The Unending

  

   We are eternal...

   Without beginning, without end.

   Or the beginning happened

  so long ago, so far away

   That it can just as well be forever.

   Everything once born must die.

   This is one truth.

   One truth among billions.

   There is no truth.

   Or time is meaningless

   Like everything is

   And we created ourselves out of nothing

   To be the Universe, to be Reality.

   By our own will, our own force

   And no one but us

   Can end it

   Not time, not entropy

   Because they

   Like everything

   Are just labels

   To be discarded at will.

  

  

  

  

  

  

WINGS

Memory of
Of ancient time
(again)
Reincarnation dreams
Or are they
Access to the source
they are definitely
Flying over open sea
Wave over wave over wave
cold Cold Cold
Heat over the sea
Something is rising
from the molten sea
Iím I am I AM
I have ten heads
A million mouths
drifting
not drifting
Not drifting
I AM
Flying
And it is WHAT I HAVE ALWAYS DONE

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

FLIGHT OF THE RAVEN

   There is a smell of burning, of smoke. That's the first you're noticing. The fire was first. We were born in the fire. And we are its Shadow.

   You see a foreign place on television, a place you have never visited, feeling a catching in your throat, of longing and pain. You have never been to that place, but you know it still.
   You experience a foreign smell. You're sitting in your own kitchen and know this scent doesn't belong here. It is coming from you. It isn't physically there, but has arisen from a prodding of your memory.
   To many that's how it begins, one of many ways it might begin. And for most present day, narrow-minded people that's how it ends. Life is filled with reincarnation dreams, but we learn to discard them as insignificant from an early age, by parents, and by a society discarding everything deep, everything truly valuable, discarding Life.

   I do believe in reincarnation (not including karma). It has always made sense to me. But I'm not sure, even if I've got plenty of memories of earlier lives, I can't rule out the possibility that they are projections. Because non-existence is indeed a frightening concept.

   But I do feel that my memories are just that. Just like I remember my grandmother dying as a child, I remember my own previous lives far back in ancient times. Memories of ancient experiences. Not visions, not fantasies, not dreams. Memories.

   I don't believe in karma and I have never experienced anything even implying a plan. Our past lives will certainly affect how we live the next ones, but merely so because we're growing (or not), just like in one single life. There's no Cosmic Force making us go there or there, no matter how "bad" or "good" we have been. I guess we can to a certain point influence our unending existence, but no more (or less) than we can one single life. It's all a chain of coincidences, great and random, nothing awaiting us by the end of the line. There is no end. There's no nirvana, no heaven, only an unending existence of life, death and rebirth. We are The Phoenix. We are The Unending.

  

THE ETERNAL REBEL

   I have lived many lives. I will live many more. I experienced the fall of the first forest, the building of the first city. I have been burned as a witch several times. The stench of burned flesh is still in my nose. I killed a bishop once. He had burned my beloved witch companion the day before. Then, trembling in fear he had set up the best security possible. But I sneaked past it all. I entered the hallow hall of early Christianity and attacked him with a Rage born of grief, sustained by hatred. I stabbed him with my sword. I stabbed him many times. He died screaming while I kept him on his feet with my sword in his gut, as I twisted the blade round and round. I saw his men rush to his defense, far too late. I felt their lances penetrate my body, their swords hack away at my light body armor. I died there on the lush carpets. I didn't yield, not a second. I stood my ground, never taking my eyes off the fat object of my hatred. Only when I saw what little light there had been in his eyes flicker and fade, I let go. He died in horror and pain, horror and pain at least to a certain degree approaching that of his endless victims. My hope is that he remembered that one for a long time. I hope he still do and ever will.
   I died and was reborn. Again.

   I have existed for a very long time, perhaps forever. I don't think I have lived before the emergence of humans, but I don't know. Memory is unclear, inevitably. We don't remember clearly what happened to us last week and far less what happened during our early childhood. We use a series of reinforcements, what I call "memory relays" to consciously remember the past. We use mementos, a subject, a photograph, a fondness of a certain event, to keep it close to us longer. Bad memories are easier held, even though we may not want to. I, myself don't distinguish between "good" and "bad" memories. They're all a necessary part of me, just like love and hatred, rage and contemplation, lust and passion.
   That might be another reason why most people don't remember from life to life. They rely heavily on the selective memory thing, discarding bad experiences and what they see as bad things about themselves. I don't do that. I see it all as essential parts of being Human.

   I was a part of the pre-civilization nomadic tribes, opposing the growing, emerging corruption of agriculture and the cities.
   Civilization: "City state", "city dweller" or simply "living in cities".
   I've always reacted instinctively and healthy to the growing injustice, to the horror of it all. My rage and distaste has kept growing, by the growing of the cancer, by the scar tissue of civilization, by the increasing destruction of Life on the planet.

  

  

Circle fo the Raven
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