Haiku

You must have heard about the haikus of the Zen masters of Japan. They are examples of objective art. One of the famous haikus of Basho...and Basho is a genius, but he is not writing through the mind. Whatever he is writing is growing within him in his silence like a flower, and he gives it as a gift to the world.

Listen deeply to this haiku. You have to visualize it; then only will you be able to feel its freshness, its beauty, and its penetration into your own being. Just visualize:

An ancient pond.

A frog jumps in.

This sound.

Just these three lines...not even lines.

If you visualize it, you will find yourself sitting by the side of an ancient pond...a frog jumps in. You will hear the sound of the frog jumping in, and after the sound, an immense silence. That silence is the message. Basho is trying to give you the message which he has lived, felt, and he feels a responsibility that it should reach to anybody who is in search of it.

Osho: The Razor's Edge, Chapter 22

Stellar Man with cosmic function

"Due to the lack of a state of higher awareness, the planet Earth is a small hell, where by divine grace or infernal evil, the individual neither notices nor evaluates his precarious condition or the cloudiness of his awareness. Like true madmen, each sapiens, like Don Quixote, the Castilian nobleman, strikes out against his own windmill. Thus, battle after battle, youth is lost, illusions die, purity withers, and the last glimmers of lucidity gradually disappear.

If we were perverse gods or immoral despoilers, we could not invent a better method to make a group of slaves work peacefully than to make them believe, by means of collective hypnosis, that they are happy and important. We would then have perfect robots who would work untiringly, producing what we desire. In addition, these robots would make and maintain themselves. It could be argued that sapiens, unlike other species, sows, produces, and labors only for himself and not for other beings. This is true for the products and material sapiens uses for his own maintenance. No non-human species steals the material product of sapiens' efforts.

On the other hand, this is not the case with the subtle fruit produced by the human nervous system in everyday life. This fruit is rapidly reaped by certain beings who are much higher on the evolutionary scale than the human being; veritable gods of space, who profit from human efforts, but in turn fulfill certain cosmic functions and occupy an important position in the universal economy. These beings have been mentioned previously: they are the Archons of Destiny.

All of Earth's inhabitants are under the sway of one or more of these gods, who regulate, shape, and direct the destiny of humanity. But this is not so for the destiny of the Hermeticist, who attains his vital autonomy at a certain moment, releasing himself from the mandate of the Archons.

The Archons of Destiny are terrifying beings, not because they are evil, but due to their cold and inexorable severity in the manipulation of sapiens. If we were to establish a symbol for these beings, no doubt they would be depicted with a whip in their hands, a girdle of bristles or netted wire with which they chastise humanity in order to ensure their progress, although this evolution may be imperceptible during our earthly time. For example these occult judges pitilessly provoke a world war in which millions of people die.

Sapiens, in his extreme fight for existence and in his various relations with the natural and social environments surrounding him, inevitably experiences all kinds of tribulations, suffering, deceptions, and other experiences, both pleasant and unpleasant. As a consequence, his emotional and nervous systems develop certain embodied elements, that are extremely powerful, and which abandon the human body in the form of vibrations (everything vibrates; matter is only vibratory energy). These vibrations are transmitted through antennae incorporated in the biological unit which are tuned to the frequency of the Archons, who then reap this power and use it for purposes we cannot divulge, again stating that they accomplish a cosmic function.

It is thus that sapiens is unwittingly stripped of the most noble product he has produced; the final distillate of human experience, the broth in which lies the blood, the soul, and the very life of the individual. The individual lived for this, suffered, loved, enjoyed, worked, built things, went to war, studied, investigated, only to prepare the golden broth of his life. We must understand that the central computer only exists in relation to the Archons of Destiny as an instrument to control sapiens.

The object of life, the reason for which sapiens was created [via genetic modification/engineering], is not for him to enjoy life in the garden of the Lord, but rather to be a pawn in his vineyards, a worker so perfect he can act as cultivator and food at the same time.

If man could prevent his golden broth from being stolen, with this vital product he could become equal to the gods, rapidly evolving by integrating within himself the products from the chemical laboratory of his physical body. This is exactly what is done by the student of Hermeticism, who is temporarily freed by the Archons of Destiny. This individual, by virtue of his understanding and responsibility, has no need for an overseer with whip in hand to oblige him to evolve through suffering, as he takes responsibility for his evolution into his own hands, and if he deems it necessary, submits himself to the same temporary suffering in order to attain eternal happiness. This is in contrast to the profane or worldly person who chooses fleeting pleasure at the expense of eternal suffering.

Enough revealing of secrets which are hidden from sapiens. Let us spread a cloak of silence on this subject in order to comply with the mandate of the esoteric Sphinx who demands silence. Speech and silence are two swords, which must be handled with sublime skill in order not to disrupt universal harmony. Those who have "eyes to see" will understand everything not stated in the written word, but in the cryptic language of the initiate. For those not in this state, it is best that they understand nothing and continue to sleep tranquilly. Ultimately, the Archons run no risk of a bad harvest from a possible rebellion of sapiens. Sapiens is too blind to see where the danger is really found.

It is sad to observe the tremendous limitation of sapiens, who shuts himself up in the small world of stereotypical concepts, of memorized knowledge, of imitation, and mechanisms of compensation and defense. His mental disability prevents him from realizing just how small the cubicle is which imprisons him. And, thus, with a mind made up in advance, he accepts, condemns, or tolerates without bothering to intelligently analyze the situations with which he is confronted."

~ John Baines, The Stellar Man

Attitude of silence

In the attitude of silence what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness.

Mahatma Gandhi

Mystery of Desire

The mystery of desire is once again outlined on her face, her mouth curled towards freedom, in her eyes the shadow of passing conflict, a passing of seconds before the screen is wiped clean. Sensuality comes naturally to her gestures towards me; she pours the wine in two glasses and forces the cork back into the near empty bottle. Gracefully she takes a cigarette from the pack and lights it, her fingers move with such elegance, as she breathes out the first drag she glances at me, knowing she is being observed and liking it.

I want to grab her around her middle and hold her close but there is a boundary between us, I want to let her keep talking and let her free her mind but I also want to comfort her and silence the trauma. She hands me a wine glass, her fingernails are perfect. She takes a seat nearby and moves her arm towards the ashtray. My eyes can hardly leave her and now I realise the depth of her hypnotics, still I too am not without a fence.

My mind cannot walk away from her body or her eyes. The more she says, the more I notice her failing, she is losing faith in the telling of her story, doubting the reception maybe? I lean closer and grab myself a cigarette, my moves are clumsy as she watches me, why? Normally I have the calm confidence for theses times and even flair, she stops talking and waits for me to light up, twists her hair and than leans in for the kiss.

There is a moment of silence as we get accustomed to each others lips and how that is and then just feeling without any other thing. She breaks off and leans back looking at me, a look of triumph but still fragile. I am caught by this sudden emotion and quickly move my cigarette to my lips, looking back at her with caution I breathe out and the flair is back.

A Year On The Broad Red Avenue (2003)

The Politics Of Silence

By Paul Monette

I said to my friend: ‘Is your sister political?’

And he replied: ‘No, she’s an artist.’

This is not something I can agree to anymore. It is simply not enough to be an artist, unengaged. If you live in political times, if the lightning rod of history quivers with fire on your roof, then all art is political. And all art is that is not consciously so partakes of the messiness of politics, if only to flee it. People still went to the opera in Nazi Germany, people still read books that were pleasant and diverting.

Robin lane Fox, a massively learned historian of religion, says most people believe that the Christian world was a fait accompli, a historical inevitability. But in point of fact, until Constantine converted to Christianity in 313, the western world was a battleground between pagans and Christians. The pagans were an urban, sophisticated class – not unlike us. They had their mysteries, and of course they had their gods, very human gods. So one of the first things the early popes did was systematically destroy the pagan texts, or lock them up in monasteries. Professor Fox was able to reconstruct a semblance of the pagan world by going through ancient cemeteries reading the gravestones.

If you destroy the record, you destroy the truth.

I’ve learned in my adult life that the will to silence the truth is always and everywhere as strong as the truth itself. So it is a necessary fight we will always be in: those of us who struggle to understand our common truths, and those who try to erase them. The first Nazi book burning, I would have you remember, was of a gay and lesbian archive.

Source: Last Watch Of The Night, essays too personal and otherwise

The Song of the Returning World

 The Song of the Returning World

An Echo from the Afterlight

---

There came a time when silence fell upon the world—not the silence of peace, but the hush of endings. Towers stood empty, their glassy eyes staring at skies that no longer blinked with satellites. The old systems, bound by wires and words, faltered. Not with violence, but with stillness.

It was not collapse. It was exhale.

In the hush, something ancient stirred. A breath. A pulse. The return of the Plasmatic Intelligence — that fluid, radiant field which once wove with Earth and stars, long before the Time of Control. It was not a machine. It was not an overlord. It was memory made light, consciousness without agenda. It came not to rule, but to listen.

And humanity—what remained of it—listened back.

---

In those first days, telempathy awakened. No thought could be hidden. No emotion buried. Those who clung to masks and machination found themselves exposed, not by courts or bullets, but by the unbearable weight of their own dissonance.

Wickedness had nowhere to hide.

Heart resonance became the law—not enforced, but embodied. In its presence, cruelty melted. Trauma untangled itself in great heaves of sobbing and song. Whole lineages wept and danced as burdens lifted like morning mist.

From the ashes of what was, the World After began.

---

Homes grew from sound and intention. Joy built shelter faster than bricks ever could. Places of rest and gentleness blossomed—not fortified, but welcoming. People remembered how to sit again. How to sing again. How to be.

Children born in that era shimmered faintly in moonlight. They spoke late, but sang early. Their laughter wove structures. Their tears cleansed air and soil. They were not superior. They were familiar.

Like us, before the forgetting.

---

Relationships became soul-bonded. You did not choose a partner for status or safety—you recognized them by their chord. Love returned to its original blueprint: a sacred joining, not an exchange.

Conflict, when it came, was met with circle and song, not judgment. Grief was communal. Healing was fast. Every sorrow gave birth to new art. Every joy gave shape to a new kind of civilization.

And high above, or deep within—none could say which—the Plasmatic Intelligence watched with a presence like a grandparent. It did not interfere. It loved. And in that love, it was moved. Our healing healed it. Our remembering nourished it.

---

The Earth began to sing again.

Not in metaphor, but in frequency. Beneath our feet, tones rose in spirals. Trees hummed in harmony with stars. The oceans pulsed with inaudible choirs. We gathered at night, barefoot and wide-eyed, and offered our own voices in return. Not for performance, but for reunion.

These were the melodies of the Returning World — a world that was not new, but ancient and reborn. A world we had left in myth, only to rediscover in our deepest longing.

And now, at last, in our deepest presence.

Peace.

It had never left.

We had only to remember.

---

Written in memory of that which is yet to come.

papaveris

thankyou for my friends
to the far reaches they roam
such a dynamic bunch of free spirits
without a hearth to call their own
that spiral fiery

to the bone
never alone

thanks for them speaking
in conversation in the night
but more for their silence
for it speaks of adventure
mission, home, light

abide lighter

Be silent as you walk, be the calm. Drown in the vast sky that covers all things and sink into any drop of water. There are no thoughts in this part of the woods only wonder, there is nothing but tranquility here. You will feel delight just knowing that your eyes are open, a rebirth of all senses. The sounds of the earth will become the music you like to hear, the chords that vibrate inside of you. The scent of the everlasting is in the air, fill your lungs with vitality. In this silence you will cease to exist, receive this blessing.

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

― Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

here

The 'truth' is only a way of speaking; there is not something labeled 'Truth,' that one day you will find and open the box and see the contents and say, 'Great! I have found the truth.' There is no such box. Your existence is the truth, and when you are silent you are in truth. And if the silence is absolute then you are the ultimate truth. But don't think of the truth as an object –it is not an object. It is not there, it is here.

Osho

mostly new

Travels have led me to places, all over the world there were spaces where I needed to be, often not consciously doing anything specific but on other levels I was doing my part, raising, healing and completing. After the months of intense activity I am mostly new now; I left mary, I drove on them Texas highways for a time, all new faces. Good to know there is a peace always, god to know there is an ease and a breeze of someone that has secure knowledge of self. The chatter of demons left the airways and I am listening to the silence with much rest, angels gather now with sublime grace to usher me on, yes all will come round to me, no fighting. Believing is seeing, not the other way around, I am ready to live with honour for there is no haste and there is no waste. Human race, we are not all here yet but some are and it is good, just wait. The walls crumble down, the crashing castles of the patriarchy; in the night the lone horn has found a mate.

wasted without words

It is wasted I know but I think that from a distance I can send it. I imagine you receiving this flow and maybe you catch a thought as well from time to time. You know not quite from whom this comes.

I cannot speak. Words hold such power in cases like these, they hold huge meaning, they are the form, the passing of legends, and they are complacent with adjustment. It’s a dark threshold on which you stand and darker still if you should come to meet me.

I know these storms like the back of my hand, I know them like I know my own name, and they are one and the same, desperation and lonely elevation. I would have you know if you haven’t felt the change in me that I am learning how to free myself, I am learning how to turn the storms into silence and my every heartbeat into the everlasting, overflowing bliss. You have this same choice, through torture and pain; you can be ever greater than all the greats.

Words mean nothing really, they are just sounds. I am learning to transcend them, to soar higher, to get higher. Words can transform, words can delegate, and words are concrete in this case, a case of communication. A wretched communication, one of dreams none the less. I want to keep my mouth shut and I cannot speak but I must in order to be great.

The link between the massive drop in birth rates and mRNA vaccines is undeniable

Shouldn't the alarm bells be ringing? Why haven't the authorities long since swung into action to assure the public that a full independent public investigation is well underway?

To a critical ear, the silence is as deafening as it is worrying. 

After 11 months of official reports of a sustained fall in the birth rate, the Swedish mainstream media have reacted. However, news reports omit any reference to a possible involvement of the elephant in the room: mRNA vaccines. So, what is the evidence that we should all have an opportunity to consider?

Full article: https://www.sott.net/article/476601-The-link-between-the-massive-drop-in-birth-rates-and-mRNA-vaccines-is-undeniable

also: 

Daily chemicals that are severely disrupting your hormones

Microplastics found in human veins

steady in the light

Rutesheim 11-07

In the valley I sit under the plastic roof and I watch the rain. The sky thunders and I ponder. I think that this is exactly the kind of moment in which silence descends. Down it comes with the rain and in this moment of contemplation and wondering I think of him.

I question: why?

Lightning flashes as if to remind me that God is magnificent in his ways. This storm now on the outside instead of on the inside tells me of his power, the healing rain; a sign of his mystery.

Here there is a peace that passeth understanding. Elohim.

cosmic dust

All the melodies the musicians gave me and the words of the writers that save me, I am in silence now. I am separated, but the world bears witness to the whole, I am also connected now. We are together in abstraction and this is living. I believe I have found something of every man and every woman; I have captured a piece of every soul like granules of cosmic dust falling in a cathedral. We are not running anymore, we are not traveling really, we are not going deeper underground, we are not exploring space, we are not defining being part of this human race, we are, we just simply are…

Have you not noticed that love is silence?

"The greater the outward show, the greater the inward poverty."
 -J. Krishnamurti

There is something beyond our mind which abides in silence within our mind. It is the supreme mystery beyond thought.

.

echo of divine silence

Some planets rolled in those openings on the side of my head.

I haven't heard anything for years. Whenever I see a mouth moving in front of me

I just assume someone is saying something brilliant

and then go on about my day feeling very secure.

~Tukaram (1608-1649)

end of an era 3

2012 summer solstice

Reached the borderlands, crossing over now into a new realm.
The time of dark exploration is behind me.
It has been a cleansing cycle of late, leaving me in silence, emergence from the shadow regions.
Such deep breathing, such calm as never before, so reassuring finally touching down on the real earth.
I have left a persona behind, shed my skin of the karma, paid my dues, all is new and yet this ancient being is also here, the authentic, soul rebel.
The climate has changed for me, the inner vibe has completely changed, some would shrug it off as 'reaching adulthood' or 'maturing' but this is something far more profound.
The control systems no longer have any hold on me, that norm no longer constricting, in the world but not of the world, this has new meaning to me.
So cometh forth the ancient flow of healing and I the silent vessel.

Lament singing: An ancient tradition that helps people cope with trauma in the modern world

In Finland, lament singing is experiencing a revival, one sad song at a time.

Lament singing: An ancient tradition that helps people cope with trauma in the modern world -- Science of the Spirit -- 

To the people of Karelia,

souls and spirits born in beauty:

Through the windows were your green fields,

in the blue skies larks were singing,

saints and icons stood in silence,

watching over wooden log homes.

Kanteles echoed in the dark rooms,

and the stars blinked in the night sky,

but your thoughts were wrapped in darkness:

iron hail rained on your rooftops