The Eververse

Slumber not this night; the winds have not yet finished their song.

At first light while radiant bursts of gold blanket your skin, know that the curtains of nature's grand concerto have only just began to part.

A celestial melody beyond the trees brings forth the tides. Boundless seas of flowing velvet, exhaling as the sands stir beneath its current; a tempest, elegantly guarding an ancient fortress of pearls.

Sentinels of stone line the horizon. A legion of colossal monuments, wildly sculpted to remind us of a time before seasons, before harmony; unending cycles of chaos, wreathed in flame and caged in storm. A time the world, blackened by its own grace, wore a cloak of bitter twilight over an armor forged of ash. Yet these days are now lost, neglected, banished into the ether to be born anew.

But this tale has not been forgotten, for the universe is most watchful indeed. As we once placed our trust in the heavens to share its secrets, it will be in the discovery of ourselves that truly brings enlightenment. Our saga is one of many pages, and yet it is but only a prologue before the gates of yet another, drifting amongst a sea of fables encompassing a void beyond which the eye can see. A place of eternal waves and ripples with no shores to stifle them, and no dreams to conjure them.

Behold, The Eververse. The always, the never. The was, and the hereafter. Now, and forever more.

Nature's drums beat all around you. A whisper, an echo, traversing this cosmic ocean of memories during a time we have all but forgot, calling us home to our place amongst the stars.

Such As They Are

Silence is not empty. Never will she tread by her lonesome, for even dormant tragedy need only patience. So topple your cards, fold your hands. Your pawns have already forfeited the house. Such a shame; a bitter waste our free will be when deserted of reason.

A glimmer of hope lay along the horizon, and yet the tides carry with them only distance, sediments in endless expanse of roads once traveled. Time and mother nature's very fabric, beaten down playfully in a test of might; may the most precious prevail...

For who needs cast a stone if it only be lost at sea?

Of Wind and Mirrors

On this calm winter night, humble amongst my own thoughts and silence, I have found myself accepting a single notion, one truth; a singularity amongst this field of roses we have desperately and ignorantly conjured for ourselves. One must see with clear eye that even the rose may prick your flesh if it is held tightly enough. To shake hands with a mirror is much like grasping at thin air and attempting to keep it still within your palms, for even if it were riddled with smoke it will always find escape between your fingers.

Tragic was the rule of yesterday, but hopeful are the days of tomorrow. Time may cripple our bones and seal our tombs, but something as cruel and ruthless as the clocks we hang upon our walls and cage ourselves within still tick and tock by means of machine and metal and motor. Everything done cannot be undone, but the very essence of time itself may be retraced. Like a feather tumbling through the breezes it moves swiftly, unseen and without a sound, untouched until it is no longer carried by that which we cannot mold. Look beyond the wind, and you might just find yourself...

Shaking hands with yourself.

Of Jewels and Archery

So sweep me under the rug.
Eventually everything must shake hands with dust.
And if I may never taste the sunlight in my eyes again,
Remind me why it is the diamond in our sky;
Her warmth and beauty sure does sting me every time.

Archers line the horizon.
Their arrows will soon paint colossal tidal waves
As they admirably carve my name through the satin oceans above.
But with a crest forged of solid steel,
Their wooden spines will surely burden the feathers
On their tails.

If I were to only give them wings,
Would I then have bestowed free will,
And never have them return to whence they were born?
Give an arrow wings, and it may never return to you.
Give man a quiver, and he will always find himself in search of ammunition.

Perhaps if I were to catch one of these exotic
Winged elementals, what then will I do?
Captivity would only demonstrate
The fate in which we all so precariously
Race against;

Her face will discolour and decay.
Her body will weaken and crumble.
And the feathers that once adorned her wings
Will patiently fray and return to the breeze that
Stole her skin.

And so to deny an angel its wings,
We deny the very fiber of its fervor and nobility.
For even ourselves could never be,
Without our glittering jewels in the heavens
That relentlessly scorch our backs.

Stargazing

Humans are no longer in motion. Now, in theory, we are merely in sequence. . .

I exist and I move and I breathe and I interact with this world, but does this world really know any better? If we are always in constant motion and in unison with our surroundings, how then should one measure or define the significance of a single second in time? If time were to suddenly stand still and I was granted the privilege to witness the beauty of a single second, would I be one with time, or would time still be counting the stars my eyes would capture before I am able to see them or embrace them? The sky is so vast and so eternal that it seems everything around me is trying to reach it. The mountains, the trees, even ourselves. We all grow upwards and closer to a void that we cannot even define or find an end to - let alone a beginning.

Absolute space; absolution.
Things we will never understand, and yet we still acknowledge them into our lives because they are practical. Everything we say, think or execute in our world has been practiced and tested for flaws. St. Augustine once said "Seek not to understand that you may believe, but believe that you may understand." Genius, but only remembered because it was written and it was practiced. It was etched in stone into our memories and passed down through bloodlines that formulated our instincts before we could breathe the earthly air we are now. We are a species of history and of memory, but who is to say the stars and our skies hold no memory? They are also one with time and react according to sequence and perfection. What would a world be without knowledge and precision? It would be absolutely absurd in nature and force itself into abrupt chaos. Why? Because we deem it so. Reason has never been a necessity in order for our hearts to beat, hence the reasoning we have crafted a practical solution to our problems and lives: Purpose. Purpose answers all of our questions with pure, flawless motion we have labeled boldly as "life". Beauty cannot last forever - but we sure can.

Silence. Order within chaos.
There are always two sides of a coin. Why? Because we deem it so. What would come of us if we had multi-faceted coins and always more solutions than a simple "yes" or "no"? Good and evil. Light and Darkness. High and Low. Right or left. It's perfect! It's flawless! It is absolute and definite! So what if there was perhaps another side of our coin? Would we know the difference? Or perhaps if we were introduced to it at a moment in time primitive enough to become accustomed or familiar to it, would we acknowledge it and accept it into our lives? Could we stand the odds of flipping our very lives towards the skies and having it come down with more options than we find practical? Absolutely not.

Why?
Because we deem it so.

The Always

I feel strange today for some reason.
Just thought I would write something for a change.
Hmm...



==-
Applaud the weaker ones,
They inhale the same filth as the rest of us.
Tonight we will make history amongst ourselves
And never speak to each other again.
Not even stone will solidify your name.

I don't want to wait another day for this storm.
Fate has already nestled between my sheets
And tainted my shadow with her lips.
No longer does the dirt serve as refuge,
It only restricts my lungs.

We are the never, the ever and the always.
Forever.
==-

April Showers

I’ve come to a solution of my own in my spare time serving this sentence I’d like to call my life. Instead, I treat my experiences here as an awakening. Each day I wake I learn that mankind is evolving more and more rapidly into a collective, a mortal sponge if you will. A more common aphorism is usually affiliated with kin that generally breed and multiply at often alarming rates. (Which is in fact what everything in terms of the fundamentals of science subsequently does anyhow) In often cases, we serve as their hosts, proud and ignorant in our own righteousness. What we seem to blatantly refer to as parasites, are exactly what we have become in our communal efforts to survive. We are the authors of our own misfortunes and yet we are just so damn proud to remember or consider true purpose.

I know by now many of you reading this will have already taken my words to a certainty of either two extremities: You have already decided whether you’re going to agree with me, or appropriately disagree with me. Either way, I wish for you to absorb my words appropriately and in complete mindfulness of their meanings in their entirety. Do not simply chew the food and swallow it knowing it will soon digest. We humans already know how to eat and we have a basic idea that we do these things because of a necessity to survive, but we mustn’t and therefore cannot deny its conditioning and the origin of its being. Choice is not just something we execute in conscience and full awareness of our environment. Our environment is ultimately that execution, that very moment we decide to chew before swallowing. We not only shape or construct our exterior, earthly and physically, but our surroundings have also proven successful at shaping who we are and what we do with our lives. After all, every time we are blessed another waking day, we are attempting to live out our purpose. I have come to believe we are in fact forgetting our roots, disregarding who we are and why we are here. Ironically the most astonishing and perplexing part about all of this is that we are never going to find the solutions we search for until we discover absolution itself.

In addition to being part of and producing a wondrous and amassing swarm of bipedal locusts we call mankind, our true identity lies within our ultimate search for purpose. Who would wish to live the final days of their lives without assurance of a second chance, another shot at finding truth or principle in their petty existence? It’s a scary place we live in, and even once we escape the womb we aren’t granted the luxury of opening our eyes to the world until we are judged and admitted into this new realm appropriately and in orderly fashion.

Forget significance. Forget individuality. Forget what you’ve learned through the knowledge and life experiences of your elders. Today I’ve opened my eyes and I can finally see my life amidst all of the commotion inside the hive.

Except this time there's no beekeeper.