Afterwards: Memories Unbound

i LEFT OFF IN DECEMBER  in da wingmakers werld because i became disenchanted an upset at how the new web werld of the wingmakers has now distorted the original stuff.

ch17

wingmakers chamber 17 painting

..although this is part of the original…an i stopped sharing chambers after chamber 16…signals to her heart etc etc…an to no avail…..had to take a break…reason fer everything i assume….winter {LoL}..so since there are 23 chambers an i never finished the original story..in case ur wunderin how it ends well….these 2 poems frum chamber 17 fer da’ ponderin minds of my wingmaker fans 🙂 till next time . Q..

 

Note #1 : got a couple emails wunderin if i waz a wingmaker, an well ur gur=ess is as gewd as mine right now…no really…The new wingmakers site an james is not ; in the new interpretation, the same as what first got me into the internet etc etc etc in 1996 er 7…

NOTE 2 : if u do not visit the web page an u get this via email…this as are most of my posts will not show correctly unless ya visit this web page : neither will the corresponding video ever show if posted with my posts also unless visited at quarksire.com an well if ya want to know how it began, the story that is well, Wingmakers Ancient Arrow is da catagory, scroll to the bottom…an go backwards forwards i guess lol…….ok…after 7 am in colorado, froze lastnight,,, outside, sun is up though an winter is going bye bye,,,so going for morning hike an to watch some plants grow lol….feel like farmer john sumtimes now instead of a sport pilot lol…… okay over an out allzzzzzz..frum da’ Q-ster..have a great week if’n i don’t get back righty away….gots an airplane to werk on …an spring cleaning galore, Time of the year to get back in the air if possible fer sumemr! 🙂 ..at least i can still dream of surfin’ wit dem whales huh!!!….an my encounter well, bacause of dat 1 killer whale .  ..well this past month has me spun out in a minds fairy tale all of its own lol…Sumday maybe i’ll explain 2 da werld . till then only “she” knows lol…caz she is ..jest part of dat …mind ya know …da mind of GAWD  🙂 LOL . 🙂  or oh my GAWD..well more to come…afterwards …memories unbound for a reason…cuz i 2 am tired of being data way! so one day @ a time ..i’ll get there wherever there is if that jest means stayin alive…Happy mayday everyone,,,frum da’ …Q….

Chamber 17

~~~~~~~~
Afterwards
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’ve set loose the guards that stand before my door.
I’ve let cells collide in suicide until they take me.
If there were stories left to tell I would hear them.
*
Behind the waterfalls of channeled panic
spilling their prideful progeny I can stay hidden in the noise.
Being invisible has its cameo rewards.
It also keeps visible the durable lifeform
murmuring beneath the wickedness.
This is truly the only creature I care to know,
with luminous ways of sweet generosity that suffers
in the untelling universe of the unlistening ear.
*
When I am found out-after I am gone-by a stranger’s
heart whose drill bit is not dulled by impersonation,
I will open eyes, peel away skin, awaken the heart’s coma.
I will set aside the costumed figure and redress the host
so its image can be seen in mirrors I set forth
with words bugged by God.
When these words are spoken,
another ear is listening on the other side
beaming understanding like lasers their neutral light.
*
The common grave of courage holds us all
in the portal of singularity,
the God-trail of rebeginning.
*
Somehow, so seldom, words and images
thrust their meaning into heaven and conquer time.
But when they do,
they become the abracadabra of the sacred moment.
The pantomime of the public’s deepest longing.
*
Afterwards, the improbable eyelid glances open,
the skin folds away,
and the heroic eye awakens and remains alert.
Afterwards, the words eat the flesh and leave behind
the indigestible bitterness.
The emotional corpse shed,
an insoluble loneliness.
The cast of separation.
~~~~~~~~~

Memories unbound

Memories Unbound
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have this memory of laying atop
a scaffold of tree limbs
staring out to the black, summer blanket
that warms the night air.
I can smell cedar burning in the distance
and hear muted voices praying in song and drum.
I cannot lift my body or turn my head.
I am conscious of bone and muscle
but they are not conscious of me.
They are dreaming while I am caught
in a web of exemptible time.
*
My mind is restless to move on.
To leave this starlit grave site and dance with
my people around huge fires crackling with nervous light.
To join hand with hand to the rhythm of drums
pounding their soft thunder
in monotone commandments to live.
*
I can only stare up at the sky
watching, listening, waiting
for something to come and set me free
from this mournful site.
To gather me up in arms of mercy
into the oblivion of Heaven’s pod.
I listen for the sound of my breath
but only the music of my people can be heard.
I look for the movement of my hands
but only wisps of clouds and crescent light move
against raven’s wings.
*
Sometimes when this memory peeks through
my skin it purges the shoreward view.
It imposes on the known predicament
with a turbulent bliss that bleeds defiance to the order.
There is certain danger in the heritable ways
of my people who send me the chatoyant skin
humbled and circumscribed.
My white appetite leached of earthly rations.
Misplaced to the darshan of the devil,
the very same that maneuvered my people to reservations–
the ward of the damned.
(At least I have no memories of a reservation).
*
Perhaps it is better to lay upon this mattress of sticks
with my wardrobe of feathers and skins
chanting in the wind.
Perhaps it would be better still
to be set atop the cry shed and burned
so prodigal memories would have
no home to return to.
*
I have this memory of escaping the pale hand
of my master that feeds me scraps of lies and moldy bread.
My skin yearns for lightness,
but it is the rope that obliges.
*
I have this memory of holding yellow fingers,
large and round, dripping with ancient legacies.
Of seeing the rounded belly of Buddha
smiling underneath a pastoral face
in temples that lean against a tempest sky.
*
I have this memory of dreaming to fly.
Stretching out wings that are newly attached
with string-like permanence
only to fall in the blunted arms of obscurity.
*
I have this memory of seeing my face in a mirror
that reflects a stranger’s mind and soul.
Knowing it to be mine, I looked away
afraid it would become me alone.
I am patchwork memories searching for a nucleus.
I am lost words echoing in still canyons.
I am a light wave that found itself
darting to earth unsheathed seeking cover
in human skin. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Empyrean & Seperate Being

ch14

The gateway into your future is through the completion of this blueprint, and this blueprint is encoded deep within your species. At your root, you are not an immortal psychic impression, or mental echo, but rather, you are the faultless triune of First Source, Source Intelligence and the sovereign entity, colliding in a dance of energy that is evermore. Your mind must grasp the fullness of your true nature and depth of your being, or you will fall prey to the psychic impression and mental echo of your lesser self

Wingmakers 14

Empyream &

a Seperate Being

He walked a higher ground
like a soul untethered to human flesh.
Darkness implored–
demanded his searching stop
and match the drifting gait of others.
But his pathway unwound like a ball of string
sent upward
only to fall in a sentence of light.
Collisions with fate would unrail him
and send him the wishes of obscurity.
The lightning of desire.
The curse of empty dreams.
The witness to unspeakable horrors.
~~He would laugh at the absurdity,
yet aware of the dark ripples
that touched him.
Humanity was a creaseless sheet of blank paper
waiting to be colored and crumpled
into pieces of prey for the beast-hunter.
Why did they wait?
The palette was for their taking.
The “distance” betrayed them.
The shallow grave of the deep heart
killed their faith.
~~~~
He knew,
yet could not form the words.
Nor draw the map.
The ancient casts of the empyrean
withstood definition.
Paradise lost to the soundless blanket
of the clearest thought,
of the loneliest mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
***********
*******
~Separate Being~

************
Waking this morning,
I remember you.
We were together last night
only a thin sheet of glass between us.
Your name was not clear.
I think I would recognize its sound,
but my lips are numb
and my tongue listless from the
climb to your mouth.
Your face was blurred as well,
yet, like a distant god
you took your heart and hand
and there arose within me
a separate being.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I think you were lonely once.
Your only desire, to be understood,
turned away by some vast shade
drawn by a wisdom
you had forgotten.
So you sang your songs
in quiet summons to God
hoping their ripples would return and gather you up.
Continue you.
Brighten your veins
and bring you the unquenchable
kiss of my soul.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Drunken by a lonely name
you stagger forward
into my nights, into my dreams,
and now into my waking.
If I try to forget you
you will precede my now.
I would feel your loss
though I can’t say your name
or remember your face.
I would awaken some morning
and long to feel your skin upon mine
knowing not why.
Feeling the burn of our fire
so clearly that names and faces
bear no meaning
like a candle flicking its light to the
noonday sun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
***********************

Check out da interview with james from wingmakers click here

MAHA MAYA·75 videos

acceptance

 The above is a result of me crashing and landing face first on da’ ground, Knowing sumtimes well, jest to get up off the ground is a good thing, even if recovery might be quite some time now :(…. oh well is what it is…….. Q

Your mind must grasp the fullness of your true nature and depth of your being, or you will fall prey to the psychic impression and mental echo of your lesser self

Believe it er not!

Wingmakers 13 My Son Nameless Boy

A tribute to both of my sons! with honor! and love! 4 ever!

ch13

My Son

My Son
~~~~~~~
My son is two.
I watch him walk
like a drunken prince.
With his body bare I can see
his soul better.
His shoulder blades
gesture like vestiges of wings.
His features stenciled upon pale flesh
by hands that have been before me.
***
He so wants to be like me.
His every movement like a dusty mirror
or awkward shadow of a bird in flight.
Every sound an echo heard.
Every cell pregnant with my urges.
But my urge is to be like him.
To return to childhood’s safe embrace
and certain honor.
***
If I return to this place
I hope my eyes will look again upon his face
even until his blades are wings once more.
Until I have circled his creaturehood
and know every hidden cleft
where I have left my print indelible
unable to be consumed.
Until all that he is
is in me and our hands are clasped, forged,
entwined, in voiceless celebration.
***
Until we are alone like two leaves shimmering
high above a treeless landscape
never to land.

4ballonz_by_Quarksire

Nameless Boy

Nameless Boy
~~~~~~~~~~
Beyond the frontier
where borders blur into unknown thoughts
there is a nameless boy–
a drop of pure human light.
Through narrow cracks in the splintered fence
I watch his innocence with envy,
searching for the right meaning of his movements.
The twilight of his smile
nourishes my heart
like crumbs of God’s light.
A longing in my mouth to speak,
to weep,
and gather this child into my arms
and encipher his nature into mine.
Through the exchange of eyes–
glances, purloined and routed into blindness,
our language annulled.
I can only grope towards him
with antenna thoughts
that dance in praise of his youthful beauty.
***
I am waiting for stones to bloom.
For venomous skies to wander into oblivion.
For tracks to emerge like dust in a beam of light.
***
Life’s clever poison
is closing the gate.
The cracks are mended–the vision expunged.
And the nameless boy dissolves,
for there was no earth inside him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time is the only factor that distorts this otherwise clear connection between the individual and Universal Entity. Time intervenes and creates pockets of despair, hopelessness, and abandonment. However, it is these very “pockets” that often activate the Source Codes of the entity and establish a more intimate and harmonious relationship with the Universal Entity. Time establishes separation of experience and this creates doubt in the Universal Entityís system of fairness and overarching purpose. In turn, this creates fear that the universe is not a mirror but rather a chaotic, whimsical energy.
~~~~~~~~

Philosophy!?
When the human instrument is aligned with the Sovereign Integral and lives from this perspective as a developing reality, it attracts a natural state of harmony. This does not necessarily mean that the human instrument is without problems or discomforts, rather it signifies a perception that there is an integral purpose in what life reveals. In other words, natural harmony perceives that life experience is meaningful to the extent you are aligned with the Sovereign Integral, and that your personal reality must flow from this strata of the multidimensional universe in order to create lasting joy and inner peace. 

****

*an if’n ya are bored this eve check out the interview with james frum wingmakers below 🙂

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GIeUpOigus

***

Arrival Wingmakers Chamber 12

Chamber 12 artwerk  - wingmakers new mexico

Chamber 12 artwerk – wingmakers – new mexico site

 

Arrival

..I have held a vigil for lucidity
out in the horizonless fields where nothing shines
but the light of my fire
and the silver disk of the endless night.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Suddenly, it’s clear that I’m alone in the wilderness
without human eyes to reach in to.
Alone with my treasure of sounds
in the pure silence of arrival…

low an slow

low an slow

Wingmakers

I am destined to sit on the riverbank
awaiting words from the naked trees
and brittle flowers that have lost their nectar.
A thousand unblinking eyes
stare out across the water
from the other side.
Their mute voices seek rewards of another kind.
Their demure smiles leave me hollow.
**
Am I a perpetual stranger to myself?
(The thought brands me numb.)
Am I an orphan trailing pale shadows
that lead to a contemptuous mirror?
Where are these gossamer wings that my
destiny foretold?
I am waiting for the river to deliver them to me;
to lodge them on the embankment
at my feet.
*

What? why ? where? when ..? :)

What? why ? where? when ..? 🙂

*
My feet are shackles from another time.
My head, a window long closed
to another place.
Yet, there are places
that salvage the exquisite tongue
and assemble her wild light
like singing birds the sun.
I have seen these places among the stillness
of the other side.
Calling like a lover’s kiss
to know again what I have known before;
to reach into the Harvest
and leave my welcome.
***
These thoughts are folded so neatly
they stare like glass eyes fondling the past.
I listen for their guidance
but serpentine fields are my pathway.
When I look into the dark winds
of the virtual heart
I can hear its voice saying:
“Why are you trapped with wings?”
And I feel like a grand vision inscribed in sand
awaiting an endless wind.
**

CDocuments-and-SettingsAdministratorMy-DocumentsMy-PicturesPfPagosahighside

**
Will these wings take me
beneath the deepest camouflage?
Will they unmask the secret measures
and faithful dwellings of time?
Will they search out the infinite spaces
for the one who can define me?
*****
Wings are forgotten by all who travel with their feet.
Lines have been drawn so many times
that we seldom see the crossing
of our loss though we feel the loss of our crossing.
We sense the undertow of clouds.
The gravity of sky.
The painless endeavor of hope’s silent prayers.
But our wings shorn of flight
leave us like newborn rivers that babble over rocks
yearning for the depths of a silent sea.
******
I have found myself suddenly old.
Like the blackbirds that pour
from the horizon line,
my life has soared over this river searching for my wings.
There is no other key for me to turn.
There is no other legend for me to face.
Talking to flowers and gnarled trees
will only move me a step away–

Invisible wallz

Invisible wallz


when I really want to press my face against the windowpane
and watch the wing makers craft my wings.

****to go to the original wingmaker 12 poetry page click here ****


****

*an if’n ya are bored this eve check out the interview with james frum wingmakers below 🙂

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GIeUpOigus

***

Circle Awake an Waiting

Frum chamber 11 wingmakers timecapsule Healing musik’ Poetry and Philosophy 2

🙂

frum da’ Q

Wingmakers Chamber 11

Wingmakers Chamber 11

Circle

~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have found the ancient mirror
that leads me.
I have seen its ruthless eyes
that always stare,
burrowing their way to the crown I wear.
I have sensed the holy fire
like a blazing cocoon
that offers no judgments
amidst its power strewn.
I have felt the innocent light.
Of clarity in flight over native land
where we are birthed apart
from one command.
*
I have touched the gentle eye that outlasts me.
The huge patience upon my brow.
I have offered all my earthly wisdom
for the symptoms of its tongue;
to drop its seeds into the fields that I plow.
I have seen destiny’s path
gathering its flock
for the journey of endless spaces.
I have watched futures fall with eyelids closed
and the gnawing tears of torn places.
I have seen the Tribe of Light
return the clock to the black pocket
where all divisions occur.
Where weeds secure the humble land
of fires unlit, yet pure.
*
I have heard the masters of masters speak
to every cell of my body;
cutting new pathways in flesh
like fear’s executioner.
I have watched the galaxies twirl
like star wheels that spiral to the thought
of a holy vision.
I have felt my spirit follow
the one sound that is free.
*
I have vanished before.
I have taken this body to an inner place
where none can see.
Only feelings can hear the sound of this space.
This sacred place alone
has brought me here to recover the thread.
To see the weaving dance that calls my name
in a thousand sounds.
That draws my spirit
in a single, perfectly round,
circle.
~~~~~~~~~~~

Awake and Waiting

.Awake and Waiting
*
Child-like universe emerging from darkness,
you belong to others not I.
My home is elsewhere
beyond the sky
where light pollinates the fragile borders
and gathers the husk.
In the quiet of the desert floor
my shell lingers in the pallid dusk
of a starved garden.
What holds me to this wasteland
when others clamor for shadows
and resist the vital waters?
Where the ripening magnet
holds us blind.

*
Far away,
kindling the presence of a timeless world
hunting for memories of a radiant love;
wingless creatures
tune their hearts to the key of silence.
It is there I am waiting.
Alone.
~~~~~~~~~~
O’ Paradise shore
give me the heart to bear.
Give me the lamp that sings at night.
Give me the wings to strive against wind.
Give me the smile to translate life into light.
*
Time obliterates the human moment.
No one is absolved
while beauty burns to charred ash
too frail to last
too secret to call.
I will see clearly again
past lives coarsened by time’s reign.
My light will retake its wings
its evergreen roots will embrace the sane earth
once again.
And this tiny fragment,
spinning in silence among giant orbs unseen
will resolve my soul and help me find
the one heart awake and waiting..

above poetry frum da wingmakers capsule 11 at the new mexico site! to read more bout the wingmakers and their story and the story of james and the wingmakers philosophy of life well, click here 🙂

an enjoy the upcumin week an dance as much as possible , even if it hurtz …itz gewd fer ya 🙂 says da Q

🙂
Wskazania: Słuchawki…i odpływamy….

*an if’n ya are bored this eve check out the interview with james frum wingmakers below 🙂

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GIeUpOigus

 

Downstream What is found here chamber 10

Accepting i am powerless

~~~

Image

Downstream

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Open me.
Take me from here to there.
Let the wind blow
my hair and the earth’s skin touch me.
*Open me like broken bottles
that bear no drink
yet think themselves worthy of the trash man.
Open me to the clans from which I sprout.
Are they colors separated, cast apart
like memories of drunkenness?
Open me to Africa, Asia, America, Australia.
Open me like a package
of mystery left on your doorstep
in the sweetness of laughter.
*
Open me to the crudely made lens of love
that screams to be of human hands
and lips.
Open me to the glance
that comforts strangers like the tender overture
of a mourning dove.
*
Is the wisdom of horses mine
to harness?
Is the muscle of wolves
lawless or the healer of sheep?
Is the black opal of the eye
the missing link we all seek?
*
Open me to the authors of this beaten path
and let them flavor it anew.
Bring them flecks of the rumored and rotten
slum that waits downstream.
Show them the waste of their watch.
The shallow virility that exterminates.
The ignominy that exceeds examination.
*
Open me to the idols of the idle.
Let me stare open mouthed at the herdsmen
who turn innocence into fear.
Is the plan of the sniper to uncivilize
the nerveless patch of skin
that grows unyielding to pain?
*
Open me to the stains
of this land that original sin cannot explain.
Let these symptoms go
like dead, yellow leaves fumbling
in swift, guiltless currents downstream.
*
Downstream where the slum
lies in waiting.
Downstream where the idols’ headstones
are half-buried in muddy rain.
Downstream where animal tracks
are never seen.
Downstream where
the lens of love is cleaned with red tissue.
Downstream where the herdsmen
herd their flock and beat the drums
promising a new river that never comes.
*
Downstream there lives
a part of me that is sealed like a paper envelope
with thick tape.
It watches the river like the underside of a bridge
waiting to fall if the seal is broken.
To plunge into the current when I am opened
by some unforgiving hand unseen.
To be drawn downstream
in the gravity of a thousand minds
who simply lost their way.
A thousand minds that twisted the river
away from earth’s sweetness
into the mine shaft of men’s greed.
*
So it must be.
So it must be.
*
Open me to the kindness
of a child’s delicate hand when it reaches out to be held.
Let it comfort me
when my bridge falls and the swift, guiltless currents
pull me downstream
where all things forgiven are lost.
Where all things lost are forgiven.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What is Found Here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What is found here
can never be formed of words.
Pure forces that mingle uncompared.
Like dreams unspoken when first awoken
by a sad light.
*
What is found here
can limp with one foot on the curb
and the other on the pavement
in some uneven gait
waiting to be hidden in laughter.
*
What is found here
can open the swift drifting of curtains
held in mountain winds
when long shadows tumble across like juries
of the night.
*
What is found here
can always be held in glistening eyes.
Turned by silence’s tool of patience.
Like feelings harbored for so long
the starward view has been lost.

*

above poetry frum da wingmakers capsule 10 at the new mexico site! to read more bout the wingmakers and their story and the story of james and the wingmakers philosophy of life well, click here 🙂

an enjoy the rest of ur week says da Q

🙂
Wskazania: Słuchawki…i odpływamy….

*

Forever 4 Luminous Things

So Forever an for Luminous Thingz:

Image

Accepting i am powerless

FOREVER

************
Memory, like a root in darkness,
piercing light with its stem has found me.
Ordering my world
like architecture of feelings
bound to you,
held for you as shields of hope.
In the dispersion of love,
identical throbbing
has been our call
answered in the sweetest caress two can share.
And you wonder if ecstasy will diminish us
like rain the sun or
wind the calm.
When we know one another
in the deepest channel of our hearts
we can only utter one word
cast from this stone’s mind: forever.
Forever.
********
When winter calls my name
in the highest desert of light,
I will not despair because I know you
in the deepest channel of my heart
where I understand the word, forever.
Instantly healed by your caressing lips
that unmasks all that has tortured me.
The panting of mouths
tired but astir in passion’s flame
can only cease when I have entered you
forever.
I carry you in this flame,
emerald-colored from my dreams of you
beneath the trees within
where your beauty consumed the sun
and snared my soul so completely.
I cannot truly know you apart from a throne.
************
Spirits made to shine beyond the din
of boorish poets
that strike flint below water and cry without passion.
I have known you forever in lonely streets
and the thundered plain.
In wilted villages and cool mountain terraces.
I have watched all of you
torn open to me speaking like a river
that moves on forever.
And I have waited
like the greedy mouth of an ocean
drawing you nearer to my lips
so I can know you forever
as you empty into me abandoned of all fear.<
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of Luminous Things

***************************
Of luminous things I have so little experience
that I often think myself small.
Yet when I think of you and your luminous ways
my being swells with hope and prayers
that you will permit the flames to grow.
****************************
In mercy, we are torn apart into separate worlds
to find ourselves over and over
a thousand times aching for the other half.
To dream of nothing but the One between us.
******************************
Of luminous things I have squandered none
nor have I held them to my heart and asked them
to dissolve into me.
Yet when I think of you, I desire only this.
And if you disrobed your Self and watched it
watch you, you would see me as clearly as I am.
Not small and unworthy.
Unafraid of fear.
Not uncertain like empty space.
But luminous like white light before the prism.
************************
In my thoughts I hold your heart
sculpting away the needless
for the essence.
And when I find it
I will hold it to my heart and ask it
to dissolve into me.
I will know of luminous things
that hurtle through time
bringing us the uncharted, unfathomable
desire we have never spoken.
Words are not curious enough to say their names.
Only love can weep their identity,
and I am so perfectly defenseless to its music
***********************************
Quark is jest another guy defenseless to denial, thievery, neglect
an shameful wayz ; it jest is what it is !
when humans hurt on other humans,
Once again…don’t let that be U now 🙂
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Imperishable – Of This Place

2 more poems1 more day of another spiritually clipping Q’s wingz..an binding me infinitly to the ……

Image

 

Imperishable

**********
Through this night I have slept little.
My eyes, closed like shutters
with slats that remain open,
wait to invent dreams
of some charred reality.
I sense you, but no weight on my bed.
No shift or creaking other
than my own restlessness.
**********
Wandering words
self-gathered, self-formed,
and released to the night
like a mantra slowly drowned in music.
Your presence grew with the music
devouring it in silence.
You came to me so clear
my senses aroused in electric storms of clarity.
The buzz of mercury lamps
alongside rutted roads,
shedding their weightless light.
***********
In all of this waiting for you
no fortress or foxhole bears my name.
I lay on the Savannah
staring at the sun hoping against hope
it blinks before I do.
My wounded cells,
tiny temples of our mixture,
have weakened in your absence.
I can feel them wail in their miniature worlds.
My feet resist their numbness,
deny them their war.
************
As I lay here alone
waiting to be gathered into your arms,
I ask of you one thing,
remember me as this.
Remember me as one who loves you
beyond yourself.
Who pierces shells, armor, masks,
and everything protecting
your spirit in needless fervor.
Remember me as this.
As one who loves you unmatched
by the deepest channels
that have ever been forged.
Who will love you anywhere and always.
**********
And if you look very closely at my love
you will not find an expiration date,
but instead, the word, imperishable.
**********

Of This Place !

Her heart ran
in the wilds of deserted plains.
Sun-etched land barren of clouds
and singing water.
If she listened closely
her hand would call
and signal its thoughts upon her brow.
But in this place
she could only offer her arms to the sky
like a tree its branches
and a flower its leaves.
********
In this dusty basin,
silence gathered like smoke
clearing the mind of the scoundrel.
The infidel of thoughts.
Blots of yellow leaves and white bark
could be seen hiding in pools of life
surrounded by red rock spires.
Clustered sand monuments held together
by some other life form.
She wasn’t sure.
Perhaps one life is the same as another
only tilted sideways.
Caught from underneath
by some invisible hand that animates
even the coldest stone of this place.
******
A smile emerged and perched upon her face
drinking the sun’s clear ways.
She could spear
a million miles of air in a glance
and send the window of her flesh
into the cloudless sky.
Upon this ocean a hawk sailed ever closer.
She watched the silver speck
spiral overhead dreaming through its eyes.
Feeling the winds gild her wings
in the softest fold of time.
A tree of pine sent its sky roots
deep within the air to weep its sweetness.
She entered,
gliding through branches
to every needle in their factory of air.
************
So strange to feel the pull of earth in flight,
but she knew the antagonism well
in the splendor of this place.
*********
She knew it had settled deep,
lodged like permanent ink
in the heart of her.
Under skin, muscle, bone
it fought the single path.
What madness calls her away?
What dream is stronger than this?
What heart beats more pure?
*********
Of this place,
it is so hard to know which is host
and which is guest.
Which is welcome, which is pest.
Which is found and which is lost.
Which is profit, which is cost.
**********
She gave her prayers
to the skypeople and waited for a cloud–
her signal to leave.
She should return home
before dusk settles in and the golden
eyes peer out against the black code.
In a single breath she held the ancient ways
that never left.
She turned them inside out
and then outside in.
Again and again.
Waiting for her signals in the sky.
If not a cloud…
then perhaps a shooting star.
(Besides, it was too dark for clouds anymore.)
**********
When the first star fell she held her breath
afraid she would miss its spectral flight.
She wondered with whom she shared
its final light.
What other eyes were heaven bound
in that secret moment?
Was this their signal home as well?
And what was it they found
buried so deep in a whisper of light
that none can tell?
**********
She waited with solemn eyes
for more stars to fall,
to gently sweep her away
from the magnets of this place.
If she listened to her hand
it would scratch a sign in the sand for another
to take her place.
It would touch the land
in honor of its grace and wisdom,
and become a tree, rock, hawk, or flower.
~~~~~~~~

http://www.wingmakers.us/wingmakersorig/www.wingmakers.com/arrow/chambers/chamber6.shtml

~~~~~~~~

The WingMakers are a small team of Sovereign Entities that have designed time capsules that are catalytic in forming a Sovereign Integral perspective. Each time capsule is, in actuality, a selection system that attracts specific entities to utilize their human instrument in wholeness. This develops their sixth and seventh sense, which enables them to learn how to step out of time and the hierarchyís control. When they can do this, they can design the synthesis model of existence within terra-earthís hierarchical system. These entities will be transforming time-space universes from ladders of consciousness to inclusions of Source Reality. In other words, Source Reality will be extended into time-space universes, and all life forms therein will experience this extension through a new hierarchical structure that is completely aligned with Source Intelligence. What some call “heaven on earth” is merely an echo-realization of this impending future time. What is truly bearing down on the time-space universes is the expansion of Source Reality through the accessibility of Source Intelligence information to all entities regardless of form or structure. Let there be no mistake, however, that the fulfillment of the Primal Blueprint is indeed the direction all entities are traveling. While entities of all levels are bestowed free will within their own realities, they are not, as aspects of Source Reality, given free will to choose their ultimate destiny. The origin of entities is Source Intelligence, and it is Source Intelligence that determines destiny as well as origin. Still, entities are provided tremendous latitude of choices to propel themselves from origin to destiny and re-emerge into an expanded version of Source Reality with a renewed vision of their identity. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Special Note: For a translation of this inspiring philosophy into everyday English, click here. For how the original WingMakers website was strangely changed, click here.

 

 

 

 

Another Life Carrier MIA

2 poems one page another & life carrier!…..

ANOTHER

One skin may hide another,
I remember this from a poem when I
launched a fire across a field of deadness.

Image
At least, to me, it seemed dead.
I felt like a liberator of life force
renewing the blistered and dying grasses.
Actually, more weeds than grass,
but nonetheless, the flora had flat-lined.
I peeled back skin with holy flame
and brought everything to black again
as though I called the night to descend.
From blackness will arise a new skin
cresting green architecture from a fertile void.
********
As the flames spread their inviolable enchantment
I saw your face spreading across my mind.
Remember the fire we held?
I hoped it would unfurl a new skin
for us as well.
I still hold this hope.
Forever it will roam inside me
invariant to all transformations and motions.
************
One person may hide another,
but behind you, love is molting a thicker skin
than I can see through.
No flame can touch its center.
No eyes can browse its memory.
I want nothing behind you in wait.
Seconds tick away like children growing
in between photographs.
I will not forget you in the changes.
Cursed with memory so fine
I can trace your palm.
I can inhale your sweet breath.
I can linger in your arms’ weight.
I can hear your exquisite voice
calibrate life with celestial precision.
****************
One purpose may hide another.
I heard this as the fire died out
to reveal the scent of the wet earth
and growing things.
I could feel my love decompose
returning to the uninhabited realm
where it belongs.
Where all hearts belong when
love is lost, and the code of the mute,
coiled in fists that pound,
reveal the wisdom of another.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Life Carriers
~~~~~~~~~
Life carriers spawn in the primal waters
of a giant embryo.
Their progeny will settle in human dust.
Pieces of clay
with tiny thoughts of flight.
Knife-points veiled in turbid cloaks
that shun the light of a tranquil star.
**************
In the remote wilds the life carriers
emerge and perch upon
the shoulders of gray stones.
They signal their desires to fly,
but their homes are suited
for the comforts of rain and earth.
The sky must wait.
(The dirt companion smiles.)
**********
Circles break.
Barriers overrun.
Life carriers deny their ancient pull
from the ground.
Wings sprout like golden hair
sinuous with nature’s artifice.
Ragged feet are left behind.
The earth replaced with vivid sky.
Gravity shines its menacing stare
to hold them
with assertive hands.
*******
Homeless cages
are left to rot.
To sink behind the groundless sky.
Earthen faces have dropped their smiles
and lost their smell of fresh dirt.
The dream of flight
has invaded somber walls–
life carriers have bounded
to the other side.
There they meet the next rung
of the endless ladder,
and trade their wings for wisdom’s eye.
“““http://www.wingmakers.us/wingmakersorig/www.wingmakers.com/arrow/chambers/poetry/poem5.shtml“““

WingMakers Masthead

The entity model of expression is designed to explore new fields of vibration through biological instruments and transform through this process of discovery to a new level of understanding and expression as a Sovereign Integral. The Sovereign Integral is the fullest expression of the entity model within the time-space universes, and most closely exemplifies Source Intelligence’s capabilities therein. It is also the natural state of existence of the entity that has transformed beyond the evolution/saviorship model of existence and has removed itself from the controlling aspects of the Hierarchy through the complete activation of its embedded Source Codes. This is the level of capability that was “seeded” within the entity model of expression when it was initially conceived by Prime Creator. All entities within the time-space universes are in various stages of the transformational experience and each are destined to achieve the Sovereign Integral level as their Source Codes become fully activated.

Calling forth the perceptions of the entity within the human instrument is the ideal method to access a lasting sensitivity to the Source vibration. This is how an individual can develop the ability to observe Source in all things. It is not only that Prime Creator is within every individual manifestation of energy, but is also the wholeness of life itself. Thus, the principle requires an observance of Source in all ITS diverse forms of manifestation, as well as in the wholeness of life.
Read more bout the philosophy behind this poetry, painting and this music found in chamber 5click here

oNE dAY & mISSING

One Day & Missing

Image

One Day
****
One day,
out of this fleshy cocoon
I will rise like a golden bird of silent wing
graceful as the smoke of a fallen flame.
I will dream no more of places
hidden–secreted away in heaven’s cleft
where the foot leaves no print.
****
One day,
I will walk in gardens holding hands
with my creation and creator.
We will touch one another
like lovers torn by death
to say goodbye.
We will lay in one another’s arms
until we awaken as one
invisible to the other.
********
One day,
I will isolate the part of me
that is always present.
I will dance with it
like moonlight on water.
I will hold it to myself in a longful embrace
that beats perfection
in the hymn of the Songkeeper.
***********
One day,
when I curl away inside myself
I will dream of you
this flesh-covered-bone of animal.
I will yearn to know your life again.
I will reach out to you
as you now reach out to me.
Such magic!
Glory to covet the unknown!
That which is
is always reaching for the self
that cheats appearances.
Who dreams itself awake and asleep.
Who knows both sides of the canvas
are painted, awaiting the other
to meld anew.

Missing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Facing another evening without you
I am torn from myself
in movements of clouds,
movements of earth spinning
like the sure movement of lava as it rolls to sea.
Yet when I arrive
you are still gone from me
23 footsteps away;
a cluster of punishment.
A bouquet of the abyss.
*******
When I look to the east I think of you
softly waiting for the vines to abdicate
their portion of your heart.
So you can be chiseled out of the matrix
with smooth hammer strokes
from my hands.
Freed of the coal, the black rot
of untouched shoulders,
you can open your eyes again
flashing the iridescent animals,
valiant vibrations of your rich spirit.
**************
Centerpiece of my table
I stare at you in candlelight,
the windows behind, black in their immensity,
only enlarge you.
Making you more of what I miss.
The procession of prophecies
has entered me again
casting doubt in my mind like rain
on dead leaves.
**********
I go among your body
to feel the presence of your heart beating
something golden spun from another world.
You cannot feel me.
I am invisible in all ways to you, but one.
A reflection in the mirror.
Beneath your eyes
you see me dancing away the body.
Dancing away the mind.
Dancing away the incarnations
of my absence.

http://www.wingmakers.us/wingmakersorig/www.wingmakers.com/arrow/chambers/poetry/poem4.shtml
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The worst Sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them;
that’s the essence of INHUMANITY

****
a qUOTE BY George Benard Shaw
~~~~~๑❤๑~~~~~

https://quarksire.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/raven1.jpg

************

There are three particular life principles that accelerate the transformational experience and help to align the human instrument with the Sovereign Integral perspective. They are:
1) Universe relationship through gratitude
2) Observance of Source in all things
3) Nuturence of life
There are so many layers of relative truth that if you listen to the language of externals, you will most likely abandon your own power in favor of the proclamation of language. Language is seductive to the ego’s drive for power and control, as well as the mind’s inclination to surrender to, and believe in, the language of externals. It can lure the unsuspecting into believing images and ideas–real or imagined–for the sake of holding individuals in bondage to a lesser truth, or keep individuals supporting the hierarchy when it no longer serves a purpose. The time is fast approaching when the veils of control at all levels of the hierarchy will be rendered obsolete by entities who are destined to pull down the veils and allow sovereign power to prevail over hierarchical power.
****************
When the individual applies these principles, their life experience reveals a deeper meaning to its apparently random events–both in the universal and personal contexts……..Read more bout the philosophy behind this poetry, painting and this music found in chamber 4.
http://www.wingmakers.us/wingmakersorig/www.wingmakers.com/arrow/chambers/indexes/philo.shtml

**