Spirit Talketh Througheth

I'm psychologizing and socializing so I can analyse your kind. I need to know what each of you know - or think you know.
And I want you to understand that at this precise moment something speaks through me.

Watch as the world goes round
Watch as we all turn North,
Hear as the wind blows East,
And on this night we feast.
I'm in a world of wonder.
But in this night I plunder
The village in which I bore
A planet gone to shore,
I find I know too much
But somehow I must touch
Every planet on this Earth,
Tonight's the night of birth,
And somehow you will know
That the river in you flows
And the skin on your roses burns cold
And tonight your souls are told
In the Earth your hearts are held.
Please help us break this veil
Between this world and the trail
Into a freedom we will be
That runs its fins into the sea.
Just understand
This is only through my hand,
I speak through -
To all of you.

You Have to Burn Before You Learn

You have to crash into the bottom Before You know how good the top feels like. As soon as you become complacent with your current situation - no moving forward, backward, side to side.

Stagnant.

Something will slam you -  crash bang against the lowest form if living. You will suffer great loss - whether emotional, material, physical... You will see no light. Only dark. For a while you will be surrounded by the blackest vision.

When the dust settles and you start to see shapes take place. Opportunities start growing like mushrooms - overnight - suddenly big and succulent, bouncing with flavour. This happens so fast that you look back and find yourself an idiot for giving in to the sweet temptations of depression and self-loathing.
There is an addictive strain there.
If you hit the right nerve, you might get sucked into a whirlpool of despair with a pinch of anger slathered thickly in hatred.

Hatred is as powerful as love.
They are polar opposites.
This happens when you lose hope.

That white light that follows you around in the form of a butterfly flittering about your mind searching for solutions to your problems.

You need to focus on that butterfly.
You need to open your mind to possibility.
Trust your instincts and breathe.
Let it go.
Let it no longer serve you.
Clear your mind.
Focus on that butterfly.

Suddenly all you went through becomes so obviously reasonable.
It has given you an answer, a reason why you had to suffer. An awakening through the grief. You have learnt greatly about your personal journey. It has helped you more than you know.
Sometimes the pain is too great and you can't seem to shake the grief or the anger brewing inside you. You feel like life has let you down. The world is against you. "Why me?" runs like a stuck record over and over and over again. "Why me?"

You need to let go.
You need to allow yourself to get up.
You need to allow yourself to grow.
You need to let go.
Only you can save you,
Only you can pull yourself out of misery.
Only you can rise back  up and follow that butterfly.
You need to trust yourself and everything around you.
You need to stop trying to control your life.
Dive into that river and let it guide you.
Listen to the universe.
The universe gives you signs and gently nudges you in the right direction.

And if "Why me?" returns for a re-match, look at those around you and listen to their stories. You will find yourself changing tune and saying "Lucky I'm not them!"
Then you realize that everyone suffers. You are not the only one, so stop your selfish misery and start living. You are only on this planet once - as far as You can remember - unless you've had the fortune of experiencing your past lives - make the most of your life here on Earth.

We all need you.
You are connected to everyone
And everyone's connected to you.
Take responsibility for yourself.
Breathe.
Take time to breathe.
Reconnect with that silent inner you.
Reconnect with universal consciousness.
Reconnect - Breathe.
Reconnect with that butterfly,
It will show you the way.
Let go, breathe.
Let go, breathe,
And life will go your way.
Be patient.

Prelude

The Kleinzee Project - Season 1 Episode 1

Sunday's in Kleinzee are days that ghosts and forgotten skeletons come out to play. Our journey here was incredible.
4am on a Friday with a chill breeze and a black sky, we embarked on our epic travels to a far away dorp in the heart of our homeland South Africa.

We were meant to leave at 2. But there was goodbye coffee with the half asleep parents and Yoda escaping her voyage by hiding up the street until we gave up and left and she eventually blinked back to cuddle with my mom. She knew we wanted to take her, and it seems she knew what the next 10 hours of her life would be like. Clever cat!

It was actually quick, considering. We had good time, ahead of schedule, totally annihilating the long straights and gobsmacked at the awe and beauty of the sheer vastness of the nothing around us and the sunrise was a glimmer of salvation from the nights blackness swallowing us.

Then the colours splashed and the mountains and dry but still green valleys bounced into view. Winding roads up hills, between huge boulders, and I think we drove through a mountain at some point.
Then it went bright orange! Blue skies dotted with clouds and a burnt orange background with tufts of a blackish green.
And the gravel. Yes! The gravel! 60k's or so with orange dust flying around us, getting into our eyes and mouths and making our coke and cream soda erupt all over but I saved the day by the slow opening process.

Garages on Sundays

Twice yesterday in a little country village, I felt the curling depths of my pristine indignantry. So sombrely I stepped across a stone crossing infested with a team of bullfrogs. Marching to and fro and squealing with delight as the poor little flitzy flotzy flies came fluttering about in the wrong kinda neighbourhood. This gang, this demonic army of severely grotesque bullfrogs are in control of this feeble looking road crossing made with little stones on a burnt orange hue of gravel as opposed to white paint on tar.  My car had run out of petrol a little way up the road and I was trodding along, minding my own Facebook page, scrolling away, stalking a secret admirer on my Galaxy S20, when bam shawam! I am surrounded by an awkwardly stoner moment, unsure of the delicate veil between worlds and that ridiculous paranoia where you reckon you've sliced the world apart with your mind. You know that feeling I'm talking about. I looked around me, expression of pure drug-buying guilt. Check right, make sure no-one is looking, look left so right looks less obvious and I just realised that I was actually crossing the road. So natural road crossing behaviour as a matter of fact. But that inner feeling of guilt, like someone's gonna drive past and scream 'wierdo!' and hoot and push me out the middle of the road where I ought not to be in the first place. I'm like ok I better cross the road quickly and not get run over just because a bunch of simpleton looking bullfrogs are coming after my ankles and trying to get me off balance so I can topple over and get hit by a car with some whimp screaming 'wierdo!' at me and reverse just to hear the squelch to make sure I've cross my heavenly road.

To be continued.....

Checkpoint

Stop here. Take a breather. Feel my ghostly breath tickling your earlobes. I've been a ghost once. Once when I died. I died because my curiosity killed me. Like a cat. Pussy. I watched my blood being extracted from my arm. Thick, gooey, then those grey dots. "Daddy, I feel funny". Dead. Like my grandparents, all of them. Like my pets in the backyard under brush, under stone.... Dead. No bright light, no random jesus with a clipboard or the broad heavenly smile of his dad. Just pure nothingness. Like a sleep. With dreams. Like those break-time school days with the boys in the toilets. Taking turns to pass each other out. Those dreams. Those are probably the dreams you have in the elevator to the gates of heaven. It must be a long ride up. Coz those dreams were pretty intense and always felt like ages. No cheesy elevator music. Just dreams. I'd call them more like explosive imagery scenes of information. It always felt like I'd learnt something after a pass-out break-time session.

I look up and see a teeny miniature human being baptized. How sad. The creature has no say in its own religious choice. That's pretty fucked up. Then the adult humans laugh and clap hands and cry. Oh, the mother admits the miniature has no idea about what's going on. But in defense claims the kid is having a good time. Parents sometimes know nothing about what's going on in their offspring minds.

Like my dad. He was calling the mortuary when  my ghost returned to my body. He cried and clapped his hands. How weird. Why do humans sometimes clap their hands and cry?

How silly!

Dancing in Cavelight

We are in this dark cave. It’s cold in here but there are tiny little lights and I see them moving across the rocky, earthy walls. Small branches from life beyond, come creeping in slowly. Little green leaves showing shards of hope. We venture further into the void of sheer blackness and come across a strangely glowing stream, sparkling and reflecting against the walls.
There must be a path somewhere here. We are in search to find the thing we have been commissioned to find. Funny thing,  the man that gave us this huge wad of cash thats now pulling down my trousers, neglected to mention that money can’t buy us freedom. So we have to figure it out ourselves. Here we are, trapped in this cave of glittering, pulsating, glistening darkness, we venture wearily ahead, and discover a beautiful glowing lady. She is bathing in a big inner mountain lake. We sit down for a while and ask her why she stays. She says ‘Why not? It’s so beautiful and bright in here. And oh so very peaceful.’

Burn Without Learning

Subconsciously I awaken my small voice from the innermost depths of my rhetorical soul. But don’t worry, i’m a big girl now. I can bark like a dog and piss like a bear. Don’t mess with my power-panda. She may be cuddly, but her claws are sharp and her breath is sewerage wastelands.

There was a story once, far, far away in the back streets of Atlantis. It started at the heart of every mortal and finished when the screams of war as the clouds burst with revenge. Revenge against the greed of the human mindset. These things we still have not learnt. Our mistakes are all in vain, we seem to enjoy the pattern of self destruction. To what end? Our own.

Death and Mindpower

11 jan 2014

So just the other day I noticed I was out of toilet paper. It was a nasty experience. It was one of those moments where desperation came to a new level of utmost importance. This keyboard is soft. My nails are too long. it’s another year of nothingness. What have you achieved in the past 27 years of your life?

Nothing. Congratulations!

 You qualify for another year on Earth! Make the most of it and enjoy – big smiles with golden capped teeth. Thanks, I  will try. So basically the secret to pegging is to do the shit you were put on this planet to do and then finally the man with the friendly face in the beam of white light will smile with his eyes (as apposed to that other jerk who smiled with his golden teeth), and he will take a gun and plant a bullet in your chest and another in your head for safekeeping  from zombification.
               Then you can finally eat all the candy you want, jump off any high elevation you feel like.... wait a minute... you won’t. you’ll be dead. Mwahahaha! But that’s ok, I’ll do it all for you. Because I am immortal Well.... that’s what I keep telling myself.

And you know what they say, you are what you think you are. You can be anything youset your mind to.

Nature Calls

So we think we're getting somewhere?

This is the next generation of fucked up. Flying in the sky of Vredenburg airways hanging out with the peeps of shackville. I’ve been without a purpose and without a realization to feel my own destiny. So instead of waiting, because waiting is just another word for procrastinating, i chose to take over the world one small insignificant word at a time. Comfortably taking residence in a car, sweating my balls off listening to Alanis Morrissette telling me about a man crashing in a plane the fist time he ever flew and it got me thinking. Stop waiting for the moon to ice over and chuckle silently at the shoulda coulda woulda’s in life and instead rejoice in the fuuuuck I’m actually doing this oh my hellshits!

I’m counting the seconds to total anihilation. I’m feeding the debris of my sweat moustache trickle tastefully onto my lips. Today. i’m gonna get it right. Today i’m gonna show the world what i’m actually here for. Not just to fuck around serving tables, growing callouses and pocketing bits of dollah that disappear faster than a bat being shot out the sky. i’m gonna make a difference. So i was thinking. Yes, occassionally this does actually occur...

i’m gonna write. Well durr.... that’s all i was made for – P.S. Thanks god – I am gonna blog my way onto stage. I already have an audience. People sit in my section not coz i’m good at selling them my favourite meals and drinks, but because i’m entertaining and when they’re with their mother in law who’s a pain in the ass and the last thing he wants to do is endure an entire meal with this woman-from-hell, at least they’ll be distracted from their distaste for each other due to my amazing presence.
i’m basically like jesus plus tits minus supernatural occurences.... yet. Soon i’ll be doing the supernatural stuff. Just you wait. Yes i’m allowed to tell you to wait, but i’m no longer allowed to wait for shit to fly by my closed eyes. So yes, i’m gonna show the world that any jack henry or casandra can make miracles happen. And no i’m not lesbatarian, don’t send me your used panties.   What you can do, in fact, is send me bucketloads of cash and truckloads of illegal substances so i can stand on the hilltop and throw money and drugs onto the streets below and watch how the insects scuttle for their prefered demise.
it’s interesting to watch humans as opposed to be a part of the human race. I greet customers at the door, ‘good day, members of the human race’. i’m not even joking. Ask anyone i’ve seated. They think i’m fucked up. I mean, they know.
Oh yes, so my plan. Fame by blogging. So you already know i hand out poems to any james, samantha and christelle who looks my way, and most of those shards of awesomeness have my blog written on neatly (wahahaha). So when these victims get off their lazy asses and connect to my brainstreaming, they’ll firstly need counselling, and then they’ll start reading.  And once they’ve read it all, they’ll need to be incarcerated for a short while till their brains have mended themselves. Stop eyeballing me, this shit is real. I knew a guy once...
fuck distraction. Ok, so i’m gonna write in my blog precisely what i want in a job.

It’ll be the kind of job where i wake up in the morning and exclaim ‘oh my god is this real?’ The kind of job where i hear that stupid bitch on the gps tell me ‘you have reached your destination’. And the people i work with are all like minded and full of healing and love and they love what they do and that love fills everyones soul with excitement for the next step in the ladder of existence. The kind of job where you know you are helping people reach their destination just by doing what you wanna do.  And i am writing my way into that job. The right person at the right time will randomly come for dinner with business associates – all amazingly beautiful people. I will serve them the way i serve everyone else, i’ll accost them with my poems and make them wonder about my sanity, and these people will embrace my insanity. They will come in the following week after meetings and desicions and they will take me with them and i will arrive to a place where there is a stage and art and people with inspiration in a broken world. People who wear their hearts on their sleeves, people who want to watch the world embrace the beauty within.  it’s harder to stand alone and conquer the world than to stand hand in hand with millions of others and take on those demons that distract us from ourselves.
it’s weird how my mind can so easily stream into something easily readable and a bit eye opening and how it makes me feel like i can write for years and years and never bore of my own words. Is this called passion? Am i passionate about writing? Am i in love with my own words? Sadly, yes, this i believe, is true. It makes me feel vain in a way, but it feels a bit less reidiculous than staring aimlessly into your own reflection.