Reset Password
Reset Link Sent
| Blogs > Ultraviolet_Sol > Ultraviolet_Silence |
Divinity In Darkness
|
Divinity In Darkness Mephistopheles Salinas Gets Laid (Part two)  *. *. * |
|||
|
The branches of a tree took on the shape of a gnarled hand, twisting out of the Earth, reaching out into darkness, creating the fortified structure of an enriched shadow, in which I stood... Watching. Taking the pulse of my surroundings. I breathed in the equanimity of a peace that is evolved from confrontations with nightmarish figures in the labyrinths of the underworld of the self, finding a line in the fabric of the night, moving with single minded purpose. My foot made contact with the wall, propelling my upward grasp to pull me up in one fluid movement, as I hurled my legs over and allowed myself to fall. Without circumspection. How glorious the fall can feel. Did you care when you fell? Not a single bit, I said, in a state of forever in a moment, a moment in forever. Is there any difference between the space we encompass in such moments and any other space. Oh. The possibilities. My legs mechanically enacted a perfect landing on the soft ground. There was something organic strewn about over the grass, muffling any evidence of my presence. Despite this serendipitous fortune, there was an ambient surveillance present. I stood in silence. Watching. An edifice of darkness and silence greeted me, seeming to say: I have been expecting you. Something profoundly elemental and phenomenal comprised this edifice. I closed my eyes, and I saw nomad waves breaking in the most primal of solitary midnights. The sound and the vibration infused into the spiral of my heart. A breath and a blink of an eye... ... As I began to navigate the rows of trees, standing before me, the composition of darkness deepened, beginning to generate undulating movements in the absence of contrast, like the hallucinations of realities of a god that is not dead but dreaming, producing an ensuing purity that is pristine as the vanquishing of both apex and nadir, simultaneously. My footsteps were reminiscent of a hunter of land mines in far away jungles. If such a hunter walked with eyes closed and relied on an unprecedented construct of love and trust, the world painted the color of the consciousness of eels. *. *. * The forest was an organism, and I became part of that organism, despite being a foreign body: a breath of life perhaps, or a magical smoke that induced visions. As this thought arose out of the surface of my mind, the forest opened to a vision of a vibrational transfer. I could feel... Water. I did not know there was water here. A secret cove? Have you ever been enthralled by someone of such magnetic beauty that you travelled to them, like an astral body in a dream, floating into the sky to fly, to soar? This is how I approached the secret cove. Suddenly, a sensory mechanism, previously unknown, seemed to awaken to a strange frequency of whispers. I fell to my knees. Before me was a small divot, filled with the waters of the secret cove. I felt directed to place my hands in the water, which was, perceptually, the equivalent of falling without circumspection. Only this time, I felt the unknown unfurl like nocturnal flowers unveiled in the spaces of notes, played on cosmic pianos, to embrace me. I then felt directed to saturate my face with these strange waters. Which I did. Behind my eye lids flitted shifting images of unseen lands and strange visages of the outline of a being, like transitory glimpses of the shuffling Tarot cards of an alien species. A third directive... I reached down into the waters. Another sensation of falling. only this time the falling became flying. An inversion of the previously accepted construct of reality... Like stepping through the looking glass. My hand made contact with something in the depths. As I extracted my hand from the waters, there was a stone in my open palm, reaching out into the darkness, creating a fortified structure of enriched shadow. *. *. * I could not determine if I was following the edge of the cove or the edge of the cove was following me. Nevertheless, I merged through the darkness, a darkness in a state of becoming, or was it I, that was in a state of becoming? Was it the darkness that merged through me? I became transfixed on this... Enigmatic conundrum that was in a state of revealing and expansion, like the brith of a lucid dream in the heart of an ink blot, at the center of a sensory deprivation chamber. Suddenly, I saw what appeared to be a light, in the depths of my mind's eye, which was perceived first as a sound, a ghost train in a Siberian wilderness, emerging from the depths, a phantasmagoria in oceanic depths. As my eyes adjusted, I altered my course, in pursuit of the light. The closer I got I identified the source of the light: a light, implanted in the ground, in the center of a circle of five baby goat statures. The light seemed to infuse into the atomic structure of the night: illuminating. This transference of illumination crept into the shadows, in a chain of echoes, revealing a structure: the house. I approached in the posture of a special forces operative, my breathing having come to a halt. The back of the house, gleaming black, comprised what appeared to be four stories of privacy window, built into an incline, jutted into the liquidity of open space, the stern of a ghost ship, floating, inter-dimensional, captivating my imagination, harvesting questions as to the nature of perception, as the house flashed for a moment, giving the appearance of a yawning abyss, drawing me in, like frequencies of batwings in the irises of falling angels, falling, not floating or flying, falling, set free like omens of setting suns, set in states of becoming, illuminated... ... In the blink of an eye, this strange vision transitioned back to the privacy windows, as the residual remnants remained, proclaiming themselves in the shapes of miniature collapsed stars, enfolding into themselves, self aware dreams. I then returned to darkness. And in this darkness, I heard the Siberian train, in the depths of wilderness, seemingly reflected in the dark glass. And then there was a light. Another light, that I sensed before I perceived, behind me, off to the side. I could not be shore if the light had been on, or just switched on, a light of the same type and kind as the light, in the center of five baby goats. As I walked to this other light, I came upon something in the darkness. I reached forth, through unseen sonic waves, emitted from the aberration, reminiscent of reaching down into the waters of the cove, in a state of free fall. My hand made contact with a surface, a stone surface, then another stone surface. There was a well. A wishing well? A glowing pentagram? As though running my fingers over stone tablets that contained ancient hieroglyphic spells I examined the architecture of the well, perhaps five feet in diameter. I located the top of the well approximately three feet in height. Then when I reached the top of the well, the end of the hieroglyphs, my hand made contact with a different surface, one colder, and of enormous proportions. There was something, very large, covering the well, something of such enormity that it would take a crane to remove. *. *. * The light in the distance, in the direction of the forest, beckoned me, and I reached forth, as though traveling through a tunnel with a light at the end. Like the previous, this one illuminated the statue of a goat, this one an adult male, with large horns and a phallus that touched the Earth. The goat was positioned at the front of a building, painted in white, seeming to be from a different age, or zeitgeist of architecture. There was a sort of concrete awning, that you see in luxuriant mansions, where the rich would drive under, enter the building, and a valet would take the car and park it. I positioned myself to observe what details I could, with the limited light. On the front of the building was a symbol, seemingly carved into the surface: it appeared to be strange variant of a cruciform. My eyes moved upward. On top of the building was what appeared to be a steeple. A steeple with a mangled covering over a window. *. *. * I stood over the railing of the gazebo, built upon primitive waters, holding the stone from the secret cove, processing the events of the night, the wave machine functioned in symphonic abundance, as waves jutted over the surface of their own, solitary contemplations, having the sounds or shapes of bat wings, breaking forth. A mechanism, similar to the waves, pulsated in the profundity of my inmost self. In the depths of this mechanism, vibrating in the color or India ink, a spiral made of question marks began to formulate, questions that I did not even know if I was capable of asking. As I looked out into the black I felt I was making contact with eternal things. I stood, watching. Transfixed. Time and space vibrated like nothingness. And then I saw the sound of a train in the distance; the sight became sound; the sound became the sight: illumination. All in my mind. The light first appeared in the depths of my perception, and then in the depths, upon which I stood. The depths of the waters. An orb of blue light began to come into focus. The orb reached the surface, and, as though giving me a moment to process what I was seeing, began to move toward me... I had a flash back to a memory from a distant past, where I saw a strange light in the sky, that seemed to move the same. The orb moved toward me... Slowly. Methodically. The bat wing waves became a reflection of the focal point of my consciousness. As I became a watcher in a state of High Strangeness. High Strangeness in a state of watcher becoming. *. *. *
| ||
|
Thank you Joy. That is very kind. Something I find strange... The thing you write or create is only the thing of that particular moment in time. If you would have generated the idea at any other time it would have taken a different form, and yet, something that you create is like any other life form, having an entire life line and destiny. They say a book has it's readers before it is written. That is wild. Like this story. I was not certain where it was going when I started writing it. I saw multiple directions. But then, I encountered certain signs, I might say, that showed me the way. Signs at the right time, in this small window, within in which I have chosen to craft the story. It really is wild. I will say that the amazing, beautiful, intelligent, wise, strong women on this site have inspired me. And I diggg that tremendously. *. *. *
|
Become a member to create a blog
