My Once Deaf Ear

The Instigator wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. You would figure he never sleeps. He snaps at me but I don't snap back . I take it to the local park where I vent without doing damage. Until I hear the dove in the distance. The same dove who soothes the savage. Calms the cantankerous
disarms the diatribe. Manages the maniacal monologue with effervescent finesse.

"That's what we do", coos the daytraders of tranquility.
"That's who we are, we cart away dismay. We defile fear and rectify rage. We turn the page."

"Yes", I answer with a smile.
"That's who you are and that's who I am, to."

A Day Like Any Or No Other

No instigator today, No dark dove. But no dove either. Little empathy for anything human. Beside my friends and family but more so towards nature and our four legged friends. Whose destiny is now so intertwined with our own that they too may fall if we do. They to are completely dependent upon the few who rule this world the few who decide just how trivial one life is over another. If my eyes are to be truly opened. If I am shake off the remaining haze from my fitful slumber then I am to open myself to all manner of mechanism and machination.To mediate myself and all life, every consideration. I must look through Mother Natures Eyes to see Gaia's baleful glare. As her children (You know I mean Us) Defile every gift she has lain at our feet. We were all meant to abide by Mother Nature's Law. To never take more than our share For to give back is to give thanks. To maintain the balance between your activity and nature's activity. To honor and respect everything that has a spirit. Which, if you believe as her native children do, everything that has a form.
I think what bothered me the most today was the lack of synchronicity. The failure of recognition in the mutual residents of this city's eyes or my own for that matter, to not regret change. To resist growth. To shun maturity. To embrace the security of oblivion. Unaware of anything the grand scheme has to offer. Just a simple creature of reaction. Completely expendable.

Or maybe it was the dream of the rose that refused to truly bloom, the night before. If that rose is a reflection of my soul then I have a ways to go before, I am to keep the keys and ignore, both wall and door. Unite, righteous with might. Reality with dream. Mentality, with means.

If I Be The Last

The Dark dove continues it's coup of coos. Pointing out fundamental flaws in anyone with an ego big enough to squash the humble and do that they do. They are rats possessed of little or no remorse. Just a dedication to the rat race that would make death wait while the paradigm squeezes one more dollar from their wretched souls. Just an overwhelming devotion to track that cheddar. To get on hands and knees and get pleased by that cheese. Screw that little guy. Laugh in the face of injustice. Mock the maltreated. Scoff at the subjugated. Ridicule the repressed.
Enslave the enlightened.
The Gurus of Globalcide glibly gloat, gladly glorify every horrifying moment the humblest of us endure. The disease with no cure. A Dystopian Dilemma of such Degree it frightens every free spirit left that believe they are bereft of our right to live in peace. Our fight need not increase our strife is not a lease on life that anyone can anymore afford. If everyone feels a need to even every score we'd all be waging war after war. Time after Time.

The Dark Dove whispers in my mind,

"Is this, worth it? Are we, worth it? "

and I answer,

"Only one of us has to believe so. And if I be the Last one. Then So be it. For I may bleed but I will never concede"

The Dark Dove

Since I put myself in charge of, myself. I find a more bolder version of the instigator at my doorstep. The serial killer instigator. The kind of voice that could shred a social contract like a magician makes confetti. In the the blink of a blind eye.
The Dark Dove? He soothes you through a traumatic event then restructures your psyche reforms you into a cool calculating Hannibal lectured individual. With a taste for the macabre.
I guarantee that is not happening to me . I am way too empathic to ever become a sociopath. But I will describe what was going through my head all day yesterday. There was some detachment going on as I interacted with others. A sort of impatience with the majority's gullibility. A subtle desire to shake them from there deliberate daze. To access their core programing and just dump the whole memory. But that would be too impulsive. So another course might be to systematically eliminate every biased perception, every ignorant act, every unwarranted hurtful attitude. Surgically removed with an Occam's razor. Psychic Psyche Surgery.
The Instigator, in evolved form or not, doesn't play by the rules and neither should I. But I refuse to throw ethics out the window. I refuse to give up my humanity in order to combat the Instigator on his level. I must evolve to. I must not forget that the archetypes are at my disposal. The Scribe, The Poet, The Philosopher, The Healer, the Eternal Child, and most importantly The Dove are all in my corner. All grooming me for the battles ahead. All preparing me for a showdown with The Shadow, The Instigator and The Middleman. All Ruled by a corrupted Meme King. All so that we may challenge the Adversary and if we defeat him claim our true birthright. The keys to Hell and Death and Paradise.

Back To The Fold

~The Jester of Dreams and I meet at the corner of serendipity and synchronicity street. we chat away the Planck time. The frank minded still blinded by the truth in everything the aloof need proof for everything unconvincing involuntary flinching at axioms acrid flavor. Altruism never savored just wolfed down and thrown up.
~The Instigator becomes passive aggressive but easier to control.
~The dove may be on vacation for there is no need to soothe the fearless no apprehension to assuage. No intervention to be implemented. The dove can come and go as she pleases. Go where ever she is needed most. We are good like that.
~The Guardian of my Dreams goes to bed hungry again. Poor S.O.B. Had free trips on the gravy train all this time. A VIP pass to my soul. All revoked, all suspended indefinitely.

When any degree of spiritual independence is gained. Passion is personified. I'm not talking about anything as trivial as (romance novelist out there I mean no offense) as the passion between a man and a woman.
I'm talking about Zest and Zeal. Arrest and reveal. Invest and appeal. Digress and divulge
depress and unfold. Like an Origami Swami.

At the Water Wells of the World

The Jester of Dreams makes a cameo on an energy drink today. All hell seems on the verge of breaking loose. Murphy, whose law is absolute on Mondays. is not only in two places at once, but all over the damn place. The Guardian of my dreams (no relation) again goes to bed hungry overwhelmed by my determination to at least partially perfect a Christopher Walken Impersonation. A huge glitch at the beginning makes it a chore to listen to but wasn't there before I uploaded it to Triond. I may try .wave format next time. A reaffirmation in my belief that I must help everyone I know in anyway I can makes Murphy's machinations more comical than conspiratorial. I have a feeling that the world is going to get weird for awhile that the rare will become common and the unique less so. The once wayward prophets will gather at the water wells of the world. And there apparent madness and impromptu ramblings will become the voice of reason.
The Allegorical Oracle will burden them with the weight of a thousand thousand dreams. Rules will unravel Laws legacy will Leave no lasting impression on the liberated landscape. This I have seen and this I will see again.

The Hall Without Shadow

There is a place within our dreams That the Mayans referred to in their prophecies as the Sacred Hall of Mirrors. It bears so much significance in my research it must be elaborated on further.
A brief excerpt from my novel Terra Firma gives a relatively concise if metaphorically flavored description:
Where grievance after grievance is aired pain is shared guilt...is...evenly distributed The Seventh Hall Without Shadow where one speaks where one listens hearts soften eyes glisten for there can be no shame no blame no shadows no doubt just grievance aired out resentment dissipated answers extrapolated from jumbled guts and fevered minds unravel cool and all that is left behind for each to find is a genuine need to be freed from all oppression from even casual manipulation just to see things for what they really are not worth it by far to end up another link in misery's chain.
I described it as a Hall without shadow which signifies to me a completely mirrored hall. I only made the correlation less that a month ago. I don't remember being there in my dreams but it seems like an experience I would never forget wake or sleeping.
My latest research on the matter theorizes that a mirrored room would serve as a way to see the spirits even when they are at a 180 degree angle to our perception. There would be no angle at which they could vanish from our perception for we would only have to make a slight adjustment (look at the wall).
So the way I see it I have two choices. Either make a mirrored room or hall. Or make one in my imagination. Which could be just as effective and a lot more portable =) . Then I could possibly see the antagonist to us all. Who I call the Instigator (an archetype) come to usurp my will. And commandeer my mortal vessel to do his bidding. I refer to the emotion of anger and how it can destroy lives if it is given absolute control of any situation. This warrants much experimentation.
And a vital puzzle piece. A prominence of providence.
Note: There is more information on the sacred Hall of Mirrors on the Spiritual Forums until this morning I did not know existed.