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I am a mystic madman, a wandering wildman, scholar of esoterica, dilettante sadhu, dready-headed hippie (only have a few jata on the back of my head right now, though more be forming of this third set of knotted hair), gentle yogi, fierce foe of falsity. I was a preacher, but I renounced that. I was married, but she renounced me. I was a grad student at one of the top universities in the world on my way to becoming a professor, but I realized they taught lies there too. I am protector of souls, lover of mountains, smoker of herb, fond of hot springs, oceans and lakes and rivers and rain and sunshine, devotee of Devi.

Hindu Gods and Goddesses

Monday, February 28, 2011

Life As a Big Crazy Dot-to-Dot Yantra

Seems as I journey round, zigzagging and going high and low, visiting municipalities and communities of this land, place takes significances and signification that surpass expectations of what means connections of names and memes and geographical geometries. In faces and mostly fond memories of people from places across the countryside and cityscape, I see means of Divine Mind revealing patterns of eternity, mostly playful revelations of how indeed we are al and each important parts to a puzzle intricate and sublime. Wordplays and cues proffer clues as to just what might mean this relationship or that, archetypally, geometrically writ and emplotted in geography both natural and of human artifice, synchronistically woven into rich tapestries making sense at scale both grand and diminutive.

As I ponder people and places where I chanced be blessed to make their respective acquaintance, seems emergent patterns of beauty have sometimes a dark-side reflection, too, is want to be acknowledged. Not necessarily something intrinsically evil nor need be a vision of malevolence. Rather better the tension of feigned opposition, like blows, scratches and pinching partner's flesh proscribed by kama sutra texts. More a veiled love dressed in ghoulish rags, dear friends feigning foe, more a negative space exploration than battle with demons.

Both in beauty and terrible form these plays play on, people portraying persons archetypal and eternal, showing thus at moments their own person true as is behind veils of convention and consensual pretense and so called consensus reality, past the self-imposed amnesia as to who and what we are, most true, gods and goddesses at play, and on a stage well set across the span of land and sea and sky, a quite epic story portrayed and to be read by those with open eye . . . something we all see, bye-and-bye, when the curtain call is made (long, long time from now, I ought to note).


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