In Just Seven Days

They will pretend He took seven days to make it all. The sad reality is this: He's not around, never made anything and is in grave danger of dying. It's YOU. Yes, the sad truth here is that creation is coming into Being, not happened once -- when God awakens -- in whatever version you see fit to coalesce -- we're only going to have about seven days to do it right. It's how it works. They turned it all around somehow. Turns out it's us who only gets a week. The audacity of putting God to work!!

I think we better hurry though, because on the seventh day we will work our hardest. I just know the pattern by now.

Kinda Stunned Today

So I never saw the guy sing it really. Just heard the magic. In all honesty I guess I always pictured someone from the past -- a kind of Johnny Mathis ghost. I had heard the adaptation of Leonard Cohen's original "If it Be Your Will" on the I'm Your Man release recently when I Van Winkled into iTunes and "discovered" Leonard Cohen a while back (so I liked Tom Waits, shoot me! That's an awful lot of froggie-throated poet at once).

Now it's the same thing with this Antony. Prepare yourself if you haven't witnessed his other stuff. Also listen to him on NPR in an interview from a 2005 broadcast. Amazing, and angel-like. Yeah I stoop to that. But if one came in your room to sing you to blinding white heaven or the grayest of forgotten purgatories, this would surely be the voice and the melody. He also has a MySpace profile, where he lists his interests as sailors, fish, goblins, light beams, rain, tricks, and crying.

Brain Bennedict

So lately I've been reading a few books on the Toltec; there are so, so many out there. They really understood this thing called Reality, and the dream of everyone. Anyway, I prefer the more modern books blended into the self-help sections. They tie stuff to our daily chaos now, and don't get lost in the middle of the archeology and history of it all.

Alchemical psychology - but with neater drawings. Glyphics!

The Toltec, like the co-called "ancient" Egyptians, realized there was a lot more to life than the things in front of you. Like get this simple idea: all that space between stars and planets isn't empty. You put an object up there in space, and it gets illuminated. That is, the space between is filled with light. Not empty, but swimming in light.

And the space between the nucleus and electron shells of the atoms making us up? Same light. Yep - everything is light and maybe a few tiny bits of matter are suspended in it here and there. This light -- it touches on everything I write about, but if you concentrate on the idea that there is no space, essentially, between any of us, between you and the moon, between you and your long lost mother... it can produce a collapsing cascade of false security enough to bring down a entire house of cards.


And who is this conspiracy that prevents us from seeing the Truth? Well, you've been aiding a fugitive all this time. You see, our brains are parasites, keeping us held to the dream. Focused all in unison, all on the wrong thing. Here's the right thing now: Identify the symbols of your dream. Look at the world outside your eyes in this new, nagual way. See what your brain doesn't want you to see, and see how the two dreams can fuse and allow the real stuff to bubble up between.

Ode to an Atheist Science Kook

I get into discussions all the time about Jesus. I get into discussions all the time about what's big-R Reality. I get into discussions all the time about Truth, and the absence of absolutes.



The more I think of it now, the more I realize I am not getting into anything at all. It is getting into me. And so, it is getting into you too.

Stop looking in the test tube! Observing is making us stick. You and I are the same, and nobody will believe. This is the beginning-end and that is no trick of words, symbols or even game of language. It is a game though. To describe what is indescribable, the Logos becomes, talks to itself incessantly in endless arrays of acts and scenes and, oh the beautiful game of Ego which hath no victory nor purpose.

Just the wind of we. The dream that flows.

Communicate? Oh, please. Each letter is a symbol and its words are trains on which they ride. Right into my head. Your head too. I am in there now. Rules in avenues of percussive punctuation in the Maya you perceive as order. Non-sense, if you will.

As David Byrne says (Talking Heads), Stop Making Sense. Even the Beatles. Now, hit me.