The dream world enters the waking world,
Merging together and unable to separate.
Vibrations are altered.
Sound is sculpted.
The unfolded map of the gods giving directions,
Kachinas laughing and making bets.
The desert is lit up with faces of towering red rocks,
Toxins and imagination,
Growing into clouds and duplications.
The eyes of giants are weighing down the sky.
Mirages fill the road.
A skin of illusion covers the morning,
The afternoon. Another day.
Time is no longer synchronized with itself.
Light breaking into jagged, dancing auras,
Directions and the darkness of reality.
I have read: “Datura is often one constitutent of the Amazonian drink ayahuasca, and in coastal Peru it is sometimes added to the mescaline drink cimora made from the cactus Trichocereus Pachanoi. The Jivaros of the Amazon use datura as well as the harmaline drink natema; they regard datura as stronger, more dangerous, and more suitable as a preparation for war. It is taken for spirit voyages to encounter the supernatural, but is not used in healing because the effects are so uncontrollable that the shaman cannot retain his ties to this world while journeying in the other one.”
“Known to cause dark visions and erratic behavior. Used for puberty rites and to make contact with the spirits which inhabit other worlds.”
The Navajo Indians take it to “talk with the Gods”.
I took it once, not knowing any better at the time, and it changed my life.
I wonder. I wonder what is in the ocean, what is under it, and why? Where did it come from? Where is it going? The theory of Panspermia has never gone away and what do we really know? Infinitesimal within an endless universe, changing every moment.
What eggs lie in wait today? What hatchlings will tomorrow emerge? Will they be influenced by our dreams and desires? Will they be attuned to our fears? Will they be aware? Will they even care?
An abstract is a self-contained, short, and powerful statement which describes something larger. It is a departure from reality.
An abstract exists in thought or as an idea but has no physical or concrete existence. Thus we are in the realm of the imagination.
Here we reduce to the essentials and portray the essence. The representation, not of a thing but, of a though about a thing, the feeling of a thing.
Not a flower but, the idea of a flower, of every flower, of all flowers.
A flower at the mercy of the wind, immersed in the turbulence of the world, struggling for its own existence and continuation.
The cave beyond the horizon wherein the Blue Dragon, mistress of seas and skies, mother of mists and foam, mother of clouds and rain, sleeps and dreams.