esper of the essence

intro: dandelion dreams…

“Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking around in a ring.

the eye of me
reveals a heavenly key
of spectral ascent.

lonesome navigator
winsome sea
the spire of the vulcan
the arc of the heart

the be wed between barriers
derived of soft fluttering
a signaled assent

to be revealed
disguises unpeeled
stone of soul..
but blooming bright

astride tidings of a golden morning,
I sought the lam between the forked ripples
of deep pools.
swept the water between my palms
my hands are cauldron in the lake;
the liquid is clear as crystal, but leaking –
my cup has a crack
where two become one

acrobatic orchid vines
bind the red and white
left from right,
a concert of polarity –

treble clef harmonies are sprouting
dew buds on the lotus
they sparkle, like jewels

I am like the gale that gasps in a silent night
I am like the throne that crumbles in the sand
or a doorway shorn by time and torn archways
the toil of the seeker’s clime

a blood drop on the talon’s tip
of an eagles bent swoop
or the owl’s quiet moonlit dive,
crimson in the meadow of daffodil snow
is the crown in the keyhole
an electric crone

always playing games… in the strangest ways…

Let’s peddle back a bit from the distortions that are chronically resurfacing.
into a place where the source of inspiration was a bottomless fountain of youth.
that is not an exclusive access right of any being or bloodline.
it is the essential human providence, and it is the spark of divinity that cannot be quenched.

this strange game of power, it will not live on in golden crowns or thorny thrones, I think
we have set ourself up between cosmic forces and we see not the gap but only the pine’s frame.
the space between is where material is unbounded into the absolute, the gate that can’t be suprised

but the fight for the script is a very strange game
if you win you lose
but if you lose you lose
the only path forward isn’t even a path yet
and it won’t be found until it is a beacon shining radiantly in the dark

the surface is glamour that I think it’s easy to fall into the deep pool of self obsfucation
the world of illusion is gratifying and even our synapses are hungry to chase and hate these phantoms
but the infinite that is a pinhole door behind the machine of the brain
it’s never going to close
it may be lost
but will insist upon itself
rotate into flames and wheels of the chariot

that beast that devours eternity
gives infinity a womb
and we are that womb
our game is a strange game
the players of which haunt the world
and are filmed by celestial beings
unknown to man
the eye of the sun is upon them
but we know them not

we are witness to the world breaking itself
and we come to break the world
to unfashion the eye until it turns inward
and pokes the radiant sun of the soul

yes, like a calling, a duel between the solid and the transcendent will of magick not yet made
the new aeon is beyond all time and space, beyond the mind and reason
it is a strange game of creating the impossible
it insists upon players
but it is only truly won if it is undone

a hard pill to swallow
and a purple one

All Tyranny dies ideologically in public before their Actual Fall and effective dismantling. Roles even precede the personalities playing them. An esper knows that to change an ARchon you must start with an Architecture, because the mechanism of arrangement predicts future innovations and their trajectories. Everything has form that attenuates itself differently in response to its environment. And if you can predict the pattern that trajectory of responses will create…if you can form the final shape before it is concieved of in relevance….well, that is an esper of the essence. Always grasping in the dark maybe, but at least they are always grasping.

you know how sometimes theres that phrase “there was a twinkle in his eye”
do you think there is something to that idea?
I feel like the description of merlin includes a twinkle in the eye, and the trope has carried on

it’s kind of like the twinkling in the eye is an inner star.
stars and magic come up together as a pair with such regularity it seems pointless to point it out, but what part of the star is similar to magic? I think the similar part involves the relationship between the light of our consciousness and the light that we see in the world.
maybe will with the right form and the right intention could become a star

our eyes enfold the will of a star
the star spells the will of our hearts
and our hearts are the wheels of our will

4 thoughts on “esper of the essence

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