Beginning Of My Book

 
Some days , when she looked in the mirror , she did not recognize herself.

Or maybe , the mirror did not recognize her , as she was , heretofor , a
child between worlds , by nature itself , no man , yet no woman made
construct , instrument , nor design.

She was her is , and now , yet been , beyond a where , and yet a when.

Existence is perception.

The only answer that makes sense.

Then I exist.

I percieve , therefore I am...

I am awake...

I am asleep...

Yet , I am the dreaming , and the dream.

The mirror is mine.

I am the mirror , the being , the image.

I am dreamed awake...

I exist...

She wiped her eyes of sleep , yet dream pervaded her , like an astralhangover
of epic proportion , bifurcating in creation , and fractaling like crazy.

She came into body.

All is forgotten , overlaid and superpositioned over , all is known , and
experienced , and been there done that...here to do it again...

A good morning glance in the mirror of self , recognizance , reality , and
all it seems , individual , yet unity at a core , among the many , in the one...

Mirrors shatter...pools of perception...

She was awake , aware , and assimilating , before she knew it with her mind...

She touched the world wide web of weyyrd , and all was good...

Now good is relative , yet for these purposes , as they appear in the moment ,
good is most conducive , and interrelated to a most auspicious , and fated ,
event in the space time continuum , namely , her waking not in a fog of what
could be called be wilderment and folly , yet a cappuccino driven consciousness
vehicle , capable of manslaughter , if any got in her way...

Chocolate fueled , with cocoa nibs , and fillings of dark satin , she allowed
the weavings of dream into her reality , solidity as the gravity of mind , born
and brought forth , her own child...and her own mirror...

And all was good...

And that was just the way it was...

Wherewithall , not to leave out anyone , nor to wither any new growth , yet to
speak of all sacred , water , fire , and twilight , air and earth , depth and
height , ceremonial and naked , not left path nor right , all shall be all is done...

One glance in the mirror...she knew...

She brushed her hair...and smiled at the cosmic joke she was...

Morning broke , pockets of darkness turned inside out to show the blank slate of a
new day , the bankruptcy of the past , and the golden promise of possibility ,
an optical assault upon her nocturnally tuned senses...

All was not good...

Good is relative...a law of return and it's reciprocate , intertwined and interrelated ,
structure built against anarchy of the mind , rebellion not rational...yet not intuitive...

The third party of the mind , is the arbitrater , and refuses to sit in judgement , on the
hot seat of Chapel Perilous , one more time...

It still needs coffee...

And low light , she swore , under her breath...



Trees break light...or leaves , or their arrangement , or just because...

She was grateful...nevertheless , any light was painful , after the night before...

Bachunalian bodaciousness , remembered through the eyes of wild women , swept up
in a night of Pan...

Pan , Pan , Io Pan...

hi yo silver...moon away...

She remembered time before , yet time again , after time forgot.

For time is only in between...

and a second is eternity...

The cappuccino foam divined her day , bubbling like a cauldron , with a brew potent
as an underlying bass note , beneath the surface , rising to the occasion , announcing
a cerebral celebration as her neural tree lit up with caffeine and cocoa , little fires burning
with electrons dancing , as she took another gulp...not a sip , as she seized the day
by the throat , demanding the answer before the question was ever asked :

"What is the answer to your universe ?

"I exist"

And that was enough for her...

On the move , billions of cells stimulated , cause and effect , as the synchronicity of
the universe , and single verse , she was internally chanting , took effect , and she
was in the flow , electric , yet magnetic in her sensual nature , for is not nature yet
magnetic at it's core ?

Or is the current of rational thought too much to embrace the id as the idea that
nature could be considered some thought form which could be possessive ?

Ahh , if this is the case , then all is a lost world for those bound by provability , and fact...

For imagination , and fantasy , are behind the dark matter of the galaxies...

And empower each one's real...

Coming into body was process orientation 101...

Nothing...myself...nothing...myself...

The binary , as the algorithmic sequencing counted down the standard neural charge
as seen to be needed to jolt her into what she called awareness...

She took a step into her reality...

A stream of consciousness , or a scream of consciousness , which shall it be ?

If stream , by qabalah , stream equals 113 , consciousness 355 , and 355 divided
by 113 = 3.14159 , so a stream of consciousness is an irrational number , which
goes on and on , like a human mind in slipstream , shapeshifting in it's psyche ,
it's colors of mood , its layers of perception...

I percieve , therefore I am again , she thought...

All is what I see , and more...always more...sensual is a story in itself , written
in more than five , and experienced in orgasmic realization when embraced ,
like some lost lover returned , though never parted...

Yet if a scream , is it a scream like a Munch on a bridge to forever ?

And if a silent scream , a howl unspoken , words unwhispered , then is there
anyone to hear it , and pass it down the line ?

She often wanted to scream...just to scream , primal , and forbidden...

If anything , it was rage at the universe , just for demanding her presence...

How dare it...she was perfectly comfortable where she was...between worlds...

I am Alpha Omega...Beginning and End...

Sucks I still need sleep and food...

All is sacred , nothing is sacred...my mantra , and my life , she thought...

Reality beckons...come within the funhouse...a hall of mirrors , mirrors
and playing cards , connect the dots , number and letter , pattern and soul...

The oversoul speaks in symbol , and my thoughts are neural sigils...

Neuromancer lives , a human bio-computer...

I be bad...

Yet bad can be good , just bitter medicine , and excess can be temporal
ecstasy , for as long as one can stand it...

All the eloquence of the dichotomous subprogram of the whole , sometimes
hidden , yet watching for any knee jerk over reaction to a situation , as is
all too often the case...

All watches...all sees...the perceived and the perceiver...

A feedback loop , a mobius strip of conscious , yet subconscious ,
as the other side...in and out , on a one side plane...

Yet cyclical , like a moon , in it's code...seen in one side , geophysical
perspective creating shadow and it's balance...

Tao now , yesterday and tomorrow...

My ebb and my flow , and all my tides , I am , and my water is holy ,
holding my pattern , and a body of light...

I am where my immovable meets my unstoppable , and my impetus is
neither a here nor there , yet a given constant , for my story is not yet
ended , nor even written , less indeed , not in stone...

So she thought , looking over the water...

She and the ocean , were one...once...and yet again...

She needed to separate to know herself...self referral , infinite recursion ,
a plumber in the depths of her subconscious...

She should be earning overtime in the karma bank of the universe...

Just for trying , dammit...

Shit , I should just write a book...

In the beginning was the word , and proceeded from there a sentence , and ,
by and by a paragraph , if it is not blocked by it's writer...

So she heard it said...

The cappuccino was gone...

The foam left in the bottom of her cup , firmed by exposure , spelled a message
in cryptic scriptology...

She was warned...life was ahead...

Reality is a signpost for the coming dream...

Life is the equation , between the Dream , the Waking , and the Manifestation...

Some say illusion , we say enchantment...just the Way...

The Way is a candle , burning at both ends...

And the Tao can wait till tomorrow , cause the yesterday is already past...

She saw...dream , enchantment , manifestation , all that I am , I shall be...

Some worship the frozen moment they call history , the mystery in that
which chains you , and that which sets you free...

She was done with handcuffs , in whatever form...

They served her purpose , and taught her of power over...

Yet power over becomes power lost...

And history once , becomes mystery again...

Yet , she was open to light shed upon matter , and dreaming the dream...

Shadowside , become illumined...the reset of my dawn...


Running code , like a programmer of her universe , in phase , cerebral
hypertext her prayer , she danced her invocation , and grounded her current...

She was the motherboard , and this was her matrix...

Her movements cut the air in arc , and thrust , rhythm , and measure...

Swirl , and line , interfaced in fluidity and pressure , chaos and control...

She , and the flow , were one...

All was good again...

She was an endless barely woman on an naked beach...

A sex slave in the corner of a dungeon ,

A temple whore , streetwise , yet mystery savvy , she was who she was ,
and fuck those who thought otherwise...

And all was good...again...

And her inspiration brought forth manifestation's child ,
like some birthing mother and young girl wild...

Her daughter was at school...

Supposedly...

She heard that somewhere , from her daughter or the system ,
or non system as far as order , yet chaos reigned , like a maelstrom
unleashed , in any system self declared , self regulated , and self ruled...

Her daughter was in school , she was free...

Provisional authority was temporal at best...

The best dictators live long lives , she thought...

And temporal flow defines politics , time becomes the essence...

She waited for no one...

And she did not vote , nor play their game...she never did...

She just tilt a whirled , and merry go rounded , with the best of them...

And in the space between ride , rider , and observer , she found her
bliss , and her passion for endorphin addiction , sustained by her
wild woman , beyond age of virgin or crone , a creatrix of her destiny ,
dominatrix of her throne...

By goddess , she was worth it...

She was the all , many and one , she was her own queen of forever...

Though her daughter called her a bitch...no...perspective is the bitch...

Who are you ?

By you , me , or the crowd of the masses , shall your appearance and
mask , be built ?

Shall surface rule the depths , or verse the viza ?

Are you measurable , and what rule ?

What the education , brainwashing in what school ?

Steal your mind , and then hypnotize yah...

Are you now any wiser ?

The strangest thoughts came to her , like she was her
own statue of liberty , and they were the disenfranchised
and lost , bereft of a mind to house them , a refuge from
the neural storm of changing consciousness , she was
their savior , and she was their slave...

Freedom wears the cuffs of responsibility...

Anarchy wears the chains of a new order...

She claimed her independence from the whole , when she
chose , by divorcing herself , as the thrall of her reality...

Yet she always came back...at least , so far...as she remembered...

Prisons of mind breed invention unfettered...

So she believed...

And , belief is most important as the engagement tween real and unreal ,
so as it is called , by those invoking perception as their deity of the moment...

Engage thy heart , thy bliss shall follow thy blazing trail...

Thy center is thy stillness , while chaos dance surrounds...

And this chaos dance is thine ordered form , rational seeks prevail ,

Yet , chaos and order , still do a round and round...

Or so it seems , she thought...so it appears...

Appearances are deceiving , yet I seem to be...Am I ?

For if I am not , then for what is the purpose ?

A thousand pardons begged for the question , yet it is so much a
question of this , the moment...

For if I am not , then why the question , why the thought ?

Is there a thought , question , or thinker ?

An inquisitor ?

An asker at the gate of the answer ?

( The Password Is : "I Exist" )

And that was good enough for her...

Life was a presence , and she was a gift ,
in the present and the moment , none other
than herself , while she lasted...

So far , so good...

As she went down the road , she saw the above
and the below , and the wheel of the eternal...

And the song remains the same yet always changes...

Every shamenness has her song...

She had hers...

She knew her tone...and it was good...


In all eternal , there is division...

And trinities , and beyond , and
all one can dream , and yet envision ,
draw one together ,and create one a bond...

Each moment was a rite of passage , like some initiation
game of spiret into flesh and no one knew who did not
know the game...

Faery Rules...I plead the fifth...

I shall not incriminate myself , by word , deed , nor thought ,
as a crime unto myself , nor my progeny , by taking myself
in vain , for I shall render unto myself as needed , and thus
willed , as deemed so by my self , as self is self referred...

And I am self inferred...

Differencio !

Invented or existing , mattered little , when in the word , thus
spoken , or written , ( or intoned , by those inclined ) , was hidden
except to an initiate or stumblebum on the path of Liber Atu...

And language is a shamen's song...

And I sing the dawn to wake , and the twilight to sleep...

Before cappuccino , after a day...when I can , and when I will...

Still , it is my intent...by Will 'O The Wisp , or Power 'O Will ,
one's potential becomes fulfilled , one's change , is yet constraint ,
when thine aye becomes thine ain't , when who you are , becomes
shall be , then there is the mystery...

And fill it out in triplicate was the mantra...

As easy as one two three...

In a four five beat...

And she was her own song , disharmonic , harmonic , a beat
beyond of both...she broke the mold by her being...

Her own reality was her equation...

And her music of her spheres...