Wednesday, September 21, 2011

The Grantig Army in the Fata Morgana of Paradise Veiled.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

Sometimes when I am out having a beer in a pub, on those rare occasions that I actually do something like that, I find myself sitting with one or two of the people I have met here, over the eleven years I’ve been doing the limbo in Expatria, where I reside. On some occasions, I find I have to make my way to the pissoir and on some of those occasions, I find myself standing next to some fellow traveler and usually I am singing some tune I remember from the halcyon days, when lyricism was in flower and sometimes they’ll say something to me and I will say, “You know how they make American beer”? In response, I will get some version of, “No”. Then I will tell them there is an elaborate piping system that runs from this portion of Western Europe to the American mainland that transfers the piss to the American breweries, directly from the urinal into which I am depositing the basic ingredients. Sometimes this will elicit a chuckle and sometimes a non sequiter that implies, “I wish that crazy American wasn’t talking to me”. I know that part of this is because I am singing some old standard and it makes them seize up when they’re trying to do their business.

Up and down the streets of this pastoral and provincial little town I go, writing songs on the fly and gathering the puzzled and sometimes paranoid looks that are the trademark of my residence here. No one else engages in this sort of tomfoolery and it’s apparent that I’m either crazy, or high and... on some occasions both of those would apply. Why am I singing as I make my way down streets that have, in some places been here since the 9th century? It’s because I refuse to become “grantig” like so many here who lockstep their way to and from whatever. When they’re not walking in that heavy coat of anchors made from the tuneless vibrations of ancestors past, they’re driving with the intrinsic impatience to get somewhere so that they can hurry up and wait. Like most of the people, with the possible exception of certain rural sections of Latin countries and remote primitive regions; the eternal children with little to show for their lives except for a good attitude and an admirable work ethic, they are driven. They are driven slow or driven hard but they are in harness none the less. They are yoked up like oxen to the cart that carries their past and which reminds them that life is sirus bidness.

Observing this and seeing it most places, I realize what I am up against in terms of effecting change to any noticeable degree. Sometimes I reach with my invisible hands into their chests and squeeze their hearts and say, “You know this is a dual use component”? Sometimes I am chanting Hare Krishna, Om Amitabha or Om hare sri ganapatiyay namah, avige namas du (that would be phonetic) and I feel my feet hit the stones of the pavement or sidewalk and I imagine the vibration of the chant penetrating the stones, with the slightest touch of possible inspiration, in the hope that one day I have impacted upon the density of its composition to the point that they might speak of something other than the droning hum of commerce and confusion.

Once I threw a stone into a still lake and I watched the ripples extend outward upon the surface until I could no longer see them but I knew that they continued, until they had covered the entire surface of the lake. There’s a metaphysical law that operates in that action, which is like so many of the laws of Nature that we don’t pay enough attention to. Every culture operates according to some laws of Nature, applied to the infrastructure and the most important feature of that is the laws that surround us, for all the time that we are here and which we never take any notice of. We generally pay attention to what we want and how to get it. We seldom consider that the things we want the most are unknown to us because if they were not unknown, I would not be surrounded by the Grantig army in the Fata Morgana of paradise veiled. We’re surrounded by paradise that is hidden in a cloud of impure desire, which has crystallized into a false world that we painfully traverse from the cradle to the grave. We take the fire of immortality and we make more of ourselves over and over, as if our hopes would somehow be realized in some new and improved version of ourselves, in which we invest all of the bad information that served us so well beforehand.

According to the rock in the lake, one can say something in Des Moines, Iowa on Tuesday and it may get repeated in Cairo on Sunday. Focus and intensity has something to do with it and it is an expression of practical magic, depending on the will and concentration of the practitioner. I think any deliberate seeker should make it a point to read the Alice Bailey translation of Patanjali’s Aphorisms (well, I haven’t been able to get that version but there are plenty of others and more books on spiritual, metaphysical and occult teachings than you can ever hope to read in this life and possibly others as well. I consider it a wise investment but maybe you want to see what they got first; cheap at twice the price). I recommend reading the book, not so you can get wild about the practice of what’s contained there (not that most people ever will) but just to see what’s possible and I guarantee it works, depending on you.

Many things work, depending on you and you are either singing or humming to yourself as you go down, or up, life’s highways or, you’re Grantig. That’s the main point and it’s all about quality of life. I’ve never had much materially and I’ve done without fame and important temporal friends, as well as important positions and most of the things people get all hot and bothered about and sacrifice their health and integrity to possess but I’m singing and they are not. I’m dancing and they are not and I am generally in a good mood, no matter what is going on and if I get knocked off balance here and there, it doesn’t last long and I’ve got no hard feelings like heavy rocks in my personality knapsack. So, who’s better off?

I imagine we all come to a place at some latter moment in our journey and the question will arise, “Did I leave this world a better place than I found it”? “Will people miss me or will they be glad that I am gone”? Will I hear, “Well done”, when I pass through the gates of mystery or will the angels be shaking their heads? These are questions that everyone should ask themselves now. For some reason, most of the time, we do not. We are intentionally distracted by the one whose job that is and that is why our primary concern should be to “seal the door where evil dwells”. We have two options; senility or regenerated innocence. Lunacy comes through telepathic invasion, via the subconscious, or serenity emerges from the sublimation of the same.

You have to ask yourself if the presence of so many enduring holy texts and the historical evidence of those rare but powerful examples of what these books contain, is evidence enough of another supermarket, hidden within the blaring chaos of the well known other. If this is evidence enough then what are we engaged in at the moment we are in?

Every day we pound the sidewalks of this world and speak to the rocks beneath our feet. Every day the gripping imperative of operating according to what we think we know, takes precedence over the eternal imperative of recognizing the existence of what we do not. Everyday we fall victim to ‘garbage in and garbage out’ because we have contracted with the wrong sanitation department. If the mind is a swamp, will the body demonstrate otherwise?

In the woods it doesn’t take a great deal of time to figure out that we are walking in circles once we get lost. For some reason, the same understanding does not present itself on the byways of the organized world. When you have discovered the primary objective you cannot get lost because wherever you are it is present. Otherwise you are lost wherever you are and the angst will build until you find yourself with the radio and TV playing at all times, in order to keep reflection upon it at bay.

Is what I am doing important? Ask yourself this? Is what I want important? Does my peace increase or am I at the mercy of its absence in a cauldron of increasing confusion? Am I leaving good footprints? Am I presenting myself as someone else out of the fear of the appearance of danger that appears to attend my being myself?

How many people go to bed at night and review their day in terms of value given and then set the tone for the morrow in respect of that? How many people walk into Nature and speak directly into the ear of God, concerning any and all concerns? How many people get their information from someone who works for the plant where they manufacture it, for the benefit of those who use it to blind the world for the purpose of profit? How long can you accept the lies until they become a personal truth? You have passed your own death sentence, again and again and again. How long do we stare into a smoking mirror that is obscured by the glaring evidence of the quality of our desires?

I’ll leave you with the admonition, ‘thimk’. No, that’s no a typo. I’ll see you up the road or I won’t and I think that about covers it.

A little something different for Smoking Mirrors and certainly more indicative of what goes through my mind and where my real concerns lie.


End Transmission.......

49 comments:

Anonymous said...

I'm glad you are happy, Les. Precious few are happy. I'm happy too.

I always look forward to your musings. Thanks for that.

Richard said...

Mas y Mas Visible
Poetry that is sublime, funny how you invite to think, whilst the source of your words today is clearly a Heart on the path to innocence.
Thank you.
Woof woof from the Dog Nation
May the morning dew keep the Rose Garden of your Heart in Bloom.
Richard

kikz said...

bravo!

Anonymous said...

Thank you Less for my daily medicine. And thank you 'people' who comment here, for keeping me sane in this insane world.
i love you all

Neko Kinoshita said...

Thank you,

Meow,

Anonymous said...

Srila Prabhupada..

“The ultimate truth is a supreme and beautiful person, and thus throughout the creation of God we will always find the personal touch.”

Django said...

I'll take door number two. Just what I needed this morning.
Thamk You.

Anonymous said...

Beautiful reminder, Vis. As for spiritual books, may I suggest a couple?
Words of My Perfect Teacher is a good start for anyone wishing to effect positive change. Then, for the really brave of heart, one might try reading Sky Dancer by Keith Dowman.
Blessings to all.
Kilaya

Anonymous said...

Awesome and true. It is easy to get lost in ones petty desries. Thanks for yet another reminder Les.
stl mike

Anonymous said...

"...We’re surrounded by paradise that is hidden in a cloud of impure desire, which has crystallized into a false world that we painfully traverse from the cradle to the grave..."

There you go again.

You put it out there purely and simply--and as Lord Buckley would say--
Immaculately!

Mandocello

Anonymous said...

How fortunate am I that my Creator uses you to speak to me? I don't write well. Not one of my talents. Thank you for your efforts. Today's post was full of blessings for me.

B, the Turtle Pond Farmer

Anonymous said...

"Beautiful reminder, Vis. As for spiritual books, may I suggest a couple?

Words of My Perfect Teacher is a good start for anyone wishing to effect positive change. Then, for the really brave of heart, one might try reading Sky Dancer by Keith Dowman.

Blessings to all.
Kilaya"

Thanks Kilaya! :)

Visible said...

I read the whole thing a few years ago; fascinating! SOTT had it on their website and that is where I saw it,

Anonymous said...

Enjoyed reading your musings today. Sometimes it's like putting salve on a wound one gets by living in this sad world or having a cool drink of water when all that appears is dry wasteland.

I've been thinking about how things go in circles. My ancestors came here in the 1600's for a new life in merica. Today, if opportunity came, I would readily renounce citizenship in this sick nation, give up all that I own, and move back where they came from. Are these like metaphors of night dreams? Seems like a great joke being played that I need to understand better so I can laugh along. Sometimes I catch sight of it and I see what is greater than imagined.

First thing, moving or not, I'm not drinking any more merican beer. (c;

PoTai

Visible said...

Heh heh.. well then how are you supposed to make that urine enhanced philosopher's stone (grin)?

Anonymous said...

dreaming lifes serenity
on oceans of intensity
flying truths integrity
beauty smiles suggestively
in a vastness of imensity
focusing progressively
projecting loving recipes
vibrating on the energy
singing through the density
medicines effecting we
is that the way its meant to be?
in gardens of serenity

..peace..

Anonymous said...

Thank you Kilaya!

Laminta

Anonymous said...

Ah yes, beer. Back in the 60's when fame and fortune and other youngman fancies of this materialist world still beckoned and i had just dropped outta one of those big landgrant universities with 5 credits to go in my senior year; beer found its way into my planning. With a small sheaf of published writings i talked my way into a copywriter position with a downtown ad agency (talk about heading right for the ladder to the captain's tower) and was put to grinding out industrial copy ~which bored me to tears.

During unassigned time at the agency this notion came upon me. Having had a few spots of Guiness and other hefty brews at a near-campus pub; it got me to wondering why there was no domestically produced dark beer to be had. So i came up with a campaign for the agency to get in touch with a regional brewery and sell them on the concept of such a brew, specifically tagging the market as regional college towns where the operative term in '68 was "far out" and sometimes even "far fukkin out".

If something was new, different and outta the ordinary in those years amidst the main waves of America's 'Youthquake' as Look Magazine termed it; then it quickly could gain the status of cool and became the latest rage.

Scheme might have worked but the business side of the agency could not see the wisdom of such a venture as all market trends were going in the direction of what in latter days i have come to call "Television Beer". If you see it advertised over the boobtoob with all the dancing frogs and the bikini babes, you might come to the conclusion that the stuff is so damned bad that only by constantly dinning the brewtags into the minds of the boobs and the toobs of this fruited plain, can people be fooled into drinking the swill. In fact my favored names for the two biggies are "Miller Swiller" and "Bud Blight".

But mine was not the dharma of acclaim, eclat and rapid riches ~ rather a slow, meandering sojourn through the hills and the woodlands of a quieter place where the temptations of things like white powder and hot young bods would not take me down at around the age of 40 with some gawdawful disease or accumulated stress. For what reason, i'm not altogether certain ~ though the spirit path beckons by way of a calling to go within and to be ready to share those things not often encountered on the path more often taken.

-stix

missingrib said...

Thirty years ago I was born into the world.

A thousand, ten thousand miles I've roamed.

By rivers where the green grass grows thick,

Beyond the border where the red sands fly.

I brewed potions in a vain search for life everlasting,

I read books, I sang songs of history,

And today I've come home to Cold Mountain

To pillow my head on the stream and wash my ears.

Gary Snyder translations of Han Shan

thank you les

maw audiobull said...

MAW audiobull, ah yes,'tis I, Les Visible - chore arch enemey and therefoe yo bossom buddy all rolled into one

zimplee inkreadribble yummy snack

Like it or crysnot, it seems I've done some chann.. tunnelink this evenink, I'll leaf the documents here should anyone perchance wish to peruse them. Apart from lilol Itchyloin that is.

--------------------

the nitty-gritty is that the truth is seldom pretty nor oftentimes is it rose-scented, contented and sweet - nope, it looks more like a New York city street or the London underground y'know after you sweep it up real neat; still sort of hard in a steely and concretey way and basically a platform for any busker or billboard

Hi!I'm Bill Bored and I've forgotten a song for you so erh yeah here's "Honestly The Best Policy Is Always Remember To Sell The Truth." for ya

♫ As I awoke to a world full of broken dreams
I caught glimpses of the new world odour machines
Working silently beehivend the scenes
Oddly in concert with the conductor it seems
Ah yes of course but who wrote the score
Is there ever an end to the symphonicshambolicacophoney or
Is it a loop, encore! evermore? ♫

Anonymous said...

"freedom's just another word ..."

nice take on personal responsibility.

valuable post.

good to see we're keeping you honest.
(grin)

Anonymous said...

through momentary awakening
the pain drenched heart been shakened
torrents of the chaining
the enslaved minds miseducation
in that moment of distress
in contemplation of the sense
the opposition of false pretense
comes the root of absoluteness
the balance of the factor
a consequence of misled fracture
with recipes of truthfull action
intensify the lies extractions
the medicine of earth
fill a man with all his worth
a sence of newly birthed
the waters quench all thirst

..peace..

Anonymous said...

AHHH, balm for the Soul is this post. Thanks, Vis.
M.

Anonymous said...

nice,just read over on rense,that now you dont even have to be dead for surgeons to remove your vital organs....
that sounds extremely fair and not insain at all,,,
I suspect cheney gets through about 5 a week,and over here in colonialist central,it would be to keep cameron blair mandelson and rothlanratwinkle in food you know keep their dead brains dead
also soldiers out their,,with this gay thing that the military are bringing in,you know what that means,everybody is going to be calling you a gay even if your not...
if I was you fellows I would be getting out of their as soon as I can
also when the banks fail completely,you will be the first people they are not going to pay,,,,come on soldiers get your selves back to the people where you belong....

oh thought I had better add I have nothing against gay people at all.....

remember hearts up peoples.....neil

Anonymous said...

"Everyday we fall victim to ‘garbage in and garbage out’ because we have contracted with the wrong sanitation department. If the mind is a swamp, will the body demonstrate otherwise?"

Divinely inspired - thank you for your post.

Mouser

Sovereignty said...

Is that the red stone or the white stone? 8 years of distilling your piss for one and 6 years for the other. :)

Sovereignty said...

Ooopps ... that was anti semetic :)

Anonymous said...

stancietrue enough. the theosophists of the late 19th century, Bailey, Blavatsky, and other luminous contemporaries (of varying shades) presented the mystical nature of being in meticulously well reasoned and precisely defined terms.

unfamiliar with this specific reference, but it's a good reason to revisit 'old friends'.

Allison said...

Hey Les,
If you are referring to the Alice Bailey book "Light of the Soul" (the aphorisms of Pantanjali) it is available on amazon or one of the book selling websites as I recently purchased it. Great read, too. Thanks for all your hard work on behalf of us. I've been reading for years and rarely comment, but I love your insights and don't know where else I would go to get what I get from you. Thanks for everything.
Pete

Anonymous said...

oierre said...

singing in the rain and sometimes pissing against the wind.
the little red engine that could.
"I thimk I can, I thimk I can"..
and he rushed right over the hill.

elemtantary dear Watson. eliminate the
BS. Hand on the wheel, eye on the road, and the magic puffer will get you there.

...pierre

wv: symph. as Bethoven once said, you all have my greatest symphasies. here's some divinity for you.

ps re DownTown Beer Is that what Cheney meant by "old Europe", himself conspiring to replace it with Tea Party DUFF'n'STUFF

Anonymous said...

piere said.. oops, that was Rumsfeld re Old Europe (I nominate him too for an Evil Doer Profile).

est said...

-
let them

have the world

we have heaven
-

est said...

-
Thesaurus
heaven
noun

1 the good will have a place in heaven paradise, nirvana, Zion; the hereafter, the next world, the next life, Elysium, the Elysian Fields, Valhalla; literary the empyrean.

antonym hell, purgatory.

2 a good book is my idea of heaven bliss, ecstasy, rapture, contentment, happiness, delight, joy, seventh heaven; paradise, Utopia, nirvana.

antonym misery.

3 (the heavens) : he observed the heavens the sky, the skies, the upper atmosphere, the stratosphere, space; literary the firmament, the vault of heaven, the blue, the (wild/wide) blue yonder, the welkin, the empyrean, the azure, the upper regions, the sphere, the celestial sphere.

PHRASES
in seventh heaven we're all in seventh heaven with this new swimming pool ecstatic, euphoric, thrilled, elated, delighted, overjoyed, on cloud nine, walking on air, jubilant, rapturous, jumping for joy, transported, delirious, blissful; informal over the moon, on top of the world, on a high, tickled pink, as happy as a clam.
move heaven and earth I'm going to get this promotion, even if I have to move heaven and earth to do it try one's hardest, do one's best, do one's utmost, do all one can, give one's all, spare no effort, put oneself out; strive, exert oneself, work hard; informal bend over backwards, do one's damnedest, pull out all the stops, go all out, bust a gut.
-

Anonymous said...

In 1985 I took a trip to Germany. It was supposed to a honeymoon but becasue I booked it so far in advance and when the thime came my wife was prenent and did not want to travel. So I gave her tocket to a friend. When we went to check into the hotel in Garmishthe bell boy kept looking at us odd as he carried our bags up the room. When we walked in we knew why. There was a big pink heart shaped bed. Yes, had to make some changes. ;)

On the trip I got used to real beer. I have not drank merican beer since.

Well, I don't drink beer much anymore anyway.

There will be a lot of change in the next few weeks to months. So, I will take this time to toast (theme here) to Les and this community he has created here. It helped knowing that one was not alone in seeing the truth.

it has been an honor to share this place with Les and company... thank you.

Amicus

Anonymous said...

If that pencil gets any sharper it'll dis-appear ...

don't you know?

Peter said...

Thank you Les V. Good start to my day - inspiring,uplifiting and sane !

Anonymous said...

http://buelahman.wordpress.com/2011/09/22/drinking-with-the-dead-by-the-gypsy-poet/

What do you get if you cross the Dog Poet with Gypsy Scholar? (grin)

Follow the money said...

"Worst case scenario"

We're in it. TPTB are planning and carrying it out right now.

The global economy is deliberately being gutted (crisis) so that all citizens on earth fear they are going to lose the value of their saving and assets (reaction) so that the zionist international bankers can proffer a fractional gold backed international currency which they issue, own and control 100% (solution).

'I care not who is in political office as long as I control the money supply.' Rothschild

A privately owned, one world currency (SDRs or equivalent), albeit fractionally gold backed, means a one world government run by the zionist international bankers who are lead by Rothschild.

Welcome to the new world order courtesy of the folks who brought you usury.

Have a coke said...

The big wedding was September 11, 2001.

The big divorce is going the be October 2011.

The world stock markets, the $US, the Euro and all world fiat currencies are going to crash.

Enter the SDR of the NWO as the Hegelian solution aka serf slavery.

Not funny anymore said...

We're all Palestinians now.

We're all Greeks now.

What do you get if you cross a Palestinian with a Greek?

An American.

Visible said...

A new Petri Dish is up-

A World Declaration of Liberation from Criminal Israel.

Anonymous said...

pierre said
.
better link, pdf in full
thanks Allison
Alice Bailey Light Of the Soul

the link might be tricky,

fifth one down from this search
http://www.bing.com/search?q=alice+bailey+light+of+the+soul&go=&qs=n&sk=&form=QBLH

est said...

-
nothing is faster than light

that's 'cause

when the light arrives

nothing has been waiting

there

for ever
-

Visible said...

A new Visible Origami-

Don't Make Me Come Down There<.

Susan said...

Les,

that is one hell of an entry. Thanks!!!

ZionCrimeFactory said...

Visit http://zioncrimefactory.com/

latest article:
**The Psychological Projections of Organized Jewry**
http://zioncrimefactory.com/2011/09/23/the-psychological-projections-of-organized-jewry/

Anonymous said...

est

Friday, September 23, 2011 5:33:00 AM

What a wonderful poem/comment...

I even cut&pasted it to a file where I might enjoy it in the future.

Thanks!

Ray B.

(I was forced to use 'Anonymous' because my email address was not accepted due to 'illegal characters'. Hmmm...)

Geek said...

Ray B:

If your email address contained "illegal" characters, that is almost certainly because you didn't type it in - but pasted it in, having copied it from elsewhere...?

In any event, wherever you copied it from, that copy did not import the "actual" @ sign - but the code which underlies the @ - so even if it still looks like "@" on the screen, it isn't, if you can follow my drift.

Safest (and always will work) is (as a minimum) to manually type in the @ portion of your email address.


/geek

Anonymous said...

Geek

Sunday, September 25, 2011 4:13:00 PM

Thanks for your insights. As a test, I will now type my email in manually and try to 'Comment'.

...

Nope, didn't work. 'URL contains illegal characters' (And, my email doesn't have anything in it other than the usual letters & numbers.)

Thanks anyway...

Ray B.