Sphinx365's Open Salon Blog

EPEKTASIS

Wed, 23 Jan 2013 18:01:33 -0500

We are whole when the suffering has ceased,

and we can see it for what it was all along-

Mercy, Absolution, Transcendence.

For when Love has been neglected,

and is felt once more-

is let into the Soul,

this experience carries with it,

its own paradoxical pangs of Loss, Grief.

For the past is no more,

and now a new eulogy must be composed

& sung, to gently coax with ambient lullaby,

the demons to sleep,

until they, too have forgotten their

cause for Lamentation & Rage.

And now may we see ourselves

as the prodigal Sons & Daughters

of our true Father & Master above,

no longer prostrated as we were,

before the altar of the Dark One,

the pulse quickening

with each new barricade erected,

our blood running ever arsenic beneath

thickened skin.

Yet though the afflictions of past worlds

leave their indelible imprints

upon both Psyche & Soma,

we must come to believe that they

can no longer destroy,

as the grace of God's Love now embraced,

may flow militantly unkempt.

And all of a sudden,

we find ourselves indescribably changed,

in the twinkling of an eye

we find ourselves reborn,

from the acidic yet nutrient-rich

Womb of Epektasis,

Mother to the Soul's gradual ascension

towards that of its ultimate perfection.

For we must remember,

that all beings Divine must first descend

to each their own Hades.

INTEGER, NEGATIVE

Wed, 9 Jan 2013 14:01:56 -0500

If only we could lose control of that most unnatural selection,

which barricades the earthen church of all that is forbidden yet sacred

from our grasp & sustenance would life no longer need be lived

in masked revolt against those dark principalities unseen

yet nevertheless excruciatingly felt, as so-called "Survival"

enacts its slow but assured slaughter of true Life.

Perhaps what this world deems Madness is after all,

the last but certaintly not least of redeeming graces & causes.

FIRE, THE MOTHER WOMB: ODE TO THE STOICS

Wed, 2 Jan 2013 12:01:14 -0500

Come out, my Stoic friends!

Enter the womb of fire & force,

all ye born from the friction of matter

which hath sought & succeeded in realizing your form!

Heat! The giver of all Life!

The catalyst for all Harmony & Strife!

Convertible to emotive-atomic passion, zeal, fervour!

Yes! The incandescence within!

The flaming pit you toil & tarry within-

the World Womb of hot, pulsating energy!

This great sphere of burning vitality is your world

and thus is thee!

For we are all essential elements

of the divine principles of our Universe!

We must move it! Mold it!

Weld it to the Highest Ideals, my Stoic friends!

Come, let us tame the flame of the World Womb!

Let us consume it! Make it ours!

Let us strike it all up with the highly flammable fluid

of Divine Essence to then let it Rage!

Let it burn, wild, shimmying & free!

We must work to incinerate & evaporate all components

which seek to smother us!

We must let not the icy armour of Conformity

seize & freeze our will-our most authentic Seal Of Selfdom!

For we are all a part of that Eternal flame which dances in time

to the indefatigable rhythms & flickering scintillations

of the Essence Universal!

For in due time will we all be ravaged to dust,

and whole worlds, meet their demise in apocalyptic rapture,

as the searing wind carries the core embers of those

whose flames burned truest & brightest,

away from all inferno, to languidly ebb & absolve

into the next fiery world to come.

DREAMSCAPE #?

Mon, 3 Dec 2012 10:12:51 -0500

Evoking the shocking, evocative silence

of red balloons billowing across

a blindingly black on white landscape,

Eternity whisps on a tangent

down the rough strewn alley of Apathy,

boisterous, looking for a riot-

Shhhh, quiet!

the lazy creeping haze commands,

for Mona Lisa sits nearby

upon a Priest's velvet box ready not

for a confession-

but a Kodak moment.

Red light sun resurrects

the Ultimate Psychiatrist from a huge pile

of spent cigar ashes-

he does a perfect three-sixty,

now vomiting Jungian dream theory,

and Nietzsche's anamnesis all over his

ill-fitting suit & his ten thousand dollar

Moroccan carpet, which undulates like

the North sea screaming Envy at the Moon.

I remain transfixed, & utterly enthralled

by the keen lucidity of The Absurd,

and ever astounded at how so many people

instead choose to commit themselves

to sanctified 'insanity'-

a diagnosis whose prognosis only

predicts eventual true psychosis.

It now rains fire & brimstone,

as I alight upon the revelation

of the irreality of it all.

A lizard leaps into the third eye

of Primordial Sentience,

creeping its way back to rest upon

the quivering, permeable membrane

of that old Amygdala,

and I awaken to discover myself

falling from a building-

a dream within a dream within a dream,

heading straight into the Event Horizon

of endless worlds to come.

ODE TO NIGHT

Mon, 3 Dec 2012 09:12:02 -0500

As Night's corrective ink spills across the burgeoning sky,

It makes right,

All of Day's errs & wrongs-

The Spirit's wings quiver in delight,

For now may they fly,

And the Heart gayly sings,

It medley of victory songs,

For in having escaped another Day's web & stings,

To the hospice of Night it now belongs.