Category: Dreams/Visions

To Old (Imaginary?) Friends

Hear me oh rivers and oceans
Hear me mountains and deep caverns
Hear me great trees, hear me yakshas
Hear me ganas, once again speak
Let my beloved whisper again
Caress me now with the West Wind
Lift my spirits with the East Wind
Let my third eye be opened wide
To once more gaze at the new world
Let my gurus teach me once more
Let Narada’s music and dance
Reverberate within me now
Resonating with soul’s tethers
Let my appetite for questions
Never be sated or ignored
Let me feed upon the unknown
I am the Immersed One at first
I am the Twin in the middle
I who am fond of Horses last
Beseech you to attend my call
By my three names, you know who calls
Come now, come and gather by me
For a friendly get together

…

I do not know if it was all a delusion
When I met y’all four years ago
But this is worth a try

I want my poetry
I want my writing
I want my thinking
I want my imagination
I want my dreams
I want my madness
I want my energy
To mean something again

My Dreamscape

Dreams come and go
Some talk of Michelangelo?
No!
I've never dreamed of that fellow

I remember my nightmares
Three witches searching for my wheres
Abouts 
That one time
Dogs howling when I woke
I felt goosepimples from the strange chill

But mostly I'm selling my wares
My services of temporary possession?

I don't know what exactly I'm selling
I dream of different stories and characters
I am a merchant in one
A warrior in the other

There's always a scenario
That I must live
An incident
A quest
Sometimes I do well
Sometimes I don't

I wonder if my spirit
Is walking where it shouldn't--
Into other people's dreams--
And helping them in some manner
By looking at things from a different perspective
It is a nice thought

I enjoy problem solving
I don't know why
But it gives me joy
The satisfaction
Of solving something
I am terrified of failure

In my dreams 
Failure doesn't matter
Because I forget most of it
By dawn

Back to Hell?

My mind’s not quite right
Jumping from night to bright
Mild depression to hypomania
Return to my castle in WTFania?

where the screams of WTF!!! never cease

Duality
Is me
I have not felt this way
Writing the whole day
For such a long time
It should be a crime
To feel so good
But this blog isn’t about that
Touch wood

The dark night
Returneth?
I know it’s coming
I can feel my soul cry
My place in hell
Not of my own making
It is Him

I know why He does it
But I can’t stand it
I’ve been in tranquil dusk
For too long
The glory of the sunset
I must enjoy it
While it lasts
Don’t know how fast
My soul will be damned…
Temporarily

Duality
Remember?

it’s always temporary (I hope)

Will I spend the night searching
For light
Will I spend the night sleeping
In the blight
Where death surrounds me
Can I ever be free?

Am I a monster?
A freak?
Why subject me to this
When all I can do is leak
Blood and ink?

What would it be like
To live normally
Have a family
9-5 routine
Happy dinner time
Two girls and a boy
I’ll buy them toys
But not too many
Don’t want to spoil them

A wife I could talk to
About anything I wanted
And she’d nod
Even if she couldn’t understand
And I’d know
And she’d know I knew
But we’d still be happy
Because the things we could understand
About each other
Were much more important
Than anything else

To have someone I could count on
Who could count on me
Sharing strength
A happy family

Instead
You send me to hell
And make me marry
My thoughts of despair
In the hope
That I’ll find some light there
Or am I just fooling myself
To make sense of this pain?

I know that I cannot be happy
But fooling myself into believing
That I can light a lamp
With a matchsick
I found
While fumbling around
In Hell
May not be so bad

Haunting

In Darkest night, Cultists frolic outside:

“Oh great and green spaghetti monster, give us your power.”
Entreating primordial entity for dark shower
The chants may vary, language exotic, but not the core
The dance and trance, sanguine worship, black robed fancy dress whores
Some sing to Cthulu from greed, some from despair, some from fear
Some from a need for recognition, to mark they’ve been here
Like a dog trying to mark his territory, they piss
And it stinks of chimeras, made from the deep, dark Abyss
The one ‘Who is like God?’ stands stalwart in defence.

In Deepest Night, I cower inside:

In my house that is not my home, there is dark night
In my house that is not my home, there is moonlight

The distorted spirits still dance for war, raging
Long faced monkey donkey, giant man pig, duck goat
Vile energies given form by bad men and women.

The angel continues his war waging
I watch the demons turn to motes
A few die, good riddance!

Still too many
Demons lurking
In house-not-home
Michael
Fights on
Until battle is done
Until the Spirit War is won

Hail Michael, as brilliant as the Sun, and thank you for constant intercession.

Note: Cthulu, in this poem, represents promises of power of any kind (not necessarily ‘occult’), in exchange for the empathetic traits that make us human.

Also, some places just give off bad vibes. Okay for a visit, not nice to stay in.

I had intended to write a light, comedic piece when I began this one, two nights ago

Three Shamanic Thieves Journey into the Underworld

A trio, shamans all, they walk in step
A somnambulant drawl, they speak with sleep
One single tell showing their trespassed depth
Wan faced, gaunt, ragged, torn, the trio creep

Through the Realm of the Dead… Disguises keep
They make it past the borders of a town
Looking for the house of Judge of the Reaped
The passers-by stare at the three and frown

One shaman starts to panic, turns around
His companions steady him with a smile
They quicken their pace, their feet centre bound
Where Judge of the Underworld hears trial

The land transforms, suddenly much less vile
They walk on past homes with trellised gardens
Posh suburban homes, green lawns by the mile
Not what they expected, these big mansions

Destination reached at long last, ‘Sanctum’
Much smaller than neighbours. Two storeys tall
They open door with stolen key, and ‘Umff!’
A cat greets them, peeking from behind wall

The two older shamans play feline ball
Only the young one remains focused on mission
The two relieve themselves in the toilet
While the young one searches for object of vision

Time’s short, young Walker thinks, though he’d like to relax–
Journey was hard, but Judge will soon be back
The lure won’t hold him for much longer, can’t be lax–
Young One finds object of search at long last

A tap that was right there, near the front door, he laughs
Young One summons a magical object
An empty Coca Cola bottle, he chant-crafts
And fills it with the clear waters of Death

The Judge has so much, he won’t miss this little bit
The Young One tells himself to assuage guilt
He rallies his companions and they make their escape
Returning again to the other side of the dreamscape

(The Judge watches the thieves enter and leave from atop an adjoining balcony
He decides to let them return to the living)

Image:
https://goo.gl/images/UepQQh

Twenty First Century Labyrinth (Trapped in our own formation)

Identities most fragile, form a Chakravyuh Maze of fear and greed, of humanity’s own making
Lies are many, boasts belittle…

Abhimanyu!

Breaker of this formation,

gone away sailing…

Drauni not caught in the maze, he’s outside dreaming
Saw he a vision terrifying, Varuna
Ocean in new guise, nine storms on his face masking
Revealed by the dimming of once golden Surya
A change of Galactic seasons, Earth unshielded

It was then that he woke, ego not yet yielded
Saw the Chakravyuh, brother turned against brother
In their effort to be free, with paper armour
And those motionless chariots of apathy
“The maze can shift,” he shouts in vain, “move together.”
He watches helplessly as the bad season draws nearer.

Wiki: multi-tiered defensive formation that looks like a blooming lotus (पद्मpadma) or disc (चक्र chakra) when viewed from above.

Note: I use Drauni here to represent a certain type of person… One who has been alienated from society and its manifold identities. He’s the outcast, the rebel, the dreamer, who has seen both sides but still has a long way to go on his journey of enlightenment. Paper armor symbolising property documents, which I had to put in after witnessing some racist idiots on a YouTube thread.

Last Stand

Muscles ache, eyes weary, the war was lost, we run, we flee
A hay bed beckons my head in a stable, horses neigh
Sleep at last, my eyes close, glimpsing nightmares, my memories
My parents’ unavenged murder, and friends I was forced to slay

My companions wake me, we’re being chased,
They point to the next hill, at a torch trail
A fiery snake
A thousand riders
To catch five survivors
We who survived the fire lake

We split up to confuse the trail
Riding as fast as we dare
Without light, without bronze (and) mail
Fear fills me everywhere

Our pursuers do not split,
They chase after me with unity
My fear then transforms
Anger feeds my storm

My horse topples down and I wait for the enemy
One against a thousand, the odds are against me
An owl screams from the trees, “Noo Noo, easy peasy”
I chose my spot, and wait with moon sword and sun shield
As dawn breaks I kill the last man while he tries to yield.

Last Stand Music:

[Poem] Broken Spin Tops

A sage showed me
A broken top
A mage he was
Great Agastya

*

When he spun it
On his brown palm
He danced a little
To make its motion strong

*

A beautiful dance
With strange rhythms.
He spun another
And his dance changed

*

“The brokenness
Is what make things be
My dance now, is
Unique and special,”
He then said to me

*

Watch, a top on each finger
A top on each of his toes
A dozen tops on his head
And one dances on his big nose
Gyrating to different motions
Of one tiny little sage, the dwarf mage

*

I look at all the broken shards of my soul
And wonder if they have given my dance a new spin