The weight of the World
Is crushing down
Everything to the core.

Despotically it protects
From straying into the void
Despotically it commands
For omnipresent strength.

I have fallen
From the weight of the world
And I am being pulled down
Towards the center of being.

It is as if Matter
Wants to hold itself together
In vain, against the cold estrangement
Of continious expansion.

I rise to claim my Identity
Against the grind of amorphous clay
Pushing the soil down
Destroying the Rock with my fists
To see the Light of Day

~

Born to the world of Wonder
Of endless promise and finite, abrupt reality
With dreams directed towards the Higher dimensions
Inbetween deceptive phenomena and elusive noumena

The navel of Motherly love must be cut
To escape the inevitable demise
From the blazing hands of the Father

Without wanton belief and asuredness
The path to the gateway of cosmos
Is a small ray, deep throughout the inmensurable darkness.

O Dream, a painter you are, vivid and exquisite.
Winged and unchained, you lead me into worlds of lightness and magnitude.

But the soil I set my foot on, is the sole I can feel.
And so you return me, dazzled and bewitched, each time to it.
Cold and hard it has turned, unattended.

Where is my Will?
Where is my Persistance?
In my Dreamland I am Strong and Unbending.
Soaring the Skies, defeating Tyrants, facing the Sun.

The soil hides roots that go deep into the earth.
With toil they are kindled, unveiling fruit hidden within.
Slowly I must tender them.

Each fruit is also a Dream.
Of texture harsh, of weight considerable.
If opened, it reveals a world of its own.
Unique and unimaginable.

But, things of Matter are harsh for my hands.
They bleed from the thorns of Struggle and Neccesity.
Their painful embrace triggers rememberance,
Of scornful past and accursed future.

A burning ache in the chest, in the eyes,
The grotesque dance of vermin under the skin
And the fog starts to set back in again.

~

I awake within the forest. It is unusually solemn and contemplative,
Almost sensuous in its near silence of faint gust and rustling.
A drifting presence is felt near the bounds of my senses.

Through the silver pathways of the forest I hunt for it.
I cannot reach but its mirage, which gracefully flees.

A trail with blood on its side appears.
It leads to a deer which had its throat cut open.
Then to a woman, severed in the same manner.
Not with terror, but in inexplicable awe I move on.

The red path ends in a garden surrounded by shadows.
An altar lies inside, besides it, a dark figure.
It holds two severed heads, each one the source of a crimson river.
It turns over to me.

The memory brutally unveils the curtain of "I"
I look, eye to eye, to the concealed Truth of ages past.
It commands me, pointing into the white stone.
The urge to submit is abominable.

I look away and run towards the Sun.
In hope it is real and not part of a scenery that's falling apart.
With every last ounce of strength, I throw myself towards the scorching heat.
Defiant Fire of Judgement, for Now and Forever, measure my Spirit!

Winter awakes. Cold wind and white drapery everywhere.
I emerge through the ice. Every nerve comes alive in excruciating pain.

Here, the soul fights eternally, inertia and stagnation its nemesis.
The march towards Actualization begins from the plainest of pathways.
Yet behind every step, as heavy or lumpy as it may be, lies a purpose.

What is the fabric that makes the dreams of Day?
The Statue of Self, sculpted from the hardest, finest rock.
A most Noble Warrior.
I see it in a great distance, concealed by mist.

The world cast a small shadow over me.
It is he, the tragic hero, who does not simply want to Grow,
But to Change.

What is, that makes Man?
What is, that makes the Over-man?

Time passes as I cannot ever seem to get close enough.
Yet, eventually, the mist collapses and the figure clears out.
It is crude, without details, contorted into grotesque proportions.
Empty on the inside, a simple shell.
The wind blows softly and shatters it into pieces.

Around the remains, a multitude of streams pour their waters
Flooding the wretched land, carrying me, away with them
Into another place, of Light.

The Seeker is tired to look back.
The gaze must awaken Outwards, to be fully alive.

Rejoice, Soul
Touch the Ecstatic Truth
Sense the Eternal Now
Awake within the Gaia

The broken, constituent parts were carried along with the stream
Each one is the name of a Virtue.
I reassemble and bury them within the ground.

I still carry the Black Beast, chained inside. And all past rememberance.
What is my ideal then? But a dream with roots in the ground.
Of roots weaved together into a colossal, collective trunk,
That rises, piercing the Sky, into the depths of the Universe.

~

Throughout the times of perplexity and illusion
We've got some last Gods left, worth keeping
That go by such names as Kindness and Honesty.

I want us to hold swords again
As in the years of the old tales.
But this time, to fight for Dignity and Solidarity.

I want us to look like idiots into the eyes of the Dragons
Like newborns, lying under the sun.

Against the waves of darkness and death
I'm walking with Eternal Brightness in my eyes.

A breath, formed into the atmosphere,
Rained down into the oceans
Was led into a little stream
That fed a spiral fountain.

From there, drops of ocean blood
Fell down into the ground
And mixed with the earth
Forming patterns, from chaos born.

A child, full of wonder, arose
Destined to walk the gardens of Eden.
Uncertainty, its parting present,
Potency its destiny.
A manifest of cosmic will.

The child wandered, hunted, killed and
quenched its thirst from the marbled stone.
And it rejoiced; but as time passed on,
discovered there was nothing else to see,
to hunt, to kill, to drink.

In despair, the Man turned to his Mother
The sight reflected on the water
And returned with a vision of Self
Transparent, he saw a multitude
Of I's, each with the same spiral inside.

"You, Fountain, who has given me birth
You, who grew me into a Man, powerful and sane,
Save me now from wither, madness and solitude"

The Stone laid unmoved, in silence.
The Stream continued to flow, in perpetual motion.
The Man understood; yet his soul did not rest
But was filled with the Fire of Defiance.

He stepped into the crooked stone
To ascend into the spiral staircase
Leading up, into the heavens high
Where the Breath of the Father was once uttered.

At the staircase's end, way above the Earth,
Nothing laid, but the blackness of space
And the one primordial molecule, carrying the Word.

"No eternity was ever promised to you, Child.
To travel beyond the Stars, into the marvels of macrocosm,
You must first conquer the smallest, inner void.
To reach the point where universes intersect.
My Word is forgotten, with every division, every new birth.
Learn me, renew me, reach into the end of my telos."

Like the Wind, I sweep through majestic landscapes
Wandering, lost, among endless deserts, forests,
Deep seas and high mountains.

They rise, glorious but melancholic around me.
As if knowing... their own impermanence.
How small and insignificant they make me feel.

Then, time creeps in, and I remember Death.
And questions do not leave me.

Why did the first organic molecule copy itself?
Did it think it could retain its consciousness that way?
Or hoped that its offspring would someway, someday, escape mortality?
Maybe through constant change and evolution?

Gaia screams and coils around me.
The organic and inorganic in union.
Affecting and re-defining each other.
Is it complete, that way, or still void, as ourselves,
seeking for fullfillment?

I see the pain and meaninglessness, and feel it deep inside.
The cycle of renewal, of the demise of individual existence, is still one of tragedy.
Why would we have attained consciousness,
If we were always supposed to adhere to the Eternal Law?

Is my Will opposite to that of the Outer?
Or, can we forge paths of harmony, inbetween us?

If I can dream, therefore I can transform.

We are Warriors of the Universe. We are here for a reason.
I believe it wants us to change it. It wants us to evolve ourselves, then our surroundings.
But how? In what direction? Where is right and wrong, in the cosmic scale?
Is it enough to be "good" human beings?
Or is this feat, of such unimaginable difficulty,
That every human must absolutely surpass the limits of one's existance,
Towards greater and greater understanding, complexity, continuity, fulfillment.
In a great mission to defeat Gravity, to liberate, once and forever,
All Existence from the cycle of birth and death (bang and crunch).
To extend into all dimensions, physical and temporal.