Saturday, January 19, 2019

Let us not Become another Forgotten Prisoner in the Penitentiary of Time.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

Greetings my dear friends. Given the progression of events that have been transpiring over fairly recent times, I am compelled to say a few things. Unfortunately, the audience I might wish to reach is becoming increasingly unreachable. More and more, these postings are labeled as a “dangerous site”, or can't be reached at all. I pay it no mind. It matters not to me if anyone can read them, they are written on the wind as well as here. The compelling point is that they are written. Once loosed, like an arrow from a bow, it is no longer my concern. If the aim is true it will strike the target. Perhaps light will flow from the wound. That is the intention.

Those tormented by the hope of being heard, are speaking to the many rather than the one. If the one should hear it, it will reverberate through every residence in which that singular unity may dwell, awake or dreaming and there is none can stop it.

Such are the times in which we live. We either await the dawning of the light within, or we elbow the shadows on the double wide stage of pomposity and pretense, jockeying for position and demanding our moment in the false light; becoming one more blurred face in the crowd, one more snapshot of another forgotten prisoner in the penitentiary of time.

Tumbling from the cornucopia of mutant life, into this shake n bake world, come the villains and scoundrels, with an occasional hero thrown in for contrast, hardly anyone knowing who they are, without the parallels and polarities of personalities, designed to illustrate the moment ...and then the moment is gone. Once the truth, with all virtue and honor, has been tossed aside into a vacant lot and replaced with hubris and hypocrisy, there is little worth remembering, except the certitude of fate that comes over and over, like waves from a poisoned sea, covering the ozymandiam ruins of its manifest destiny.

We are appointed our tasks here before we arrive. We may abandon them. We may put a personal imprimatur upon them, rendering them vastly different than was the original intent. We are already garbed and set on the road to Damascus, Samarra (what is the true origin of anything?) or Kansas City; where you are going to get you one ...or be gotten.

We don't know who anyone is. We don't know who we are, until we do and then, like a lightning flash, we have a certain clarity about everyone else; whether we can see them or not. Most of the time it's simple enough if you close your eyes.

We see the sun shining, indirectly we hope... and that should say something right off the bat. We feel the wind and rain. We hear the thunder; the multitude of the voices of nature, bird songs and animal calls, the conversations in the park, not to mention the conversations in our heads and we attribute a different origin to every one of these but they are all expressions of a single force. This force is made into whatever personalization by adaptation; “true, without falsehood, certain and most true.”

It would seem (at least it does to me) that the author of anything can be found within the work produced, just as the thought that brought forth the scripture can be traced back to the living mind which created it. That is the only mind there is and we have (for the most part) individualized it through separation from it. One doesn't have to be separated from it but one does separate, due to the insistence of something that doesn't even exist, except as a temporary phenomenon, like dew on the grass and which meets the same result and which runs forever through the cycles of its changes. So I could, technically, communicate with the author of anything by addressing it through the medium of what it has produced. Like talking to anyone and actually speaking to what animates them... instead of (and this is also an option) what deceives them.

Like I said, we don't know who anyone is.



There are people in every walk of life who are witnesses and evolving examples of whatever they have witnessed or been inspired (or deceived by), visibly or invisibly, or they fall away, singly or in droves, depending on the particular pressure of the material world at a particular time. Sometimes the magnetics are stronger than other times. What might have been resistible in one period could be irresistible in another, unless you have already found something even stronger than whatever 'that' is.

No matter what anyone tells you, it isn't the easiest thing to maintain a consistency of faith in what you cannot see. Sometimes you have to lose the connection, any number of times, before that which you seek to have faith in has finally impressed you with its finding you again, any number of times.

It is my most blessed and fortunate opportunity, to be able to tell you that God is real and to have the Faith and conviction of what my experiences have branded upon my consciousness, as a permanence of Certitude, so that Determination can dance with a wild abandon, through this kingdom of everlasting freedom, made real and inviolable by the master of all souls. It becomes forever-after unnecessary to genuflect before, or bow the knee to any impostor, past or present, no matter how large a shadow they may cast, here in the land of the walking dead.

The proof and evidence of an everlasting and eternal being has been made again and again and is being made every moment by whomever is representing it. If the proof and evidence is given to anyone at any time, one is then rendered incapable of remaining silent concerning it. Even if one is mute, it reverberates to the furthest reaches of space. It is the soundtrack of existence. It is the resonance of the planets rubbing together. It is the celestial symphony, composed of the totality of all of the heavenly bodies in their interplay through time and beyond time. Once one has had even a minuscule vision of the splendor and glory of the ineffable, everything else that is or has ever been, is reduced to a secondary importance of little consequence.

The Buddha, or a Buddha, was once asked what one is to do with the acrimony, slander and offenses visited upon them by the mocking wretches who assail them in this life. The Buddha, or a Buddha said, “To whom does a gift belong if it is refused by the one it is being given to?” The petitioner replied, “it belongs to the one who was giving it.” The Buddha, or a Buddha replied, “Then so do all these things when they are not accepted by the one they are being visited on.”

One has to be transubstantiated into a place where such things cannot follow or establish any residence. Everything is composed of vibrations. The difference in anything that exists is a difference in vibration. The vibration of anything can be changed. Only the changeless cannot be changed and herein is the secret of changing lead into gold; not that this power is of much relative value after one realizes what they can be themselves changed into, or revealed as ...and one does not even need to be a master to accomplish that, one only needs to provide a place for that master to reside in.

It is a matter of both comedy and tragedy in simultaneity, when one observes the spectacle of life and the pursuits being engaged in. It appears that there are many who are indifferent to or unaware of what is possible, as an alternative to the perpetual suffering that inexplicably goes on and on and on here. Sooner or later, someone, here and there, decides they have had enough of that and... in the interim runs their battlefield hospital in whatever environment they find themselves in.

This is an apocalypse. Expect the unexpected. And... above all, take full advantage of the tremendous possibilities and potential for spiritual advancement, which exist in such a time.


End Transmission.......


♫ Light up Ahead ♫





A classic Visible post: Mystic Musing




Click here to watch and comment on YouTube.
With gratitude to Patrick Willis for this video.