Returning to the Fourth Lesson

The cardinal cross and an experiment in emotional consciousness expansion testing brought about the word made manifest which is to say we latterly communicated the question of internalized direction on a summer morning. The sweep of love as the wind comes in to wander dawn rising like a flock of cranes softly on the town shivering as the yellow blue awakening concentrated. In and out open windows, windrows of pondos..

The Captain laughs. “Say girl, you are one of the greatest gifts I’ve yet received. Keep it coming.”

Did he really say that? “Life is beautiful.” Within a week, within moments of each other, they both say that. It was written on the wind to set me free. That fire inside is easier to leave than face another night in the southern sun. But Captain, the First Mate is learning how to work my magic. And we are doing it, successfully. I see a kitten, a winter morning overlooking Soda Creek Ridge with fresh baked muffins, the colored sand zen garden. Every time I do it, I do it for my hood and every time I do it, I do it for your hood. His telepathy awakens the dragon, currently copper hued and singing the foundation frequency. He shakes the aquarium and I fall further into our entwining serpents. Captain, will you bring back my lost sister?

Here come the aliens, like the conquistadors… to burn the codices and reveal the priests. Is there nothing new?

Oh yes, Captain, I forgot baby, you do try.

But the blade dance requires innovation within existing structures as well as old routines set into new patterns….

Captain, I swear, you cannot let go completely. I enjoy your company so! And it’s no secret, you mine.

Precisely how we are winning the battle right now. hahahahahaha! Techniques exist to achieve a complete freedom from past conditioning and immunity against such conditioning in the future.

It is necessary to travel.

You must learn to live alone in silence.

They are trying to create a universe in which they have lived or where they would like to live. To write it, they must go there and submit to conditions they may not have bargained for. Are you telling me! So you see, this is why some paint me as the enemy. I am just trying to recreate home. And this is precisely what I am here doing. Of course, NOW is more important than where I came from or where I am going and what I am creating or recreating because the magic of it is in the process. I still exist in time and space and so the destination is in the journey. It is necessary to travel.

By writing a universe, the writer makes such a universe possible. What do I really want? What have I always wanted? To go home! I want to be in Neira. And I want to create Neira right here, in northern California. And this goal Captain, does not preclude your participation, not you or anyone else. It is not a set delineated goal, but a dream, a process, a place, a way of life, a way of being. You pulling the real one into yours? Let the right one in. Will you come then, after the shakedown? Will you bring her with you so I can raise another son?

I mean, you can tolerate all our bad writing, can’t you, because that’s how we get to the good stuff. Pass it on, won’t you?

Writers are very powerful indeed. They write the script for the reality film. Kerouac opened a million coffee bars and sold a million pairs of Levis. What will you do? If we writers could get into a real tight union, we’d have the world be the words. We could write our own universes and they would all be as real as a coffee bar as a pot farm as a pair of Levis or faded kakhis or flannel-lined Carhart thongs or Saurian spaceships over Mt. Shasta and Milwaukee as real as sustainable farms and compost piles and clothes drying lined up in the sunshine. Swing it low, low, low. The foundation is thrumming, alive in me. You’re all I notice in a crowded room. I try hard not to look up. I said, “It’s funny that you understood.” Angel of my dreams, you were very good.

Life could be a dream, sweetheart. Hello, hello again.

Say, can I have some of your purple berries? I’ve been eating them for six or seven weeks now. Haven’t got sick once. Probably keep us both alive. I can see from your coat you’re from the other side. If you smile at me, I will understand, because that’s something everybody everywhere says in the same language.

Burroughs said that the concept of a country must be eliminated. We are a star nation, a global planetary entity now. We create our own tribes. I gather crew for the ship.

My people, really came forth from the trees. Without the forest, we are nothing. .

You can’t write unless you want to write and you can’t write unless you feel like it. Writing you didn’t feel like doing ain’t worth shit. Artists do however have a degree of freedom. A writer has little power, I mean, being unable to eat his universe, which I was I thought to centralize it’s creation around abundance, as food and water and love are wonderful things to be blessed with, but he does have freedom. Isn’t freedom the real power? I mean that tops the hierarchy of values. FREEDOM. .

Control needs time in which to exercise control. Time’s up! Because control also needs opposition or acquiescence; otherwise it ceases to be control.  Time is that which ends, and control needs time. hahaha ENDGAME! haha Funny how that works luv, in’it? Time is disintegrating. Wild-eyed, you were…

When there is no more opposition, YOU ARE THE PEACE. Control becomes a meaningless proposition. Life is will. Love is motion. Desire the key. I’ll be the rhythm, you’ll be the beat.

Never thought magic would get so easy. Empty woods, endless tunes. You see me and I see you. I am here for you. Let’s make some.

It would be better, best with you both here. Good that time has ceased it’s linearity or the desire built up while waiting might cause me to seek distraction from the impossibility of controlling time. Reclaiming autonomy means reclaiming time. That’s the magic.

I remember the time when you made me want to be better than I was so that I would be worthy of you. I miss that feeling. What happened? Ever waiting, ever longing, ever hungry – always driven by divine propulsion.

It’s in the wind.

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