Mona Lisa’s Smile Endures
September 28, 2023
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A Domesticated Haunting
September 11, 2023In the heart of the city, nestled between towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, there was a tumbledown building that looked like it had been swept off the floor above. The stairway leading to the basement creaked with every step, and the dim light barely illuminated the old bench and the many different shaped and sized bottles that sat on top of it. As I walked further down the stairs, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing in the house, as if the space had been abandoned and forgotten.
What was stranger still was the different hues that were projected on the walls. Clouds don’t hang around here, yet the colours that danced on the walls looked like a sunset over the ocean. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt drawn to the strange and haunting beauty of the space.
As I explored the basement, I stumbled upon an old newspaper with a date that was a couple of days ahead of the actual date. The eerie feeling in the air grew stronger as I read the headlines. It was as if I had entered a zone of causes, a space where past and present collided.
Suddenly, a snowflake of coincidence fell upon me. I heard the floor creak again, and my heart skipped a beat. But there were no people, just the occasional pigeon cooing in the distance. As I turned to leave, I noticed a pair of owl’s eyes staring back at me between the limbs of a tree outside the window.
On my way out, I passed a group of kids gathered under the great concrete anchor statue just across the street from Circular Quay. They were blowing bubbles, their rhythm setting up the pulse of activity. I couldn’t help but wonder about the mysteries of this midnight age and the secrets that candle makers hold about souls.
Perhaps it was just my imagination, but as I left the tumbledown building and walked down the street, I felt like I was being watched. I remembered the warning to beware the exhibitionist and the guru, for they speak with tongues of fire. But as I looked around, there were no gurus or exhibitionists to be found, just the bustling city and the occasional rumbling bus.
The haunting that I had experienced in the basement had been domesticated, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps these problems of vision had to do with something greater than myself. Something precariously balanced, like ash from an overladen cigarette.
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Hooves Leave Earth
August 25, 2023
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In a Midnight’s Mist
August 9, 2023
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A Cry from the Underground
August 3, 2023I walk through corridors of mortality and eavesdrop on midnight conversations behind closed doors. I seek passage thru flesh and blood. My body is aflame from within. Strange symbols, geometric shapes, hieroglyphics, and formulas arise with smoke under my skin. My whole body is ablaze with thought. “This must be what religious sighs are about,” whispered a voice, its origin unclear. Was it a fragment of my thoughts or an ethereal echo from outside?
I could no longer discern the boundaries between what resided within and what lingered in the realm beyond. The room seemed antique, an old globe of the Earth with mountains in relief rested on the table. Beyond it lying flat on the table old maps and pens. The lounge was filled with light streaming through the bamboo blinds, dust and what seemed smoke played through the bars of light. The rug looked familiar and the scent of aged paper emanated from the newspapers piled on the floor near the hat stand. Deje vu shimmered over the whole experience. I couldn’t remember how I got here but here I was.
My body’s posture, the arrangement of furniture in the room, and the very essence of the atmosphere—all reverberated through my nervous system. Every inch of my being tingled with anticipation, as a fresh wave of expectation surged within me, a neon tendril spiralling upward, igniting my nerve circuits. It was a jolt of recognition.
“Goggles won’t shield your vision here; only grace and prayer can,” the voice proclaimed, a little louder than a whisper. Was it within or without?
Aware that watchful eyes observed my every move, I carried the underground within my soul, fearing to be seen and recognized. In my world, to be recognized equated to the demise of the solitary man dwelling in the depths. My sole preoccupation was to exist within a semblance of freedom, an existence accustomed to the confines of necessity and fleeting desires. I believed that the subterranean recesses of my being would continue to graffiti accusations on the walls of time and space. Such eruptions, in their peculiar way, alleviate the burden of responsibility that weighed upon me.
Within my cube, heaven and hell were mere domains of shifting sand. The surface world revealed silhouettes of nature’s grandeur, while the subterranean perspective offered a parallax view—an elusive connection to some long-lost star. Here, in my cube of existence, the arc of coincidence stretches itself across wings of angels, as priests turn their gaze toward Jerusalem and fishermen toward the boundless ocean.
Here inside this cube, stars & galaxies appear under the guise of full stops. Sunlight cracks through sanity’s edges…just another fabrication to keep the emptiness away. I’m not afraid of emptiness; I can always find things to fill it with. What I worry about is the kind of things.
All of these are paperweights on my consciousness. My flat world cannot even be blown away!
Shipwrecked between head, heart, and soul, I skirt the periphery of existence, skating the thin veneer between illusion and reality. Here inside this cube…or is it a sphere?
I cry for release.
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To Those Who Know……
July 22, 2023
Somehow you’ve come to the conclusion that at the very heart of matter, at the turning point of decisions, at the core of bone marrow, molecule, atom, neutrino and pepperino there is an intelligence operating. You know that Earth is a stone with a lick of moisture on its surface orbiting about a type G star we call the Sun. You don’t disdain science and you also know that there is a blueprint of the whole of Creation. This blueprint, this plan, this informational map is embedded within every atom, cell, organism and living whole from a sand flea to Andromeda, from a child playing with a ball to the Milky Way.
How you came about this knowledge is your business. It could have been through a book. It could have been a friend who told you. It could have been a certain altered state of mind that led you to this knowledge. It doesn’t really matter where you got your knowledge or even how. The important thing is that you know that there is an imperishable spirit in every piece of matter, in every volume and in every measure. This means that there is an imperishable immortal part of human nature. It is here and now, we only have to slice through the onion layers of conditioning to see it. This knowledge we are speaking about is certain knowledge. It is an X-ray vision of the imperishable in matter. It is not a mere belief and neither is it an open conclusion of faith. It is certain knowledge based on direct experience…nothing is in the way. Having this knowledge gives a different spin on the Earth as a stone orbiting a medium sized type G star.
In fact having this knowledge makes words like Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto mean something different to hunks of rock gravitationally stuck in orbits about the Sun. They are verbs in one context and gods in another. They are as far removed from the astronomical planets and Sun as green cheese is to the moon. This is where the possession of this knowledge instead of bringing fame and fortune will bring instead ridicule and laughter, sometimes scorn and banishment. The possession of this knowledge has marked you as an outsider. Even though it is invisible, your mark of Cain is your knowledge. If you are lucky you may have found a way to manifest secretly and keep a semblance of an ordinary householder life. Being an invisible outsider gives you great opportunities to observe and learn how to be a partner in creation. For this is what it comes down to. In essence humans are not a symbol of the Universe – we are the Universe and in this kind of partnership we all do our bit or we get flushed out of existence. Where’s our immortality then? It’s still there waiting for another to clothe it.
3 Comments | astrology, attention, Carlos Sueres, consciousness, fourth way, philosophy, writing | Tagged: astrology, consciousness, consensus reality, invisible forces, meditation, philosophy | Permalink
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Exploring the Fourth Dimension: A Glimpse Beyond Our Perceived Reality
June 4, 2023One way to contemplate the concept of the fourth dimension is to envision the inhabitants of a two-dimensional world confined to the surface of a sheet of paper. In this hypothetical scenario, these inhabitants would be unaware of a third dimension, unable to fathom anything beyond length and breadth. The notion of height would be inconceivable to them, just as our three-dimensional perception might limit our understanding of the fourth dimension.
Imagine beings living in this flat, two-dimensional world, experiencing only length and breadth. If an object were to intrude into their world from “above,” introducing the dimension of height, these inhabitants would perceive it in a two-dimensional manner. For instance, if a pencil were to puncture the paper’s surface, it would appear to them as a minuscule dot, gradually expanding in diameter until it reaches a specific size and then remaining constant until it eventually disappears as the pencil passes entirely through the sheet.
To illustrate the passage of time within this context, let us calibrate the pencil into eight segments, each representing ten years. As the pencil traverses the sheet of paper, each segment corresponds to ten years for the inhabitants of this two-dimensional world. Thus, when four segments have crossed the paper’s surface, signifying forty years, it represents the midpoint of the pencil’s existence. However, the inhabitants cannot perceive the whole pencil, including the portion underneath the sheet and the remaining portion above it. Their limited perspective confines them to observe only the cross-section of the pencil intersecting their world, as they cannot comprehend the existence of a three-dimensional realm.
As beings dwelling in a three-dimensional reality, we encounter a similar limitation in perceiving the whole. Just as the inhabitants of the flat world cannot see the entire pencil but only its cross-section passing through their world, we may also be blind to the entirety of existence. Our inability to grasp the whole might lead us to perceive the past as no longer present and the future as yet to arrive. Could the signs of ageing, such as greying hair and wrinkles, serve as our human equivalent of pencil segments? Is a forty-year-old individual with grey hair comparable to four pencil segments traversing the paper’s surface?
Just as the pencil remains a complete entity even when it reaches the eighth segment, marking eighty years and exiting the paper, the inhabitants of the flat world perceive its disappearance. It no longer exists within their confined realm. Similarly, could humans passing through the three-dimensional world continue to exist within the four-dimensional realm after they cease to be visible, i.e., after death? The potential existence of such a realm is a source of profound wonder and contemplation, inviting us to explore the unknown.
The biblical verses, “And sware… that there should be time no longer” (Revelation 10:6) and “That ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, the length, the depth, and the height” (St. Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians 3:17, 18), resonate with this exploration of the fourth dimension. They inspire awe and encourage us to deepen our understanding and connection with the dimensions that extend beyond our perceived reality, urging us to embrace a broader perspective on existence.
In conclusion, pondering the fourth dimension allows us to transcend the limitations of our three-dimensional perception. By contemplating the possibilities beyond our conventional understanding of time and existence, we open ourselves to new realms of thought and insight. While we may never fully comprehend the fourth dimension, we can embark on a journey of expanded awareness, enabling us to appreciate the profound mysteries that lie beyond the confines of our familiar reality.
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Words of Wisdom from Kurt Vonnegut about Creative Expression.
March 18, 2023
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“Creativity: The Soul’s Footprint”
January 30, 2023Creativity, like an ethereal dance upon shifting sands, leaves behind the footprints of the soul. Without the presence of a soul, those footprints fade, dissolving into glitter and fleeting flashes of light. It is within the realm of art that these footprints find their true expression, manifesting as a testament to the depths of human existence.
True art emerges when the drive to create is fueled by an inner necessity—a relentless longing to give form to the intangible, to weave meaning from the threads of emotion and experience. It is this inherent compulsion that sets art apart, for it transcends mere aesthetics and becomes a profound reflection of the artist’s innermost being.
Poetics, the study of soul graphics, unravels the intricacies of this creative journey. It delves beyond the surface, exploring the vast depths of meaning that lie beneath the scribbles and strokes. The significance of art does not end with its immediate interpretation; instead, it invites us to embark on a poetic voyage, where each line and curve unravels a story yet to be fully grasped.
In a world obsessed with quantifiable measures, why should a reality defined by liters and meters be deemed more real than one measured in sighs and tears? The richness of human experience defies numerical constraints, extending far beyond the boundaries of empirical observation. Art, in all its forms, offers a sanctuary where the immeasurable finds a voice, and emotions are given shape and color.
Just as a bouncer at a nightclub selects who enters, words possess a similar power. They can choose their own context, finding resonance in specific realms of expression. Yet, it is not the grandiosity of vocabulary that defines true creativity. Rather, it is the sincere interplay of thoughts, emotions, and words that grants depth and meaning to artistic endeavors.
Creativity, at its core, is a testament to the intricate workings of the human spirit. It defies conventions and boundaries, unveiling new perspectives and possibilities. In the realm of art, the footprints of the soul take shape, leaving an indelible mark upon the tapestry of existence.
So let us celebrate creativity in all its forms, for it breathes life into our world, sparking inspiration and igniting the flames of imagination. May we embrace the study of soul graphics, venturing beyond the confines of the mundane. And in doing so, may we recognize the profound truth that lies within each stroke, each word, and each creation—an eternal testament to the beauty and depth of the human experience.
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A Question of Me, Myself and I
January 11, 2023You speak to me, I answer from I. You see a shape that is bone, muscle, skin and hair. I see through a fish eye lens this global tissue ‘man’. I see rags and leathers, suits and socks, bags and sacks that you carry.
I see me changing his tie.
I answer from the beach head I. I watch the light house flash across distant boats. I feed gulls knife gliding over grass hills. I feel Hellenic curves in the open air. I stretch my bow, my ancestor voice and call it I.
I answer from within and without which was, is and will be. My tongue is fire coursing through veins. My hands were taught by Sophie the Cleaner. Look carefully and you may see my thumb. It appears like a man. Ignore the smirk swerving at the thumbnail bottom. Doubly ignore it when it appears like me smiling.
I gently part the folds of grey matter. My instinct leads to pulsing points that lie between synaptic arcs deep within the brain. Neither here nor there, neither in nor out. Just between all and everything.
I answer from I. I walk through corridors of mortality and eavesdrop on midnight conversations behind closed doors. I seek a passage through flesh and blood, marrow and bone. From the heel of God to tumbleweed desires my longing cries out. I clap my hands in rhythm to the stars. I play solar tunes careful not to disturb the wispy boundary of lace spider webs.
I answer from I. I watch lone smudge cloud scuff across sunrise. The quickened spindly net stretches over the skin horizon. I flick a twig of humanity’s tree. Is it I or is it me?
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Welcome — I’m glad you’re here.
Journeys and Star Gazing 