colour’s aroma felt like the stroking hands of a thousand angels, and the voices whispered and placed singing within me.

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Unseen Friends.

Faces in the fire, voices in the stars. My eyes look to the future now, the silver cord is born.

The gentle rush of floating, the reeling in of time. The beam I have to travel, the lifetimes that are mine.

In feelings that are nameless, the tales unfold as one. Tomorrow's news is yesterday’s, in the place where I come from.

We ask that you would seek us; our price is in your call. Our gift is your desire; your freedom says it all.

Your strings we hold so gently, but not to let you fall. Our books are set in shafts of light upon the seekers wall.

I'm falling with the answer. I see the sound I touch. No fear lives inside me, no knowledge is too much.

And back to join the living on this ball of hate and vice. Tomorrow I had yesterday, not once but almost twice.

I was conscious of the fading and wondered how long it had been since I had taken part in anything resembling the common or garden movements of one who could split between vortex surfing and every day trawling at the bat of an eye. Sometimes there is so much in front of me and I teeter on the brink of leaving and then a single point hits me and the call to remain is so strong that I feel it is my duty in some respects to make things available for knowing. I see the mighty armies of the righteous and the hoards that follow who continue to trade in the exploitation of the human race and its inability to realise that enlightenment cannot be bought at any price, and that the joy, the bliss, the peace, the knowing can only be known by the crutch-less.

At the front of my visions there is a plaque that shines brighter than the rest. It pulses and my head hurts so much. I know it needs release, but I'm busy. It won't leave me alone. It nags like the incessant chatter of a bored and frustrated pill popping housewife until I pay it enough attention and then it smoothes out into a creamy dialogue as I succumb and give birth to its sequestered rantings and heave to. I give vent and it speaks in a single tongue: “The only true currency in reality is sharing. If we can do this unconditionally then the shackles of ego will be turned to rust and we will be free to experience true unfolding, leading to the pure joy that is waiting within. This joy will infect us and the pendulum will swing as the closing comes near, and as we allow closure, we become the inertia that breathes life into our beautiful children.”

A huge red sun sunk behind the lagoon as the ranting voices faded into a hum, not unlike that of a swarm of angry wasps that were far in the distance and still angry at the loss of the chance to give their stings a good airing. I slipped effortlessly below the surface and the struggling became a warmness that was as welcoming as a mother’s cuddle. I became aware of others grunting at me and pointing to the sky as the thick black rain clouds hung like a cloaked and frowning demon headmaster. I had heard these grunts before and recognised them as being the sound of the cloud. Thunder had its own grunt, as did fire and shooting stars, the sun and the moon. Others fell to their knees and wept as these acts before us metered out their vengeance and wonder, but I was not afraid and stood laughing. They cast me away and stoned me as I went. They could not see the patterns and created Gods out of them. They gathered together and fought to the death over these Gods and were blinded by their own ignorance. They created buildings and their voices became sweet and bitter as they called to their Gods; their all loving, all forgiving fathers of whom they were afraid. I beat against the doors with bloodied fists and sang in many tongues, but the turning wheel was slow to move and my words echoed across the vastness of closed minds.

“Church of idiots, Church of fools, Church of hypocrites, Church of mules, Church of business, Church of cash, Church of ending, Church of ash. Church of idiots in all your many forms; wake up and hear the cry of your children, out there in the storms. Church of idiots, no one is above. Your children are deserting you; you and your sick love. Church of idiots, falling day by day; live by your words; give all your gold away. You are taught to fear and this lesson will always bring you back to where you are. And all the time there was only fear itself. Listen to what you are taught. Just listen. See what you are shown, even with closed eyes. Hear what is said to you, just hear. Speak, but tell no lies. Seek the wisdom of your own inner spirit, for there is where all answers lie. Pity the sheep in their millions, willing and ready to die. Follow your heart, not a symbol. Wear not a robe or a sash. The kindred spirit will feed you, not the fools in the churches of ash.”

We devour until there is nothing. A feast of many faces it goes by many names and each one is justified to itself. Each one is both loved and hated, cast out or embraced. It stands proud with no shame and also wears a mask; a cloak of respectability. It manifests confusion to keep itself from its own scent, yet knows that when it looks in the mirror there is only one simple answer to the endless questions that it constantly plagues itself with to find its true meaning and purpose; we devour until there is nothing.

The key is in understanding nothing, for it cannot be known. Once understood, your being will open up and a limitless sky will unfold. Many things that you thought were essential to the you who you mistakenly thought was you will fade into insignificance as the pure joy fills and bathes the vacated space and the knowing dwells as an eternal and timeless bliss – a bliss filled with the contrast.

The one who talks of friendship and asks, "How is this made?" does not yet understand the simplest of things because the confusions lay heavy on an already barricaded doorway.

The human animal vibrates and in so doing, its vibrations; some of which can be measured using manifested devices and some which cannot, may or may not be in step or sympathy with another's. Touch is the basis of all human senses. Something has touched us; a piece of music, a sight, an action, and we are affected by this either positively or negatively as our vibrations dictate. We smell out a mate for procreation. We are in tune with our friends until our vibrations change and alter attraction and repulsion.

The explosion in my skull echoed with each cycle, changing in frequency as the banging in my torso lengthened; every thump akin to being kicked in the chest by a horse. My back arched until the cracking of vertebrae sang a song of joy and the welcoming warmth of my changing split the frozen night. My howling brought an audience, all screaming for answers and holding out their bursting purses; the tongues of many wagging incessantly and pleading for release; begging for peace until I raised my hand to calm the storm and told of the light of Zllueclear's well, whereupon the sighs fell like feathers on the dream-like windless afternoon of one’s childhood and the jaws mouthed a silent thanks - the multitude humming as one.

The hoards tried to dress me in finery, which fell away and would not adhere to my experience. They showered me with promises of ego food. Each new trick was launched with the sincerity of a loving father who allows his children to suffer endlessly in the knowledge that he will never be there for them, but holds out a hand to say I'm here, my darlings. They are afraid, these all knowing creators of Gods. They are afraid to deny their concept just in case it may be there and punish them for their non-belief. This greatest of hoaxes has kept mankind in chains and given power to the corrupt and sick for so long that there seems to be no escape; no release from the endless maze of is it isn't it? Does it, doesn't it? Will it won't it? All the time the spherical questioning moving and throbbing in every direction, the hoards screaming for mercy, the arses clamped tight for fear of exposing the aroma of their own true innards as they run in circles like demented shoppers with full to bursting bladders and no pennies, looking for toilets without locked seat lids.

They teach their children about fairy tales and someone invisible who always watches over them and is with them all the time and who loves them unconditionally. They continue the abuse with further revelations about how if they don't do the right thing according to how they were taught then this all powerful all loving invisible thing called by many names, but only one as far as they're concerned, will banish them to the depths of hell or will forgive them for everything. They tell tales of heaven and how blissful it is and how it must be striven for and how everyone is in heaven that followed the way of the invisible separate one. They tell of how if the rules are followed, the separate invisible one will shower rewards in heaven, but it is necessary to suffer much until that time comes. So we have a world full of individuals who believe that there is a separate invisible one who loves them unconditionally, but if crossed by wrong doings, which are not mistakes, but really results, will cause a suffering, an eternity of pain, with no chance of entrance to this place of eternal bliss. This has been going on and on and on and on and on. Is it any wonder we have a world full of twisted and sick individuals maiming and killing each other? Is it any wonder the world is full of the guilt ridden and the angry? Is it any wonder the world is full of fear and hiding? Is it any wonder we have Santa Claus and the tooth fairy and Mr Sandman and Dickey Dark and Freddy Kruger and the bogey man and the fairy God mother and a gambit of other concepts designed to point individuals in certain directions which ultimately turn them into the led? Are we all not both teachers and learners?

Does your head rage when you read these words? Do you feel berated? Do you hate me for suggesting that you have been told lie after lie? Do you despise me for suggesting that what you believe is wrong? Do you want to rip my lungs out for suggesting that your parents abused you and ruined your life, even if you imagine your life was and is wonderful? Do you want to see me writhe in agony and be cast into your God's hell because you feel you must take sides with this God that you believe is apart from you? Do you want to kill me for making available, words that would suggest that you the individual is afraid to live your life according to how you know you should live it and you don't really know why? Yes? Then you are deeply entrenched and are a part of the river that shares with the bottom feeders. No? Then how do you feel about it? Could you really take a chance and consider some open thoughts on who controls who and who controls you? Who is in charge and who has the courage to leap and become the rapids of the river and experience that which is beyond the boundaries of the physical manifestation and spirit mentality? If you are then at some point you must stop reading my words for you will be at the edge of a vortex that will not feed on such followings. You will not know when this leap occurs until the leap itself and it will be a knowing that needs of nothing.

Many scurry back to their hidey holes like rivers of ants rushing to protect the eggs. Then the communications begin as the fear deepens and sinks into the very core of the bones. A circle is formed with the weakest led in the centre and the more entrenched forming the walls. The fear becomes huge, like the blackest and thickest of storm clouds as the minds fight against the destruction of their crumbling ramparts. But crumble they will, and when they have fallen there will be no regrets, no anger, no wanting, no taking, no using, only you, and you will abide in that place beyond the squalid tenements of questionings; within the reciprocal glow of enlightenment, for enlightenment is nothing more than the unconditional acceptance and allowance of your being as it unfolds.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The Gathering.

I awoke to the sound of church bells with my face pressed hard against the cold damp wall of a long forgotten slum. They belched and spewed their message to the pre-hangover slumbering and my tongue lashed out at their persistence. I sniffed at the air and clambered through the rubble with droplets of sky water fragranced by the rotting roof beams slapping against my neck; raising my hackles. A startled pigeon slammed itself against a cracked and filthy window pane with shit flying as I joined in song with the bells and disturbed the morning peace - my howls echoing off the memory laden bricks of a ruined hovel that once was a castle. A roof slate whistled past my ear as if launched on purpose to warn me of a new arrival and a sudden warmth enveloped my emotional response. The building spoke in a velvet tone:

“Total non participation at regular intervals creates a psychological and physiological balance and living relaxed allows the non-resistive unfolding. Where there is zero resistance, there is no struggle. Where there is no struggle, there is unconditional acceptance of the unfolding. This observance knows nothing. People search constantly for that something that is missing in their lives. Trying and living by many old and new religions, beliefs and ideologies when all they really have to do is practice living relaxed. Once they master this then doors open and a single view comes into focus. It is the acceptance of the fact that all we really possess is the ability to observe that single view without question and that in fact once we can do this we know that what we truly possess is nothing.”

“But what of love?” I screamed.

“Death owns the possessions and loans everything to us. The only true possession, which is not really a possession, but is the essence of what you are is pure love, for it is this that is undying. It is this that goes to and comes from nothing.”

There was a silence that hurt my ears, followed by a thundering barrage of, “Love is not owned. Love is not owned. Love is not owned. Love is not owned.”

In an instant I was transformed and stood gazing over a vast wasteland of bones and parchments. I knew myself and was content in my knowing that out of confusion come words and out of words come confusion. Beyond words and confusion there is a plateau. It is the place in the unfolding that remains constant and waits patiently as the observers reach its centre. Within there are no words, no action, just the blissful passing over that is done in the wink of an eye; the final fade, its eternal gift. Knowing becomes unknowing as the unfolding becomes nothing. So pure is nothing that it cannot be known and so pure is the unfolding that for so many nothing is beyond its understanding.

Enlightenment is simply the unconditional acceptance of your being as it unfolds. The more we try to capture it, the more it moves away. It is our breath as we sleep. It has no reflection and is fleeting in its flow. It cannot be owned and is exclusive to none, but is what we are when together as one. God, as many call it, is perfect nothing and is the mother of the energy that we are manifest from. As this nothing hasn’t any existence, it cannot directly interact with the manifest, but is ultimately responsible for its existence. It is the exact opposite of everything we, as manifest beings, experience. It is the manifest that controls the manifest on the level of experience. God, or nothing, experiences nothing, is nothing and has no power to alter the manifest; it just is, as are we.

Our prayers are answered by the manifest on all levels and all that they are, but come by way of that nothingness that is responsible for it all. Without the manifest there remains nothing; that being the almighty, but only through the eyes of the manifest. The confusion arises and continues through the manifest seeing this God as being in the same image as itself and having values that condone or disagree with the actions of itself. The manifest is simply worshipping itself and all that it stands for.

I itched all over as if ravaged by lunatic lice and scratched until blood pooled at my feet. I screamed as the flesh was torn from my body by my own claws and yet I was nowhere, and had no understanding or knowing of my form. My torment continued through eons, with pain as my only companion, but who was I? I knew not of myself yet knew a vague shadow companion. Memories lingered on the horizon, just out of reach and adding to my pain. “What am I?” The screaming growls sang into an emptiness circled by the vultures of what is and what could be. I thought that if I could think the thoughts that were there waiting for me then I could end the madness, but they hovered everywhere; teasing and hurling themselves at my unseen field. Again, new warmth came upon me as thoughts spiralled inward to fill my void and I knew at once that the five horses were upon me; their riders adorned with the crowns of light that gave birth to the unstoppable language. I lashed at the seething and spitting of the bringers of new insertions like a demented tic-infested beast, but could do nothing to halt the enforced filling as the knowledge pulsed forth in waves of fragranced luminance.

“Thought exists within its own exclusive, dedicated dimension and so unlike other forms of energy is not restricted by the medium it travels within or through. For thought energy, there is no opposition of any kind to flow. Alongside thought there is nothing; both are as pure as each other, but do not rely on each other for their existence as in the absence of thought there is nothing.

The detection of thought energy using manifested devices on a physical level was always a rather hit and miss event; the Zelmar gauge being the only tool that ever came close to giving a measurement and even this was way off the mark as the range of the spherical pulsing of the packages could move from inner to outer infinity without the constraints of time, which always governs the use of any physical measuring device. The only true way to measure thought energy is with thought itself and there are countless forms of thought, each with its own particular vibration.

A thought is a bundle or package of a fixed size, despite its content and this package moves outward and inward simultaneously, never being destroyed, altered or modulated in any way, shape or form. Its power, which is driven by its content, is fixed with respect to all other thought bundles, but alters in belchandrigs according to its content; a belchandrig being the thought’s ability to be captured and read easily and also be measured by those thoughts born of the humans with the ability to correctly decipher. Once a thought arises and is born it remains, and as a package, can be accessed and deciphered.

There are those who read thoughts as images; others read sounds or fragrances or feelings. All human animals have the ability to read the thoughts that have existed since those thoughts were born. Some are unaware that they are reading, some have vague ideas and others can actively read albeit in a piecemeal fashion. But there are those who share the ability of organising and deciphering the packages into streams which tell stories and give information. They read everything that the thought is made up of and part of the energy of every thought contains a signature known as a vaygor. The vaygor is, in effect, the blueprint or if you like, genetic code of the source of the thought and when vaygors can be read, the thoughts that they belong to can be organised and arranged into patterns. Every human reads and shares thoughts, not only with its own kind, but with all the manifested.

True readers and deciphers will never make any such claims or require payment of any kind for donating thought streams for those who require help. This ability is not learned through books or via gurus or persons claiming to have this ability, but is gifted out by those who have the ability, to those who teeter on the brink of this knowing and each of the new recipients is chosen for different reasons by the gifted as a whole.

On levels atomic, sub atomic and beyond, into the ever spiralling and folding vibrational vortexes, everything is connected, but because of the way that atoms arrange themselves and because of the limited ability of most humans, there is the illusion of separation. With thought energy this illusion is not apparent to the decipherer and despite thought packages being separate with regards to each individual thought, vaygor and belchandrig, all thoughts that exist in a permanent state of being; which means all thoughts that have ever been born, are as one and are known as one.

As all thoughts can be accessed from this dimension, a process known as numestrelas is employed to filter those that are very similar in content and you will appreciate that there are many thought packages that would seem to be almost identical, but are far from it. Every thought is unique. To read at an acceptable rate and accuracy, deciphers are coached in this skill, which scans the content in chapters then reads the vaygor.

The perpetual now is born and unfolds due to the thought that creates it and it would seem that to gain information on future physically manifested events through the reading and deciphering of thought packages would be impossible as the future, in effect, cannot be manifested physically before the thoughts that create it because thought bears the fruit known as the manifest. Time-bound thinking creates this illusion and as time does not exist in the dimension of thought, but is only born of it, all that has happened and will happen is already available because it already is. You will now appreciate that our thoughts only come to us via the thoughts that already are and are nothing more than copied packages containing unique stamps.

To those who still haven't quite grasped it and are asking the question: But what is beyond all of this? What creates all of this? The answer has already been given. Those who don't know the answer will not know it until that point when their understanding is in the knowing and that no more questions need be asked on the subject.

Be patient and watch the unfolding without question; amazing things will happen, but pay them no mind and as you do so they will hammer on your door. Be patient and do not answer and they will entice you. Be patient and do not be enticed and they will attack you. Be patient and do not question their attacks and they will ignore you. Be patient with their ignorance and continue to watch the unfolding and amazing things will happen, but you will be watching the unfolding and unaware of them, and they of you.

Movements on the atomic level and also on levels beyond this are affected by thought. When thought packages of similar content are shared they affect levels and have impact upon those levels. Levels are structured according to the thoughts that manifest them, but levels cannot directly affect thoughts as thoughts exist within a dedicated dimension and already are. Only thought can affect thought. A self fulfilling prophecy on a global scale is an example of shared thought packages affecting levels. The level's manifestation is a movement that takes place and is the product of the thoughts that caused it. The manifestation cannot alter or modulate the thoughts that it was born of because those thoughts are fixed in a pure state within a level that is inaccessible to anything but thought itself and even then they cannot be altered or modulated because the packages are fixed. A level's manifested movement is; it does nothing more or less than what it was born to do. It does what it does.

Shared thought can alter levels as a result of a level's manifestation and so in this way it may be perceived that the level's manifestation is affecting the thoughts responsible for creating manifestations within a level. But it is thought that ultimately governs itself and gives birth to a level's manifestations and not the manifestations themselves that govern the thoughts. Thought sees the manifestation it has created and moves outward and inward simultaneously.

At the point of death of the human animal there is a final and ultimate thought of that manifest being at that level. All thoughts then associated with that particular individual join the main pool of thought, which ultimately, is a part of the whole. This final thought is different from others and carries a special vaygor. It points directly to the vaygors of the thoughts of the individual that has expired. As you will now appreciate, an individual's thoughts can be analysed as there is a pattern to work from and from the viewpoint of the analyst the final thought of an individual is the easiest to initially pick up.

The human animal constantly questions and sees those questions as its power point. Questioning is nothing more than thought energy renewing itself. In the human experience it is said that one cannot get something for nothing and there is always a trade off. A scientist would say that you cannot get something from nothing and that an energy that is capable of constantly giving and renewing itself without any form of loss is impossible. If we can move beyond time-bound thinking with regards to the use of thought energy we will see that there is no such thing as a trade off with this constant. The key to moving beyond lay in the way we question.

To reiterate: To those who still haven't quite grasped it and are asking the question: But what is beyond all of this? What creates all of this? The answer has already been given. Those who don't know the answer will not know it until that point when their understanding is in the knowing and that no more questions need be asked on the subject.

Thought creates it all. In the absence of thought there is nothing. It doesn't get any simpler than that. But what of those who carry on when you're gone, you say. Thought creates it all. In the absence of thought there is nothing. It doesn't get any simpler than that. If you can grasp this and completely understand it then you can be free from the thoughts that constantly have you going around and around in circles. You will break free from the eternal wheel of frustration and madness wherein you think everything is created by something that is external to you and greater than you. Thought creates it all. In the absence of thought there is nothing. It doesn't get any simpler than that. This is where you will find peace, my friend.

People think they see, but ultimately only see what they think. We are constantly beginning. You know what is needed. You let nothing happen by allowing nothing to happen. In your allowing you do nothing and nothing happens. Because you know what is needed, nothing happens and when nothing happens there is stillness so quiet that it is not known. Because of and out of this stillness comes happy peace. The greatest thinkers and philosophers since humans became conscious have served to keep us imprisoned within the ever onward and addictive game of who, what, where, why. It simply is as it is on all levels.

Those who think for themselves live by this and are free from the never ending cycle of confusion caused by the teacher, student, adult, child, adult, student, teacher mentality. When you're at this point of understanding, all the veils are stripped away and there are no needs. This place that is searched for so passionately is here, but in our searching we mask it. The searching is the saboteur. Allow the saboteur its death and the searching is over; it's all automatic from there on in.

There's another problem though with most. They search for ways to kill the saboteur and in their searching they feed it. Things constantly get complicated. It has us going around in ever increasing circles; like a confused mutt chasing its own tail. If we were to stop in our tracks and take a breath, clear our minds and just spend some time in observance then we would begin to see that there really is nothing to be done.

The truth will set you free; not by knowing the truth, but by understanding that there is no global truth. There is a point in one's unfolding that comes and goes wherein there is just the vague notion of being. It is within this point that all cares, all seeking, all grasping has no existence. This point is not bought or sold, taught or learned, sought or found, but blossoms out of surrender. It is as it was, just as it is as it is. Those who know live it and have nothing to sell, buy, teach or learn and when all grasping and coveting has been laid to rest, then will our eyes and hearts be truly opened.”

There was a roaring silence that kept me mesmerised for what seemed an eternity as I waited for more, but it was not forthcoming, and yet, I felt the presence still there with me, waiting for me to attempt to utter some kind of denial of what had taken place and I was loath to give return. “Leave me now;” I begged, “I am tired and wish to rest.” There was no answer, for it is only out of choice that answers are forthcoming and with that my being fell away into that space between then, now and there; a space that held everything and yet was nothing at all.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The Movements of Kakxallzhjabbad.

I kept thinking that there was something that I had to remember in order to move forward, but this soon left me and I became lost in the sunshine. That place was like no other and held everything I could ever need and I basked in its warmth and love until the stark reality of my position ripped me away like the break of a free fall from the opening of a parachute, and in that instant I knew of pain, sorrow, joy, and happiness. I knew of fulfilment, anger, hatred, love and compassion. I knew of tolerance, humility, grief, torment, wanting and needing, and the utter frustration at allowing myself to be torn away from my place of comfort and be thrust once again into the corridor of Llabluuzlabel; walking towards the doors that would lead to the circles of Overment and the potential boundaries that would bring into form the movements of Kakxallzhjabbad.

I knew this place and swore never to return, but something had drawn me here and I moved slowly into the outer chamber that held the seven doorways to the circles, fully aware of the power of that which could haul my presence from the womb of I, and keep me on intention to witness again the movement that would remain with me for millennia.

The first door opened as I reached it, and there, I was blasted with fifth vision; my intention to remain with a closed plexar becoming harder the more I resisted, until after a while the numbing eased and the Calumbazdor burst into view. It was spectacular, immaculate and brilliant and drew power like its elder the Blaztcullar, but was weakened by my past knowledge of its movement and withdrew as I held fixed on the second door.

The Calumbazdor, although withdrawn, was holding fast and slowing my process and despite being called forth into the vestibule of the second doorway, my passage seemed heavy; almost like swimming through sand. I had once reached the fifth doorway, only to be crushed by its endless mirrored returnings so the second door should have presented me with the keys to the third and fourth on entry into its vestibule after removing the Bellasnapz rigours from the trails that were left behind the leaving of the Calumbazdor’s hooks. But I was finding the trails somewhat illusive this time and my grappling became as a novice in the arena. I let go and bathed in the fifth vision; still holding my intention so as not to lose the way entirely, but not so hard as to lose power whilst resting, and in this bathing there came a vibrational connection.

“The grasping at and wanting to own what you constantly seek and search for in a God-like state at a manifest level keeps you from it through the constant searching and grasping, but also fools you into believing that you can experience it. There is no experience of the God state at this or any other level of manifest levels, but a knowing that the perfect potential is what you are born of and eternally part of. In surrendering to allowance, the knowing of this expanding nothing blossoms.”

I moved towards the vision and waved it on. “Best to not disturb me now,” I commanded. But it grew and became brighter and moved more towards the inner labular of my plexar. The message continued. “There is no end to the manifest experience as it is endlessly folding back within itself and expanding as it does. In so doing it creates constantly. There are levels of awareness wherein the experience cannot be conveyed in words as can be done on this level, but can be known by manifest beings within this level; the reason why there are many, and rising, at this present level who are not understood by the majority. Moving out of the ego based mind and being within that space that is not space and is nothing until awareness reveals it, reveals within this level the truth that the spiritual toys and confusions that keep us going around within the spherical gate are nothing but tasty little morsels to tempt us back to the centre of searching.”

I was not confused by this as much as I thought I might be and strangely welcomed more as the visions sweetened my experience to a point of immense pleasure. “Do go on,” I gestured.

It continued, “There are many levels of manifestation and awareness and it is these levels that are confused by some as being God or spirit or source. As the source is perfection and unchanging and so can only be what it is, and the manifest at all levels expanding forever is time bound and changing, but within all levels, then these choices, moving it to expand endlessly, and fed from, but as a part of also the source, are what bring the conclusion that there is separation. God, spirit, source does not want or need or judge or withhold or anything else that is of the manifest. It is perfection in its unchanging, as you, we, I are perfection in our changing. Together, this changing and unchanging create a force that unfolds eternally as it is observed. When we return to the source we don't know of it because we are only perfect potential as we think it to be so. These levels are expanding forever without end and are all manifest because they can be experienced.”

A lightning crack that exploded into a billion cascading stars suddenly filled my everything as I sank into waves of nowhere. I was stiller than a bow master’s arm and watched in gratitude as the vestibule of the second doorway flew away from me at speed, followed by the third and fourth keys that slowed and wavered, as if tantalising me into movement. I sparked up to reach out, fearing the loss of the keys when my vision, called forth by my wanting, sucked me inward and offered up a balance between the pull of the keys and the gentle understanding of my own truth.

Again, the smiling shine offered up further gifts. “Everything is necessary to move on from it. Everything is perfect as it is. How can it not be? You cannot change what was, because it was. Just as you cannot change what is, because it is what it is. But you can change from being what is to being what is.”

I eased back into my stillness and watched as the keys moved further away. But this yearning to grasp, to not let go, to feel that if lost, the keys would never return was bearing down on me so heavy. “Help me again!” I cried out. “Help me to know my flesh within this fur, within this flesh.”

“Be still,” the reply, as the gift of Morbuline’s balming breeze wrapped around me like a welcome blanket. “Following your own truth from your own heart, and knowing it is as your nature intended will allow you to bask in allowance. There will come a point as it is already here when the human animal will know that its true nature is indestructible. This is when the human animal will no longer be required to exist in its present form and will move to its next level, of which there are countless, endless levels. Preceding this shift will come a knowing that a part of the human experience had, at its core, the common act of changing its environment, which included changing material things; including the human animal itself, into something else. This is killing and will be seen for what it is. When it is realised that the human killed is not the end of the spirit, but merely a change of form and that ultimately, all forms are born of an endless potential to be form then this is when spirit will traverse at will through the countless levels and fly free to know the eternal orgasm of creation. To reach this level of knowing and understanding does not require hard work or sacrifice because it already is. The shifting of the veils or fogs that keep this from clear view can be lifted without a lifetime of study or learning in the following ways….”

I waited in breathless expectation for the secrets to unfold from the pouting lips of my all knowing vision, but there was nothing. The keys were now almost out of sight and I was in limbo. I reached out for them and somehow knew that they would never be lost as their need for me was as strong as my need for them. All motion stopped. Even my heartbeat; now stilled after a last breath could not cut the spell. I was with the keys. The keys and I were one, as we had always been, and the curtains fell away to reveal the third and fourth doors. I knew now that this second returning was unlike the first journey and not everything was going to be as it once was, and yet I felt confident somehow that the circles were almost upon me. I felt refreshed and invigorated. The constant ache in my chest, like that feeling of forever trying to swallow and digest a lump of dry meat had gone, and there was now lightness in everything, including my thoughts.

The passageways to the third and fourth doors, I knew, were arranged so as to lead to the other, but this time, along their walls were crannies; resting nooks into which were placed ideas of temptation away from the doors. The pull of the nooks were great and this was a challenge I had not encountered before, but all was well as I took the third key and cast it into the portice lock at the midway section of the opposite passageway. Immediately, a cranny behind me opened wide to reveal a pseudo Calumbazdor. “What is your quest?” it belched in bubbling tones, “Why do you seek to fight me?”

I waved my hand in dismissal. “I seek nothing;” I declared, “I know my way and also know that what you fight against will resist you by the very fact that you are fighting it.” The pseudo Calumbazdor rose high and screamed in tongues, but I opened my arms in welcome. “If there wasn't you there wouldn't be me.” I whispered, and smiled warmly.

It screamed louder and spat fire and acid. “I will finish your journey now for you!” it bellowed.

I laughed, as if greeting a prodigal son. “All is as you wish, all is as I wish. As I am you, and you I, then I wish as you would wish I would wish you would wish as I would, and tell you now that nothing is new, but is seen for the first time as I weave my tales of passion. Does the universe use effort to unfold? Does Illness remain because of the constant pursuit of a memory? If there wasn't blame there would be no need for forgiveness. If there wasn't cold there would be no heat. If not for you, there would be no me.” The pseudo Calumbazdor folded and vanished and I was reborn at the opened entrance of the third doorway.

The fourth key was now glowing blue and pulsating as I tossed it towards the Blaztcullar’s vent in the base of doorway number four and I rested until the third door closed, locking me into the passageway crossover that would lead me through doorway four and into the hall of returning remembrance. I was becoming weaker as doorway five came into being and knew that once through it, I would be on totally new levels. I was aware of a feeling of failure creeping in and at once countered this by accepting it as a friend and offering the gift to it of the fact that when you affirm that which you don't want, you affirm that which you have.

I realised that gifts often hide in what would seem to be the most unexpected places and in saying that, if we have gratitude for everything that flows through our experience, everything that flows through our experience will be a gift. We are the way we are because we are offering up a gift to whoever may wish to accept it. Without warning, the Blaztcullar’s vent bulged and rose up against me, its tormented screaming lashing into my already weakened plexar and forcing me to take shelter in the gaps. With each new move I made towards door five, the vent grew stronger until finally, I had weakened so much that being swallowed by this beast seemed like a welcoming end to what had become a battle I could not see myself winning anymore. I surrendered and was pulled toward the gaping hell hole at speed, only to discover on entering its event horizon that it was, in fact, doorway five and the doorway five I had sought and been enticed so gently by, was in reality the true Blaztcullar’s vent.

I found myself drifting in and out of a morbid state of exaltation with nothing to grasp a hold of as I floated on a sea of smoky beams; each one emanating from a pinpoint so close in indifference and yet, when focused on, sourcing from infinity. The floating was directional towards the source until my thoughts tried to conceptualise the source and then the floating stilled before moving away from the pinpoint until once again, there was acceptance of my position without thought and my movement was once again towards the pinpoint and what soon became accepted as not the source, but the eternal void. In allowance of my position I had ensured my passage in what I felt was the direction of my purpose and became patient, like the warm embraces of a feather and its lover - the gentle summer breeze.

Visions came and went without judgement and many knowings moved through my understanding without resistance. No words could form to give these shape, but in this reality it mattered not, but just to be. A silent voice spoke and all was without needing.

“You are that piece of the source and will be until you return to the source to once again return as another unique piece of the source. You can only be what you are and until you know that, you will continue to search and try to seek out the one thing that you will never experience on a manifest level; on any manifest level. You already are what you are; be at peace with what you are and it will be at peace with you. That you say I is of the ego and the ego and the intellect are the jailor that continually reinforce the spiritual toys that act as bars to cage the truth as the prisoner paces backwards and forwards, up and down and in ever increasing circles. Be nowhere and as that nothing space increases, the truth, in all its simplicity, shines brighter and brighter until the point is reached wherein everything is humming and vibrant, and there is no concern; the trials and tribulations of a scene that holds only a remembrance of a part that was played in order to become that which has always been. There are no mistakes in creation, it is one perfect movement; a symphony, of which every note and every seeming silence in between is essential for that masterpiece to be. All rivers eventually return to the ocean. Water is water, whether it is clear or muddy, fresh or stagnant, it is still water. It is as it is and each of us as a part of the whole is unique in creation - there are no mistakes.”

I saw these visions and knew their meanings, but without feeling the need to ask for more or question their validity.

“Your true purpose is that your purpose is whatever it is at any given point by the natural laws observed until such point as you begin to steer purpose by using natural laws. This is where choice is involved and to discover your true purpose, which is always here, you need to be where it is to bring it along. Tell yourself this at all times and keep this in the forefront of all that you do. True purpose lies between this thought and the next. Go to that place and be patient and allow whatever happens to just happen in the knowing that you are an irreplaceable part of all that was, is or will ever be. Without source nothingness there would be no contrast on which to base our being here in the manifest on and yet without us being here as the manifest there is nothing, which is pure and perfect in its unchanging. Nothing cannot be experienced because it is nothing and yet it has to be for something to be. That place of knowing that understands that nothing and something are one and the same is beyond verbal utterances and can only be known when it is known. When this knowing is, then it will be known that there is unfolding as the nature intended. When you stop searching, you will bask in your true nature. When you throw away the spiritual toys and let the mystics and the gurus go about their business and when you utter this one and only intention: I am unfolding as my true nature intended, and you allow yourself to unfold, then the searching will end by itself and you will have become the fruit of your searching and all will be done as the purpose for being here is not to be somewhere else. Once you really know then the need for questions and explanations ceases to be. Seeking feeds the fog that hinders what seems to be the journey to a destination that is never reached, from a source that never was, and as the peak view begins to clear it is lost in that one sheer explosion of want and need that most often precedes the truth. In truth there is nothing to seek - One only has to look to see.”

I was at a centre, and split many ways, bursting forth and returning again to a different centre that was the same, but not the same. This throbbing that constantly took me out and brought me back in an instant was such a joy that the calling by the side of each part of the split me was only a minor irritation up to the point when each me started to clutch, at intervals, onto every other calling and slow down the intensity of the burstings.

The irritation grew and grew until I felt compelled to tear myself away, but I could not break the bonds of the callings as they gripped tighter and tighter. The slowing made me nauseous and the droning began as I was squeezed through a portal of fire and water. This wrenching was sickening and tortured me. I failed in several attempts to focus on doorway six and its meaning until the gates came into view as a wonderful fragrance; a fleeting aroma carried on a foggy breeze that threatened to leave me if I dared question it.

Growing and throbbing with a love so sweet, my attention stayed on nothing but what was being offered and my bliss was without measure. At the filling of my visual capacity the gates became as a wall of angels in white and grey flowing gowns, with smiles that would melt the coldest heart and songs that no ear had ever heard.

“Advance to the outer edge,” they beckoned as their deep undulating floating quickened into a vibration of shear ecstasy; my feelings entering a strange, but almost familiar welcoming embrace. Twisting and turning and then swirling into a cone of high speed turquoise, they drew me, as if a magnet, into a tunnel of separate beams of light that ended at different sections where they entered the tunnel walls, each one an exact distance from the next. The angels, although having merged with and becoming the tunnel, made further contact and I felt the knowing of all beams being fully self-contained access points into the corridor of wellness that led to the sixth doorway. As I pondered the next movement, I was there, facing the door, and beyond it, the archway of the seven crystal mothers.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The Circles of Overment.

On entering the silver green corridor within the hall that lay behind the sixth door, my joy increased to such levels that thoughts on what lay ahead slipped away as they rose up. I glided silently towards the archway ahead as messages flooded my being.

“There is nothing. This nothing is pureness in as much as it is unchanging and perfect. This is the observed God, the source of all. This nothing cannot experience or interact or do anything but just be nothing. It can't even be nothing because it is nothing. But because it is perfect nothing, there is the potential for something to be born of it, and that something is creation. Starting with just the hint of a flash of energy that can only be experienced by the fact that it sees itself being born; that energy expands and expands and expands. As we create and manifest the ability to measure the vibration; the energy that we are as we look further and further into the void expanding as energy; out of it there comes more new stuff. That nothing, though, is always there, just beyond reach and always will be, because it is God or the source from whence you came and as it is nothing and cannot know of itself then it is impossible for you to know it except to know that it just is; unchanging, perfect, without substance – non-existent. You will never break into it, ever, because you can only experience up to the point of that first spark and never beyond because there is no beyond nothing, and so because there is nothing and something is born of it, then the fact that something is born of nothing means that nothing and something are one billowing eternal movement.”

Something suddenly stirred within me and grew like a raging fire, out of control. I rose up with an anger so strong I could barely speak and tried to scream out, but my voice was silenced by an invisible hand that throttled me almost to the point of collapse. I knew the truth, but could not bear it. I could not bear the fact that my journey seemed to be pointless and that the doorways were nothing but a paltry game I was making up to keep myself busy and off the subject of what kept coming at me like a maniac hornet. “I need to know;” I choked. “I need to do this for me.”

The hand relaxed and I floated away, as if moving backwards through all my trials and tribulations, through all and everything that I had ever been and beyond, to the edge of what I imagined was the point of no return; a nothing place that would be the end, and it was at this edge that I awoke and truly felt and understood the reality of God, the source of my being; the source of me; me, the source.

I knew myself in that place on the edge of nowhere as creation in birth. There was no gap from the nothing to the manifest. There was no transition band or crossover boundary to traverse. I knew that nothing and something were both exactly the same. The folding into and out of and back into. The eternal screeching contrast born of a silent mother and yet not a silent mother; not even a mother, but nothing at all. The eternal smacked arse with the constant unfolding taking place and the solitary witness that can give evidence only to itself as it continues in and out, up and down, back and forth, around and around, fading and appearing, all in a sensual dance that speaks not in tongues, but whispers and soothes like the warm stroking of a trusted companion. “It all comes from me;” I laughed. “And yet, I am surprised at every turn and like it to be so.”

The messages continued.

“Knowing the outcome of the game one plays takes away the joy in playing it. We create everything. We are the audience watching ourselves in the play, only to find that we, the players, are the audience. There are many realms and dimensions that are born of source and all are expanding, and all are accessible via thought. God, the source, is hiding within all to find itself. God is giving birth to itself through all so that all may give birth to God and fold back to create, again and again and again, forever and ever. God knows nothing and cannot respond directly, but only comes to exist when one is born of it and can acknowledge its potential as being a part of one, and in that knowing that one is God, one can live in the knowledge that there is nothing to search for and that nothing but one as God is the God prayed to. Source does not know itself within itself because within source there is no experience because it is one. It is only when source manifests as creation that the created can look to itself and know that it is one without experience as it observes.”

“What now?” I laughed, as the thought of me talking to myself and asking what next, echoed and reverberated like the warbling of a peaked out Swiss yodeller high on cocaine. I felt so good and joyous in the knowing that the next move was my move, but that at this level I knew nothing of it and chose for it to remain so.

A new message broke out. “That is fine. When you can see everything as vibration then you will understand that the vibration has a perfect intelligence that is flowing in allowance.”

“Bring it on.” I yelled in enthused expectation, “Bring it on.”

The crystal mothers were upon me and in rapture I thrilled again and again. This blissful swim with the vibrations of a new beginning held me like the vision of a fresh sunrise over a still and ripple-less ocean mirror and the calling of Ocllazmix and its outer veil Xhelia were reaching out for me from the base of the seventh doorway and the circles of Overment. It was hard to let go, but I knew that my journey must continue, and in gratitude, I blew a kiss to the ladies of the arch and surrendered to the magnificent pair that would, I knew, whisk me speedily through the trials of the seventh doorway and into the circles of Overment where I would finally embrace and know the movements of Kakxallzhjabbad.

The waves of pulses caused by the fusing together and separating of Ocllazmix and Xhelia washed through the ever expanding gap at the threshold of doorway seven, making me shudder at the expectation of finally reaching the circles that would be my ultimate test in the knowing of Kakxallzhjabbad’s movements. I reached out with my thoughts to what I might envision, but then accepted that only in my allowance would my success be manifested and waited with keen anticipation of the coming glory. Without warning the seventh doorway exploded in rays of wonder as the master gate keeper Ocllazmix and Xhelia burned with love - their voice, as one in the form of a most special feeling, filling my everything.

“Take all care with a new face that will offer many gifts and set the wind about your hair. For the wind shall be fire and the flames shall be freedom masked with a cloak that smells of sweet flowers. The blinkered and myopic realms spiral towards nothing and perfection. In your trusting are the seeds of future pathways; pathways that reach inward and outward in every direction and of every perceivable level of manifestation to become everything you desire at all those levels. You are indestructible.”

I was there, teetering on the edge of the circles and ready to make my leap when out from the centre circle there grew a column of jagged beams. Beams of colours and textures, of smells and feelings, of sounds, wishes, hopes and fears and all separate, but flowing as one energy. Each one twisted and contorted as they strove to end their journey at some point, but were held back by what seemed to be an emotive force created by the beams themselves, which grew stronger and more intense as they progressed; a kind of magnetic flux opposing the flow of the very source that created them - it. I reached out and stroked it with my understanding and it split into a billion cascading illuminated waterfalls of well-being before speaking in the tongues of countless levels.

"Spirit as us is born through us and uses the universe to return back to itself. Everything in the universe flows with ease and total abandonment. This is spirit’s quest. This is why humans are here; to eventually know that they are spirit and to flow through the journey to return with ease and abandonment. We show you this column as a reminder that your frequency is that which can be matched as a human to the source frequency that it emanates from and in so doing, can allow the human experience to flow and manifest with ease, thereby acting as a sign, that which is eternal. Spirit creates the game and removes the memory in order to feel the differences on all levels. Even when the human is near to spirit in memory there is still the wonder and newness that is the joy and bliss of creation ongoing because of the differences. To move closer to spirit the human must see the differences and use the frequency feedback as a reminder that there is but one frequency to match to; the frequency of well being as spirit, and in so doing, allow spirit to flow through the human experience, thereby revelling in all its knowing."

The column collapsed as the circles merged into one, creating a gaping hole in the centre of an ever changing golden hallway. I knew this as Overment and rushed towards the centre as all of human time and its events played like movies on its walls, with the centre hole always just out of reach. On and on it went, repeating and creating new and wondrous imaginings as my grasping and wanting and needing to reach it waned, and became an acceptance that out of this centre of nothing was constantly born my returnings - old and new. As all time and events merged into one, I found myself there, at the sheer edge of the centre of nothing as it spewed and bore in effortless labourings all that was, is and will ever be, and in the bliss that I knew as I, there was a peace that was saved in eternity and waited patiently for my endless returns. I was Kakxallzhjabbad.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Orbextral Visions.

I became aware of a familiar smell. It was that of a summer’s evening after rainfall, mixed with the fragrance of newly cut grass. It floated across my senses bringing with it a memory of anticipation at the thought of arriving home with my catch of frogs, toads and newts for the garden pond and the look of delight on a little girls face as she rushed outside to fetch the shovel with which she would hack them to pieces. She had already killed a tank full of goldfish with kindness by giving them something to drink in the form of undiluted orange juice and I was unable to discern whether it was the biological effect of the juice or the shock and trauma of them suddenly being thrust into a world of total orange, with the ensuing pseudo blindness that killed them, but as my time was taken up trying to save a hamster from a violent end via the potential mangling and electric shocks that would result from it being pushed through the little letter box at the front of a video recorder, it went totally out of my mind until some years later when I accidentally dropped an open container of curry powder into a fish bowl on the kitchen worktop, creating an instant cold serving of Mchuzi wa Samaki.

As the memory faded into non-remembrance I rose up slowly, and with great caution, until I was fully erect, and could be sure that there were no swinging axes heading for me from any direction, and once I knew the coast was clear, I let out a howl that shook the universe. I shit, scraped my arse along a nice little patch of short tufty grass then found some nearby trees and pissed on a few just to let others know I was around.

Hunger burned into my aching belly and I couldn’t remember my last meal. Had it been in this time or before the culling of my brothers and sisters in the faded realms that tend to sneak up on me from time to time - who knows? It must have been recently though because the shit that was still steaming on that convenient miniature lawn was quite substantial, and on further inspection, contained some small bones and clumps of fur.

The sun was almost gone behind the snow-capped mountains that lay to my left and a night chill threatened. To my right, a lake, so still it could have been frozen over, reflected the last golden orange beams of daylight as a flock of geese came in to break the mirrored surface and the silence that waited patiently for its inevitable opponent, and above me once again, the odd twinkle as those eternal beams of vibrations; those carriers of the secrets of long gone suns winked and blinked in ever increasing number at the future only their observers would experience, as their target moved and expanded away in all directions endlessly.

A twig snapped and broke the delicious spell and I turned in a jump with my hackles raised high. There in the distance was my supper. It sniffed the air and froze; it’s ears pricked and its hinds quivering. Soon it would all be over and the return to the source once again discovered. That momentary excellence that is the orgasm of creation is always forgotten until it is once again remembered in the timeless lifting of the veil.

I inched towards the main course, slung low and savouring the starter of expectation that wrung a knot in my solar plexus before stopping and crouching out of sight, waiting for the dinner bell. I didn’t hear the explosion as the force threw me back into the rock of goodbyes and my last vision was captured in that most highest of vibrations, with the belly of supper opening to reveal the hunter hunting the hunter and the prey becoming the preyed on all levels.

Gigantic globes bursting out of an invisible mass became the norm. It was only the random square flash that gave meaning to the globes themselves with my attention momentarily distracted. As the squares increased in their arrivals I was once again the centre of thought and looking forward to the amnesia that would soon be gifted.

I grasped at the orbs as the shapes pulled at my withering longing to remain, and soon my excitement started to once again climb. I stayed in contact with the orbs at some level, but felt the drawing to be more pleasant and in a time not known, the orbextral visions sat waiting in patient expectation for my return, and the meaningless sojourn that is an integral part of the creation.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The streams of Boya Geflin.

As if part of a single throb that eased in and out through an eternity, she floated in to speak of her passion then left with a smile - a gift that gives once, but continues to give, and I hovered.

Lift on high the gathering winds that curl in pleasing waves; fooled by morbid endeavours on a light and hearty swaying too and fro across the mantelpieces of the many mansions that follow themselves. Cruelty is observed, as one more welt is precision crafted and placed where it belongs on the choice maker, and low and behold, the mighty warriors oppose the placings as the forcing through is held only by those who are created to give another view to what is and will always be.

Visitants watch as the crowds swarm and bustle, staying only within an area that gives access to the few who seek nothing, but allow all to flow in non-restriction. Countless eternal zygotes move through the mix as the host of the flexible becomes the rigid giver of gifts in the waiting for the pre-beam adventure that always grants its wishes to itself.

The exhumations of paltry meanderings continue and are hard to digest as the dispatchers ply their trade with expertise, ease and abandonment. They goad the stifled and the unwary, not knowing that they themselves are the victims of their own religions. They fall with ever increasing speed in the wake of the storm as the new victors penetrate the seemingly impenetrable fortifications of the fleshy battle grounds and tell other tales of promise and bliss. In the vastness of forever it is of no consequence that the illusion of a trillion zillion billion years has passed since the last story - a story that is new and only just here for the knowing, despite its existence being one that has always been - the eternal jigsaw, wherein all the pieces are required at all times to make the full picture, but where the picture is never complete.

Mirrored pools with unknown depths lay in wait across the misted landscape; not even a ripple to break the spell, as particles flow towards the most suitable attractants. The sounds of iced rivers as they heave and crack in defiance sends ears flicking and heads turning as chemicals surge in preparation for decisions learned on lower levels; the story bending and twisting as the eternal flow meanders to the beat.

Instant arrivals hover, like hungry wasps at the trap - focus fixed and determined. Stragglers and surfers share the waves as they die to gentle laps on the welcoming slopes, and ahead, the soft, comforting whispers of the great mother satisfies the cravings as her fragranced breath wafts across surrendered minds.

As many rise as fall in the billowing; there is no reason to think on fear, but to choose thought is the choice of the choice maker and the choice maker is abundant on every level. Perchant malls burst at the seams and flow designs abound as the weekend weary glide into familiar patterns. Bargains galore, with nothing in the way of handles to doors that give entry to the lower levels of those who see the doors, but doubt what is beyond them - those who seek handles sharing the doubt.

Mass transitions, through calamity, balance the flow at intervals, reducing bulges at outer edges. Inner streams pulse on re-emergences and bane cavities refill to bring final adjustments. In all levels there is the contrast. There is nothing to be done, but watch as the observation folds back into itself.

The lizard’s tail grows back and many, within current unfolding, do not bat an eye. Yet to naturally grow a human leg or head via thought seems the thing of fantasy and yet, fantasy is the tadpole of unfoldings to be, within the fantasies born out of current unfoldings. As we are for the most part source energy and only a fraction physically manifested and subject to the laws governing the physical realms, then cellular regeneration, primarily, is initiated by source energy and source energy moves as it moves. It's an ever changing, self regenerating jigsaw puzzle that constructs its own pieces from fragments of itself...the endless apple pie with the endless wedges. The apple pie is made up of ingredients that are randomly, yet strategically placed within the pie, and topped with a crust that is art itself - and in its ugliness, it is beauty. When sliced into segments those segments contain their own uniqueness and yet, are still a part of the pie.

We know what we know as our knowing expands and unfolds. Our knowings are unique and not always explainable on certain levels as they immediately unfold, but seep in as the buffer of physically manifested time cooks them.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The birth of it all.

I suddenly realised I was here. I didn’t know any better; I was only a baby. The fact is, I’d set the non-remembrance as default before I twigged that I was here – after all, how else was I going to put everything into this life knowing that it was just another passion-play?

Nothing used to bug me. What I mean is; nothing really used to bug me because there’s always that point in observation when you hit nothing and then it’s a case of just hanging around until something shows up - and it always does – it has no choice because I make it show up through my observation. The part that used to bug me is that nothing is always there – it’s perfect. No matter how much stuff comes out of nothing, it always remains the same. Nothing doesn’t do anything because it doesn’t even exist and yet, I observe all this stuff coming out of it. No matter how much I probe at it, it still remains the same, eternally unchanging. Nothing is surely the most powerful thing, even though it is nothing, non-existent.

So then, as far as this current level of consciousness goes, I reached a point after some fifty years of playing the game when I realised that I was never going to get into or beyond the nothing that gives birth to the something because as the observer I couldn’t. How could I observe if I, also, was nothing? Nothing is endless and so it followed that the beginning of everything starts at nothing, but then I questioned: At what point does the birth out of nothing actually begin? My answer was that it begins the moment I observe it and so it followed that nothing existed for me and I had no reality until I observed it. That is a constant. Reality is my observation of it.

Those around me and all that I observed were my reality. Even those who I observed as questioning my reality were simply my reality and so it followed that I questioned why I observed those that questioned my reality and my answer was that my observation or reality was based on and measured by contrast. I realised that if I observed something, it was only observed because it was measured against something else either directly or in varying degrees.

Each time I reached conclusions about my reality, something else would come surging up that would question my findings. This going around in endless circles was driving me crazy as I looked to those around me (who were, in reality, only born of my reality) to shed some light on things from their perspective, not realising that they were simply another part of my reality that I could call upon at any time to keep the endless cycle turning – now I was getting really pissed off.

I questioned:

Those that I observe are telling me of their realities and of the observing of that, which I am not and so, does this mean that their reality is wrong and mine is right? Of course not; how can I possibly tell another that what they see is not what they see?

I asked:

Is what others observe real or imagined?

I answered:

As I observe and experience in remembrance of the things I observe and experience then my experience must be imagined and hence, everything that I experience is thought because in the absence of thought, I do not think and as I do not think, I do not experience. If everything is thought then all thoughts are reality and so all experience is thought.

It would seem that in the search for answers that are, as yet, seemingly not manifest, concepts are born. As concepts are thoughts then all concepts are realities to those that conceptualise. It followed that everyone was neither right nor wrong, but that their own reality was true for them as mine was and is for me and I confirmed:

There is only one truth, one reality; one’s own. Every reality is valid. Every reality is unique. No reality is exclusive (within my reality.) As I can only experience via contrast then it follows that in my observation of those who have realities that are different to mine, my own reality is validated. If others tell me that my reality is wrong then they are correct because that is their reality and I cannot tell them that their reality is wrong because only they can know their own reality as only I can know mine. All I can do is allow others to experience their own realities, how could I not?

I asked:

Why do I observe others that tell me I’m wrong; that I do not experience my own reality?

I answered:

Because if others didn’t tell me I was wrong in experiencing my own reality then I would not have reached the conclusion that I cannot tell another that their reality is not what it is – again, the contrast that bears fruit.

It followed that, as I observe what I get, I get what I observe.

I questioned:

If I am doing this, then am I attracting all of this?

I answered:

From your reality, you are always doing what you are doing - how could you not be?

I questioned whether I could control this attraction of observation and if I could be, do or have whatever I wanted or desired as I had come across those who claimed they could. My answer was as follows:

You are already controlling it at the level your reality is observing it. Your reality and what you observe is simply what it is. If you want something that you haven't got then you're not going to get it until it shows up and until then you are observing the lack of it. Whilst you constantly observe the lack, the lack is always a reality - how could it not be?

So it seemed that as I physically changed things around me, those things came to be and so, I was no longer lacking that which I brought into being because I was observing it. But there are others here who keep saying that they can think things into existence.

I asked:

How can that be if they do nothing but think on getting something they haven't got, which is a lack?

The answer:

Because the circumstances of everything you observe and experience are your reality of it.

So, it seemed that I was experiencing my reality by observing that which I experienced and I was controlling it by the simple fact that I was experiencing it. If another, who is simply an observation within my reality is being observed as doing something that I am not then that is my reality. If another, who is simply an observation within my reality is being observed as doing something that I too am doing then that is my reality. If I observe that I cannot know the reality of another and that another cannot know my reality then I am correct as that is my reality. If I totally change my viewpoint about what I have just said then that is also my reality. Everything that I experience is my reality and so the reality is, that my reality is unique in as much as only I can experience it and that I, the observer of my experience, is only experiencing it because it is being observed.

So the question, can others be, do or have anything they desire by simply thinking about it? is answered thus: If I observe or experience it as so then it is so.

But then I questioned further:

What about others who say that what I observe or experience is not so?

The answer: I create them as they are my observation and I create them to give further contrast to my experience. "It loops back constantly," I used to snarl.

Whenever I thought I had a handle on it, another question would show up to keep me in the loop until I finally got it. Getting it was quite an experience and knowing what I know now doesn't leave me without any sense of purpose or direction. On the contrary, it has brought an incredible freedom in as much as I don't need to question in exactly the same way as I did for many years. I no longer seek out others to validate my reality because I accept it for what I know it is. It means that I create everything that I observe and experience - everything!

My reality is like a jigsaw puzzle that is made up of everything I experience, which includes all thoughts, feelings, emotions, levels of consciousness, concepts etc - everything. I am a piece of that jigsaw and I am unique in being that piece. All the other pieces are made up of everything that I observe and experience, including other people, places, planets, galaxies, beliefs, levels of consciousness etc and they too are unique. It's all just me; that something coming out of nothing and watching as nothing constantly observed and yet not observed spews out something that adds to or takes away or alters the jigsaw, the passion-play, of which I am the actors, director and playwright.

I have my part to play and have set in motion defaults in order to keep my part active in the current scene or section. My experience as these actors is not only being played out on this level of consciousness, but on countless others and each one is unique and different. As I think, so it comes to be and moves to reflect all levels of my reality.

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The joy and misery of confusion.

I saw many, reaching and searching spiritually for the answer that they already knew and there was misery in their searching. Yes, the vast majority of spiritual explorers are dissatisfied with what and who they think they are and this compels them to search for answers via the opinions and beliefs of others. There's no right or wrong in it. People just do what they do.

I searched and held on to beliefs, only to discover the flaws, whereupon I moved on to the next belief. But then I became free. In a moment of despair, it arrived. At my lowest ebb, both mentally and physically, I let go and as I realised the me that I had always been, I knew that I had always known it, but needed to be me to find me. I knew that who and what I discovered was something that only I could know from my unique reality. I knew that I could not and had no desire to try and teach another something that they couldn't learn - to see from my reality, because each reality is like a fingerprint.

Having reached the plateau, I laughed out loud and the feeling of relief, of realisation, I can only liken to that childhood feeling of a mother's hug, that embrace that confirms without any doubt, the security in the fact that there really is nothing to fear. I knew this because the real me is indestructible.

I used to have doubts about many things. These doubts were responsible for my enlightenment into non-doubt as they were the contrast. But in experiencing non-doubt I realised that I could only experience it by measuring it against doubt and so must experience doubt to experience non-doubt. I questioned: How could I know one without the other? The answer: I must see both at the same time from a different viewing point and this is when I began to traverse the countless levels of consciousness that I create in order to do this. I had escaped one level only to find myself on another with endless levels within levels within levels ad infinitum. I see others struggling to get to the answer that doesn't exist and never will because it is constantly and eternally expanding out of nothing. The answer to it all is that there is no answer to it all because there is no all.

As I view this physically manifest level of consciousness, I see others searching for the answer that does not exist and in doing so I see searchers offering current answers in exchange for the currency known as money to other searchers; it's fucking hilarious! A fly on the wall from my vantage point a level above, well, maybe not above or below, but merely from a different level, I hear their whispers: "Ok, we've written a book and made a film, now let's make it more confusing and write another book and make another film. Let's add music to it and maybe flog some smelly items. Perhaps some creams and lotions and one or two invites should be sent out to those who have a lot of this currency known as money to ask them to attend an exclusive retreat that will teach them how they can be and know all that we do so that others will be envious and want it as well. Yes, I know that we know fuck-all really, but keep it to yourself or we'll end up skint. Hey! Let’s start a website and a discussion board and let's set up meetings and invite potential customers; disciples. We can call them members who are helping in our search to find the answer to it all....yeh, and make lots of money on the way by using their ideas for new books and stuff....Man, what a great idea! "

This physical level of consciousness is so funny from a different viewing level that sometimes I feel I'd rather stay here being entertained than join in, but because I create it all and because it is what I am, I have to get involved so I try as much as possible to involve myself with joy and well-being, but then I set the default to contrast so there has to be times when there is no joy or well-being in order to measure both. I am who I am and I've agreed to be all that I am no matter what part I'm playing, which is why I've set the default to non-remembrance in most cases because some of the players are not designed to handle the truth, which is simply that everything only exists as it seems to be because thought makes it so. In the absence of thought there is no thought and without thought there is nothing to observe. I've experienced others who talk of thought and who meditate to enter the gap that exists between thoughts. They tell of experiencing this gap in thought and I wondered how they experienced this gap without thought.

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Thought flow.

Thought energy, I pondered. As I think, do I create the energy that fuels the thought before it is born? This brought me back to the gap theory that many speak of and I questioned:

Are thoughts one continuous thought with different levels of intensity, so that some thoughts are thought on and within different levels of consciousness or are thoughts separate, with this gap of nothing between them?

The answer came thus:

There is no gap between thoughts for thought is a single observation. One who is observing cannot experience non-thought for to do so would require thought in observing it. One can however know that there has been a shift in consciousness because of either a perceived conscious movement between levels or a perceived gap in thought that is not perceived at another level, but is confirmed by other observations on the same level. For example: when a time gap is brought into the equation as in physical unconsciousness.

The gap that many speak of and meditate towards is nothing more than a movement to a different level of consciousness wherein they have no experience of that or those levels and believe that this perceived gap is a place of nothingness and somehow beneficial for varying reasons. It is argued that this is similar to the gap between the notes of music or between the vibrations of sound when in fact the gap of silence is only a perceived one at one particular level of consciousness. Many have bought into this belief because they believe they have no experience of other levels of consciousness.

I pondered what I perceived as my first thought as a child and realised that the belief of it being a first thought was simply a shift in levels and that it was not a birth out of nothing as a beginning because nothing cannot exist. Nothing is a concept. I have always been here at different levels. I create these levels with default settings of non-remembrance in order to create the illusion of separateness - I am eternally buying in to my own illusion. I know everything because I am everything and I fragment myself into different levels of knowing in order to justify my own existence at these levels. I do this as a contrast to nothing. I am thought as flow.

Thought makes it so. I experience others saying that the sun will expand as its gasses burn away and will eventually cease to exist. This is already so at the level of thought wherein it exists, just like everything else that is thought upon and so there is not one part of me that can truly say that there is no truth in anything because I am the truth, despite the weaved webs of untruths. Truth and lies are but concepts that keep the fires burning. As the many parts of me converge into beliefs, those beliefs become as one and move to manifest at the level thought on and there are countless levels.

There are many parts of myself on many levels of consciousness. The levels are eternal and move through flow through spherical gates and as I manifest at these levels I play hide and seek with myself by denying access to and from some levels, constantly making myself a mystery. I am expanding eternally and cannot ever know my highest or most different level because that level does not exist - it is a mother in waiting.

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You and I are me.

Abundance, the manifesting of desires and the bliss of well-being come to me effortlessly and without physical action through the flow. The asking for and the receiving of desires takes care of itself. The allowance of the flow via thoughts and feelings allows the manifesting of the physical from the non-physical. Every experience is perfect for the flow to allow physical manifestations according to the thoughts and feelings in the flow. Thoughts focused on give birth to feelings. Feelings as part of the flow give birth to thoughts, which in turn give birth to feelings. Desires are manifested according to the flow.

Poverty, the manifesting of desires and the misery and pain of lack of well-being come to me effortlessly and without physical action through the flow. The asking for and the receiving of desires takes care of itself. The allowance of the flow via thoughts and feelings allows the manifesting of the physical from the non-physical. Every experience is perfect for the flow to allow physical manifestations according to the thoughts and feelings in the flow. Thoughts focused on give birth to feelings. Feelings as part of the flow give birth to thoughts, which in turn give birth to feelings. Desires are manifested according to the flow.

Allowance on levels opens doorways. Going with the flow at any level opens doorways and gives insights to other levels. There are endless levels with nothing to be gained by impatience. The physical and the non-physical are examples of levels that are of contrast to each other and in dying to the physical one is born to the non-physical. In dying to the non-physical one is born to another level. Within each level there are other levels as perceived by the individual observer. Within the physical there are endless levels of consciousness, as there are within the non-physical and beyond; an eternal labyrinth to explore, and one that will never be exhausted. All levels exist, for they are all born of thought. They are all manifest at some level.

The key to allowance to move through levels is in non-judgmental observation and knowing that all that matters is the well-being that flows through you at any level. One man's meat is another man's poison. Allow your observations the meat or poison without contradiction. When your observations are of non-judgment then a level is reached wherein your observations will bring forth only well-being, despite the contrasts remaining, for consciousness is based on contrasts within levels that can be known at any particular level and so the labyrinth is opened.

Does this then mean that the other cheek should be turned? Yes and no.

It depends on where the flow takes you and the flow is always as it is; it can't be anything else. How you react in any given circumstance is how you react and is perfect for your flow at that level; how can it not be? You are what you are and your observations are what they are and it is all perfect so there is no need to apologise for what is.

The past flows cannot be altered as far as their original energy is concerned and there is no need to apologise. There is no future but that which is perceived now and in perceiving a future now it is born at some level and is already the present; it cannot be anything other than that.

When all the actors in the play are the same then there is no point in the play and no reason for it to be performed. To strive for total peace and harmony and to reach it would eventually blind you to its knowing, for without the contrast to peace there is no peace. The actors move to other levels wherein their play can be performed within the contrasts of those levels, and so to embrace both contrasts in non-judgment at any particular level would therefore automatically move one through levels within the labyrinth and also allow one to access levels in remembrance, which are also part of the labyrinth.

As everything is perfect, whether going with the flow or the perceived resisting of it at any particular level, then there really is nothing to do but just be, and in that being you are playing the role in the story perfectly and will move through levels according to the flow. The labyrinth will always bring you to the knowing that what is, just is and that the only real choice you have is within the current unfolding at any level and is only one of the ability to alter thought to bring about a feeling.

The knowing is not a destination. It is your own unique journey. I am not your teacher, nor is anyone else. You are. I am the driver of this fleshy vehicle and know the story. The map is made. What will be, will be and so the only power at any given unfolding is one of choice of thought. There are endless views and there is much to see and feel.

See the unique individuals who seem to share the same intellect, the same country, the same attitude, the same lifestyle, the same opportunities and who think the same thoughts and have the same feelings. Now see their unique journeys and the way the contrast moves and unfolds within those journeys. The journeys are different and it is this contrast that gives birth to the experience of knowing this contrast through observation.

That physical part of the source energy that holds limited knowing in order to partake in the story is perfect. No one individual is greater or lesser than another because all individuals are simply reflections of each other and are born of the same energy that is born of the perceived contrast of nothing. An expanding kaleidoscope that twists and turns through eternal variables has no beginning and no end for the expansion is constant. You are where you are. Be there. For as you are where you are you cannot be anywhere else. Play the game, for you cannot really do anything but play it as, what is, just is. Everything is perfect; how can it not be?

As that energy that is born of nothing, I can experience anything that I can think on. I am perfection. There is no reality but that which is born of thought and the eternal realities are but dreams that weave webs of thought that weave webs of realities that weave webs of thought that weave webs of realities that weave webs of thought that weave webs of realities for ever as they are observed.

In judging my reality I play the game. In non-judgment of my reality I play the game. In feeling that there are consequences attached to my reality I play the game. In knowing that all these realities are but dreams and are of no consequence at all I play the game. No one is right and no one is wrong because the game is playing out as it is; how can it not be?

Nothing can do nothing, for nothing does not exist. I, the energy born of nothing give existence to nothing, but can never experience it because it does not exist. But, I, as this energy, can create anything out of the observation of it. I am timeless and indestructible. I cannot be destroyed because I observe what I am not and out of that observation I am. In knowing all this I create the unknown and become the unknown. I play hide and seek with myself. I lose myself in order to find myself, but ultimately, know that I am never lost nor found -I am the creator of it all.

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Everyone is correct.

Everyone is right about everything they experience via their own unique knowings or beliefs, and as they observe others (parts of the whole) they measure their own perceived truths against the perceived truths of others that would seem to contradict. This measurement is the contrast view. It is just one view out of countless others as views are expanding continuously. Once you “know” that you – the driver and creator, is all that is, then a new view rises up and a specific part of the search ceases. The freedom experienced in this knowing is elating for a while, but then is followed by a huge depression as there is no perceived challenge within the contrast view until the importance of the depression is understood and known to be the self – the driver – the creator maintaining the contrast view.

Once this is understood and known, the depression lifts and the search for the answer to it all, the ultimate knowing, is recognised for what it is....the labyrinth that keeps observation observed. I see others (my own creations) expressing different views on the nature of reality and I know that these expressions will expand and transform, and in doing so, I will maintain observation/experience. In other words, consciousness will remain conscious.

In having the realisation that I have no desire to judge these other realities that are simply a part of myself, I see that they are all paths back to me and that in knowing this I must create further in order to never reach myself fully, for in doing so I would have nothing to compare myself with, even though I know I am one. I create the "not knowing myself fully" agenda or puzzle in order to know myself. I create the mirror that reflects a different me to compare me against the mirror that reflects the same me. I create the ultimate puzzle that is never solved and never finished in order to continue to be.

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What now?

My ultimate goal was to find myself; to answer the question that I've been asking for so long - who am I and what am I? On reaching this goal I find that further attempts to try and explain it in different ways to others are pointless as my knowing is known and cannot be shared with others because others are me and my knowing is already known. I have come to the realisation that I have always been trying to teach myself (myself being everyone and everything that I create i.e.: everything I observe) what I already know and that I always had this realisation, but was hiding it from myself in order to find and know myself. Although I know myself, I know that I must re-create in order to continue to know myself and so I continue. So why this website and why continue to tell myself who and what I am? The answer: because I don't know who and what I am becoming, even though I ultimately create the becoming myself - I hide myself in order to find myself at all levels and at each level my default is that I know myself, but I also do not know the myself that will become myself. There is a part of me that I set aside as the unknowable - this is my ultimate creation and is without form and I create this as the eternal mother. It absorbs me and spits me out, renewed, and as I am renewed, the answers to my questions are born - always here, always now, always in change.

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Levels.

The levels of consciousness that I create are not governed by past present and future as is known via the physical level of consciousness, but are always so. Every level that rises up within another level and is observed on that level as another level does not run alongside or on top or within or without that level, but is that level from a different point of observation; even though the observation is one.

Levels and realities accessed via observation are countless because they are not many, but one and this is where the search for other levels of consciousness is futile - there are no others. The point of observation is the level of consciousness. The observation is the truth. The truth is the lie that there is observation of anything other than the point of observation now. The eating of the flesh of my observations to renew myself at that level is an observation. I renew myself on different levels of consciousness according to the observations I choose...some levels require nothing but self-creation for sustenance....and, ultimately, sustenance is observation.

Within colours unbound from phane columns there are energies used in the construction of level clusters. Clusters have differing depths and intensities according to the energy mix and expertise of the constructors and each cluster has its own identity.

Clusters are set in stacks that are arranged in order of depth and intensity and form bands that lock in place when the colour of origin is matched to the individual clusters following final blends. The bands reside in the Syrinel Belts, which open and close on level requests.

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I know I don’t know.

I don't know I know, but also know I don't know. As I know that all that is, is only what I observe it to be, then I know, that which I observe is all that is. Without my observation and hence, knowing of experience, there would be no experience, but I don't know this because if I had no experience or observation, I would not be observing the non-experience in order to label it and so my understanding of my experience is via my observation of it from my single point of observation as the observer. Is there a non-observer? I ask.

From the viewpoint of contrast there must be, but what is it? The non-observer has no form that can be measured because the observer retains the form and cannot experience the non-observer but by concept only within the knowing that this is so and also within the knowing that this is not so. Again, there is always that part of myself that I do not know at any particular level of consciousness because that not knowing is what retains the "I am" and holds it in perspective. If I were to give up the not knowing and choose to know the not known, which I cannot do anyway, then in knowing the absolute there would be an annihilation of observation that would not be observed and hence would not exist. And so, the not knowing is an integral part of the knowing - so much so that it is pointless to search for the absolute not known and know that to know and to not know is to know that I know I don't know and it's of no consequence.

The searching for the absolute takes on a new meaning as it is explored and as exploration is searching then searching is an integral part of looking for that which is not known. The looking creates as the knowing expands and the not knowing moves integral with it. The not known is fixed and non-variable; the known is expanding to its perimeter and cannot go any further. In my searching, I find I do not need to search for that which cannot be found because it is already here, but must continue to search for that which is born of that integral point of potential - that event horizon of nothing in order to remain conscious at whatever level I am conscious.

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Self-talk leading to silence.

The self-talk that is a constant and the self-talk that involves observation of my realities wherein I exchange expansive thoughts with the illusions I create, move now to a point wherein I realise that there is nothing I can say in exchange that will alter my truths, and in this leap, I reach a place of fold-back silence. I see the contrasts that I ultimately create as those beings and concepts born of the self-regenerating jigsaw puzzle and in exchanging with my own self the idea that I have something to prove, ultimately to myself, surrounding my knowing of myself that creates it all anyway - I have reached that point of stalemate wherein it all folds back and I sit to watch as I am reborn to myself.

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The dreams that keep me from nothing.

Without my creations I would be nothing, and not the nothing that I observe as a concept - for there is really no nothing but that which is observed as the concept of nothing, and so without my self-generated concept of nothing, I, without my observation, would not be I, and hence, nothing is not known, just as I without my creation is not known.

This leap back to me brings that which cannot be explained, but only experienced, and is fleeting in its flow. It rises and falls and brings with it the long pauses that always contain the seeds of their own destruction. This ebb and flow....this pulsing vibration....this silence that is my home hearth - above it, the welcoming reflection of that which is constant - indestructible - the reflection itself.

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Stay tuned for *Level liscosity*

Mainstream publishers interested should contact me here.

Wolf Cries Man

Wolf Cries Man

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