upward to go

There is now a goddess who helps to unmask the pain and the suffering lodged in the past. We carry these burdens along with ourselves and place them on dusted and egoic shelves that sit in the head-space that keep coming back to make our bright daytimes quite sullen and black. Her name it is Gha-li she has many arms and quick is the wit of her powerful charms and from her do radiate rays from the spine that pierce destroy rebuild – each one in its time. A necklace of skulls drapes down to her waist her long tongue the tears of the righteous tastes her eyes see all things that we think feel and do she crushes then remakes us – we broken – anew. With thick awesome power she walks among us and none can escape her most far-reaching thrust that pieces the lies that we tell ourselves oft that keep us from soaring – we godlings – aloft. Invoke her when on a new path setting forth to test long-held notions for intrinsic worth when cleansing the chakras or the inner state when bringing realities held up-to-date. She'll stand there unmoving through tempest and gale before her gaze all that's unworthy will fail and leave one devoid of all sadness and woe with nowhere but forward and upward to go.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

sleepy, sleepy Yyeirdoyesst

There did live once a sleepy man who'd snooze away the day, and slumber deep as cow and crook would make off with his hay. He'd rake again, the very next, and lament his undoing, but afterward, he'd choose to sleep, neglectful of his shooing. He slept so much that mountains sprites those nasty mischief-makers, hatched plan one night to make things right and filled up their dream-shakers. They stole upon the sleeping gent young Yyeirdoyesst his name was, and covered him from head to toe in sparkling shiny sleep-dust. You did too much (said leader-sprite, admonishing his cousin) for now this man will sleep not nights but years – perhaps five dozen. The sprites they panicked, cried and fled, they raced on back to hearths they knew, they wailed and gnashed and foamed with dread, young Yyeirdoyesst they left for dead. But here a goddess came along, her life a careless happy song, she saw the poor man sitting there, with ruddy cheeks and golden hair, and spied the mischief all too soon, and bore him off for home, the moon. Oh what is done?! (she cried aloud, remembering the veils and shrouds that guard the waters of the moon from mortal man's intrusion) act is act, for worse or better; with me he stays but not in fetters. And so she ceased his magic slumber, hoping he would soon recover. Yyeirdoyesst he sat upright, looked around, realized his plight, shrugged his shoulders, lay back down, then bid the goddess fair good-night. Enraged his sloth did made her, mere death it could not slake her, she quickly conjured up his doom, then cast his mug upon the moon, then cast his body down below, and now his face will ever show, on lunar surface brightly.

mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥