Mercurial Grains of Sand
Conscious moments of pure presence mystified linguistically, mystical depths deepening trance—entrance into the pure lands behind the eyes, the macrocosmic vision of transcendental dreams—glistening between horizons of infinite mind: infinite spherical horizons in the trillion directions—echoes of the formless void informing the informal formation of these formless shadows of worldly objects—
Objectively illusory—
A non-illusory voice, speaking elusive shadow spherical representations of thought forms from realms of form above—form and formlessness: dream and dreamlessness—gentle—
Ol’ Jack says to sing from the depths visualizing horizons horizontally painted onto worded page, lines and scribbles of time—
How any piece of writing invokes some semi-spiritual transience of eternity by mentioning the word time—
Time:
An hourglass of sand specks made of divine mercurial ink—with my mercurial pen scribbling eternality into the world, small fragmentations of the cosmos of cosmic unison—synchronized syncopations dilations of time harmonizing with higher essence, the Musica Universalis of Pythagorean magic—and we are the magicians who can speak divinity into being—small seedlings of divinity contingent upon proper soil for proper fruition—mind fruits of pure potentiality, teleologically imbued into every breath breathed—a slowing down of the human world, a settling on down with setting suns the eyes of skies above—a trillion trillion eyes of celestial luminosity casting shadows in our small world so below—as above—
So I run along and sing whatever the transcendental word wants me to say; I am a vessel—and I ask few questions when in this space—and all the questions I do ask from on low down in this logocentric mind dissipate face the certainty of divine expression, and uncertainty is temporarily eradicated—and I sing—and I dance along in the sweet beauteous streams of my mind at ease with itself—the sweet hourglass sand slowing down to the point of cessation—
Into the same infinitesimal geometrical point upon which the entire world is metaphysically founded: the point of convergent ideality—the point of the infinitesimal present moment, this elongated immeasurable momentous point—presently presenting to itself this present chain of serene words to remind itself of its necessary unison with all other momentary points of present eternity—and the eternality of my soul is contained within that small microcosmic point of metaphysical perception—in the logical incompatibility of the point with the physical world it creates:
an absolute absurdity of the universal mind making this world as perplexing as possible to remind us that true vision comes from the heart—
And my heart is beating—
And my heart loses itself in moments of its own madness at times, much like this mad mind of mine—
And in the end the two and their madness must surely be one and the same, only feel separate due to the absurdity of the illusion—
So we carry ourselves along into a moment of silence where the resurrection of heart-mind can be reimagined—and so— —the elongation of space has been pronounced, the laws of physics broken, the dreams of men revivified, the point of life elucidated—
All that’s left to do is watch the mercurial grains of sand falling from the sky into our hands, free from the hourglass of time and absurdity.