A Snapshot from the Apocalypse

…Snapshots from The Apocalypse, or an apocalypse, at least: rather than being an image of an actual place or event – like getting a postcard from the End-of-the-World, cheerily captioned “wish you were here”, or something like that – this is more of a reflection, or meditation, on a state of mind, a state of Being… and it is fitting to recall that the original meaning behind the idea of ‘apocalypse’ is simply a time when masks are discarded, pretence laid aside; one cannot help but wonder how this dread sense of it denoting “The End of the World” came into being…

…A thumbnail meditation, by light of the Fool Moon, brings on a strange reverie: a domed bastion of male spiritual authority – itself built to usurp and contain energies of the divine feminine previously honoured at the same locus – now under threat of obliteration from agents of Death From Above: darkness, and light, and a different kind of darkness, follow each other as do day and night – like the alternating pages of the Book of History, turned so fast that it inevitably becomes a blur of grey…

“There is no black or white, only shades of grey. That’s why they call it gris-gris

…Lit by the blue-grey cathode glow the image slips in and out of itself, pre-birth visions projected onto a uterine screen. Dreams come slow & heavy, to a blind-eye of the night-sky looking through oceans of time, turned on tides of blood…

…The image is reversed, inverted: sucked up into a funnel in the sky that is itself the bottom of a pooling of process – the protoplasmic factory in which building blocks of life are both built up and broken down: a cellular Mother-Ship from another dimension, a metamorphic maelstrom on the move – drawing the eye towards it as a focal point, the Strange Attractor of history towards which events are inexorably drawn and driven; whilst at the same time being the Point of Singularity from which shockwaves of potential uncoil like dread Apophis – serpent of Might-have-beens and Never-weres, they say he is made up of broken kas – sending ripples through the fragile membranes of the Multiverse, ectoplasmic emanations spreading out from this Ground Zero in every conceivable direction, all at once…

…The cellular eye is binary, both hole and point at the same time: the eye-in-the-sky of God or Goddess – a Black Hole wormhole whirling-down-the-plughole, puckering in the fabric of worm-eaten TimeSpace, drawing All in at the same time as everything spills out of it – both omphalos and entry-wound, psychic puncture and nucleus of new growth: meiosis and mitosis of a Mothership gone in search of Conquest & Exploration of Inner Space…

…The Hand of Fate reaches in to try and intervene but its presence is ghostly, multiple yet intangible – implying and suggesting, but not really directing or shaping: is this too subtle an influence at work? The Ghost in the Machine… and yet still it tries: it reaches, and flexes – almost bending back on itself to indicate patterns & possibilities – weaving subtle mudras of meaning and metaphor, like the bodies of giant spectres about their love-play, the erogenous emanations of their desiring shadow forth on these levels of what we like to call ‘Reality’…

…And what of the Dreamer? Or is She the Dream: pilot of this very vessel – the body a vehicle for exploration, to be explored in turn; shifting levels at Will we become Cosmonauts of Inner Space – becoming both Mother to and Object of our Desires (“All is Maya”) – a Nun enrapt in contemplation her Vision turned inward, the Damsel sequestered powerless until she is rescued, eyes reflecting the ivory of her Tower – or a Priestess who only has eyes for the marble image of the Divine Principle she serves…  Like a hood or cowl that has slipped – or as if the face has broken through a caul that protected it among the depths of the uterine ocean – the mould has come apart as the visage is made anew, with each new Dream, each new Awakening – revealing eyes as-yet unseeing (still turned to worlds of Inner Vision?), before they blink away the last of the Milk of the Moon to surface through the Sea of Blood to the light of a Black Sun At the Heart of it All…

By the bright white light of the Full Moon a pool of red blood becomes a black mirror.

…Point-of-view shifts: from the awful & awesome cellular eye at the calm-of-a-storm of its own proliferating of the Mothership – alien cell-factory, all-begetting and all-devouring (…the greatest monsters of all are those within…) – through the blind implacable gaze of the cataract moon over a forgotten dream – we now find ourselves looking out from a craft in orbit: a shift in scale, the angles tilt – and we are looking across a plain of blood-red mist that stretches out in front of us, shading into the nebulous black of Endless Night in the distance; and at the same time a spaceship eye-view of the terrain below – a rugged coastline where barren ash-grey rock & sand meets a sea of burning blood…

…This is what we are born from, and it is to this landscape that we return if ever we close our eyes-fall asleep-turn inward, or Other Wise seek Visions – and yet we carry it always with us, for it is in our blood… and, ultimately, this is the Sea which we must learn to sail if we are to voyage to Unknown Interiors of True Discovery.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s