Hypnagogic Vision Poetry

It is now 1:20am. I am entering the stage of hypnagogia. I will now continue to write stream of consciousness, but more abstractly … listening to “Loscil – Gymnote” …

Mysterious fog/mist/cloud on the landscape of mine/consciousness/heart. Purple and blues greyed by the fog. Wet and damp. Cold. Green ferns tickle my feet as I walk through. It is quiet except for my own footsteps rustling through the vegetation and stones. I look behind me and can only see so far. I look ahead and can only see so far. But as I walk further I see more. But then see less behind me. I realize that I am hidden by the shroud of mist. I can do whatever I want. My clothes disintegrate as I realize this. I look at my body and see it in it’s perfect radiant young form oscillate to it’s oldest form then back to present then back to child. I am naked. There is something sensual about being naked in the mist. Reminded of the mermaids of ancient times. Mirrors all around. The clouds are mirrors to me. I see myself multifold. But they are individuals themselves. Living different lives. But they are me. But they are them. They fade away as I sink to my bare knees on the cold ground. I pick up the wet stalks of plants around me and taste it. They are vegetal and bitter. They taste green. And the mist tastes grey. I think of other senses. I taste the stones. They taste like the mist. I taste the hummus of soil. Dry. I get up and look up at the faintness of the moon – or is it the sun? I can’t tell because of the thick mist. Redwoods. They know. They consume the mist. Redwoods they know. As do the fungi that live beneath them. Electrical synapses between them. The worms know. They are blind yet they know. The owl in the tree yes, he knows as well. Hmm. Ancient signs carved into wood signs, the weather has erased meaning but you know it was once a sign for something. What is the point. Web fingered things like salamanders run on the water. Water skippers – how do they? Cambian layers. Layers of books. A book lays in front of me it’s pages turning randomly by the wind back and forth, wind can’t do that – can it? Perhaps something else is turning it. It’s an old book, I see things written, but as I approach they fade away. Only blank pages. What is the meaning? Disintegrates in my hands. Why is everything disintegrating? Tears. Why do things disintegrate? To be eaten by the earth and mist. Can’t I hold on to anything? I see my own body becoming transparent. I try to grasp something, a branch of a tree. Holding on to reality as my own tears evaporate into the mist. But to what point to hold on to anything when I myself am becoming invisible. But wasn’t it good enough to be invisible in shroud of mist? Why be invisible? What is doing this? Everything comes and goes. Everything manifests from the nebulous and back into the nebulous. The oscillations. From chaos to order and back again. One cannot resist. Allow yourself to be carried by the clouds. Floating floating. Weightless. The naked body manifests in perfect form yet again but now weightless floating. The stream of clouds they are hard to explain. Only known when standing on top of a mountain as the wind blows clouds around you. Wind whispers. What is it saying? The same thing the sign said. Whatever that was… Words cannot explain. Nothing can explain.

Being pulled downward downward. My body stretches like being pulled through a black hole – inescapable power. I become a stream of liquid going down some cosmic drain. Ooooohh into the earth I slip. I percolate. I meld. How a drop of water is absorbed by the ground. Down. Down. Where the roots are. Down towards some center. Some destination that all things seem to go towards. Things on the other side and all directions they seek that center as plumb seeks the same. Oscillations. As the trees are swayed by the wind. What does that feel like? To sway by the wind. To be danced by something beyond you. Something intangible. Something you cannot grasp … yet moves you. Water. From the high mountains it waits to greet the sun. The warmth of sun on the stones. The lizard waits and watches. The lichen they creep. Time speeds up and the lichen colors become alive as the seasons change they oscillate. Oscillation. Vibration. Polarity. Swinging the plumb bob becomes a pendulum. The ticking of a clock. Footsteps. Trace the footsteps back so far and they vanish. Into the mist they go. I take a deep breath and let it out feeling the invisible that sustains me go on to life a new life. Painted colors upon the wall. Black, grey, white, brown. Refraction in the crystals splits in rainbows of colors. To think all these colors are in every ray of light. Light only visible when it touches something. Like how music does not exist in the vacuum of space.

Planets. We think trees’ and mountains’ time perspective is vast. Planets … what do they feel? What is a season to Earth? Is it a breath? Is is heart beat? Unexplainable. To see without opening eyes. To hear without listening. To feel without touching. How? A consciousness beyond a brain. A consciousness outside of the confines of body. Just as fungi digest food outside of itself and we digest inside. There are many ways of being. How to understand something beyond thought. Beyond understanding?

Freedom freedom. To the realm of unknown. Dimensional onion layers of overlapping essence like those who taste wine to sense an undertone of leather and overtone of honeysuckle. Develop your senses. Senses. Develop. Take inspiration from the animals. They know. Take inspiration from the deer, and the wolf, the birds in the sky. From worms and termites. The ants and the aardvarks. The platypus. The fish deep in the ocean. The squid. The whales. How do they sense? How do they find their way? What do they know? Feel them feel all. Develop your senses by blunting your senses. Develop your senses through silence. Through fasting. To stillness. Develop through slowness. Develop through gentleness. Gentleness is the way for sensitivity.

Technology is powerful. Technology has been used by powerful people who have lost their way. Control. Has created zombies and has over stimulated the senses and awareness. Avoid. Avoid. Reduce. Be free. The antenna within. The reception within. The mind’s eye exceeds all screens. Develop it. The inner reception exceeds all other reception.

Foot steps on the cool soil. A circular clearing. My circular clearing. Heart beat of my own. Heart beat of the heart. I stand here naked before you my brothers and sisters. My mothers and fathers. My cousins. My childrens. My ancestors. I stand here, you can see me for who I am, see me my core. Understanding. See myself. See my cells. Gratitude is what I feel . Thank you.

Protectors of spirits in these circles. The place where music comes from. From where dance comes from. For guiding to me to the special places which make me pull off the road.

No need to compare. Be yourself. Sit with knowing. Do your work. Do the work you were meant to do. Do the work you were chosen and that which you chose. The work. Protect Nature. Speak for Nature. Speak for the old ones and the new ones. The familiar ones and the odd ones. The local the remote. The real and the unreal. The straight and the crooked. Speak. Communicate. Translate. Reception reception Reception. Take time to receive. Have time to receive. Take time to be. Close your eyes and allow. Abilities must not go to waste. And they won’t.

All things can be done if you listen. If you receive that which you need to receive. There is always time for it.

A weird an uneasy feeling in my stomach. A feeling of wanting something different. Goose bumps develop on my skin. Pin feathers begin to sprout from my skin. They are itchy. But soon unfurl like spring fiddleheads into colorful feathers on one side and demure feathers on the other side. I have wings. I have flight. Effortless. Like I was meant to I fly towards the sun, things don’t like to look into the sun, I can hide in shadows as I can hide in the brightest of bright. Why hide? Hiding is only a term for stillness and silence. It is why the cougar showed itself to me. Wait and sit. To watch is to receive. High from a tree I stand. I see the landscape from the perspective of all. Able to focus on any thing and all things. The winter is coming, but don’t worry it will give way to spring. This is why oscillation resilience is important. To be in the heat and be in the cold. Extremes. Oscillation. Coldness of winter. The pureness of snow gives way. The pureness of sprouts give way. Bear. I am bear. The bear hibernates. The bear awakens. The rabbit and the deer. They know. They accept. The smell of conifers in the air. The echoing call of robins. Red wind black birds.

If you sit on a stone long enough, you’ll become the stone.


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