Where is there to begin,

if not from where the last did end.

Toil not from fruit or feed

but to boil in this hell indeed

for the dogmatic will of fact and knowledge flood

but for where the river does bend

and ground at last stood

the lost horse takes the lead

and the last warriors cry unheard

but for a small child laid bare

in his mother’s death symbolic and vane

the child grows to be the warrior’s bane

and death recoils once more to snare

all this contained inside her stare

the greatest beauty man will ever know

hidden so well it has forgotten

the lair of tigers growling low

as this life turns begotten

what will next be decided

or the next to be found

is less about what fate is sacrificed

and more about love confided

a father bound

an experiment of his own design

only from a distance softly guided

as the seeming child experiences wound

around the wheel set for recurrence

the circle broken by spirals fate

as the user learns to be still and fervent

but never beyond the fact of desire does he wait

as he is lifted off the thing once more

to remember what he was before

and habit tries like old men to say

this world will never work that way

and the old prophets and poets lauded for talent

speak only of that which God bestowed

war

pestilence

disease

famine

loss

lack

death

all on the curve of the archer’s bow

alas who knew that that archer was you

as the background sounds the cattle’s low

and morning dawns for the eternal dreamer.

For lack of originality, I borrow

The words of old giants, for now, I’m still too small

In Bukowski, I find how to express anger and sorrow

Hughley and Blake Show me the prophecies of scripture and God’s call

To heaven nature and people one and all

Rumi the secrets of universal truth and destiny

But the words I borrow before

Found a source more pure and free

Than my copy cat writing of heading and words

As Poe’s raven eternally calls nevermore

Or my contemporary counterparts cry of bleeding in ink

But for the most part, their creativity begs for more

Even the blood in which we write screams for the missing piece

My soul screams and the earth burns all-day

No different from Blakes wine presses and the victims of Albion’s daughter L’uvah

The soulless continually drink away the cries and screams as we turn the way

The mystics scream we are one as clear as mud from under

The feet of shaman lame from clarity

As each, his medicines fail

And the tribe of one I AM loses its famed familiarity

The dead assuming life and suffering screaming their awful wail

As the furnaces of Albion turn once more

I the heart hearing the deafening cry

Suffering to slumber restless and sore

Wishing for just once the doorway into this sphere was dry

Too many brothers unaware commanding each other

By forcing shadows as slaves to each other they mame, steal, rape, and rob

Yet openly shared by those found by few

As the cross, we bear picked up each morn

And the world of death produces yet more rot

As his child, we dutifully wake lift and wear it

Masterfully convinced we are that which we are not

Looking to each other for judgment yet we fear it

As the one and only I am continues the process

And the furnace of death maintains its horrid burning

Even still Blake’s Jerusalem plays out to be true

And my scream is not that of grace but fuck this

As falls away yet another piece of my delusions from childhood

Grabbing so tightly runs the flame against that which does remain

That my imperfections be consumed like wood

And all the false virtues I dogmatically held with my judgments slain

Only to have my current understanding fail to be loving as the flame climbs higher

And more of the me I think I am consumed as it gets hotter

That old demon of doubt turning the flame eternal into the raging fire

Turn not to the left or right

The clear instruction from both Moses and Jesus shown

Turns not to be external in the books of Samuel’s life

The animal dies to worship the senses and richness of his own

But the birthright was stolen by the supplanting one

Who took upon himself to show you the light

Renamed Isreal and the homeland done

Of the one true son David in scripture

Not having et met him I spout mere conjecture

It makes for lovely speeches

It doesn’t stop the fear of still being too impure

Today’s teachers of the law and prophecy

While taking ample time to smear the names of each other

Swearing o an external God that theirs is the way to be free

As long as in the plate or box you add your wages earned in a job

Or the equivalent of the historians ten percent

So they can line their pockets as a reward for being the voice of God

In Hebrew, It’s yod he vav he English Jehovah but it is literally just the phrase to be

So in my most recent heartbreak recalled

Noticing everything in this age must be a noun

It creates so much pain to be so rigid and galled

I’ve yet to notice I am not to be in motion when found

A verb is something much closer in sound

As Lewis Carroll’s red queen did say

“In my world, if you aren’t moving then you’re going backward”

Add in the rabbit with the late way

As his broken timepiece keeps him rushing towards

A destination he can’t tell from where he is

As poor Alice and Absolom, the caterpillar both learned and know

The audience is self poor and fact strong

As he puzzles away with the simple riddle “ who are you?”

The answer is so innocent… I am but then I am what?

Never did until almost the end were those the words the silly girl blew

And that’s also the diet of Jesus of which we know not

While more of the daughter’s of Lu’vah

Scream out my name like heavenly sirens

And I miss my mark again falling prey to lust

And my furnace is turned up to star melting heat

My head and heart feel like they will soon bust

Failing to comprehend the strange realization

The pain giving me the ultimate revelation

I’d master even this simple law if not the worry about

The women I’ve loved or fear leaving behind

And the family and brothers I might lose

Even knowing born after me are my kind

And a sister who has triggered for me as would a muse

Refusing to leave me unwilling to grow as such a perfect gift

The brothers and family I’ve given life to the experience and can open up to

I no longer try to solely lift myself up

While I navigate my place in a tribe tied thicker and richer than blood

For the first time, I have a real place to call home

By Jesse Windsor

My soul aches as much for you as for the man I once was.

Knowing both those things are not possessions but expressions.

Seeking a way from ever new ethereal cages but fighting the desire to put you in one.

The one we both created our own versions of.

As so many before have failed and even more still stumble the way in utter darkness.

I want to only watch you grow and love each step you take.

In my immaturity and blindness I almost asked you the most seeming precious question until I realized that too was a cage.

For no matter how long we stay together or how often we are apart.

Letting you hold my heart is freeing.

And asking you that fatal question...

Is the most gilded cage I have ever created for you have always been part of me...

But it was never fair to ask possession of you.

Commonly referred to as being mine...

So fly free my angel.

But don't worry I choose you always.

Forever I choose to give you myself.

And I am always blessed when you choose to share you with me...

As always I am forever on my way to you...

And to only the true God do I ever defer...

Home is calling again...

You need only leave the door open for me...

Love you agape for all of infinity...

But possession you are not...

See you soon!!!

I arose this morning with a new twist. There is an awakened imaginal experience begging me to share it with you. I'm not too good at this whole style of writing down things for the benefit of others. however... This too is a realization in that it no longer matters. The power surging through every one of us is that of God himself. This power is called grace in the bible. I woke today knowing I was an omnipotent omnipresent being. Truly unfathomable in my classification but not unique in ability. in as much as I have been reacting as a victim to this experience of life, I have also been taking a strictly physical reactive approach to this adventure relying only on my sense to dictate who I am or what is happening. I am currently living in an experience that feeds the famine known to all those searching eternities for answers. A true experience of God. A vision of the night while sleeping but fully awake. Showing me the life I not only can have but have already been building mostly passively. Starting today with intent. The experience was a grand display of the truth of creation. I spent my night going from sphere to sphere watching as each of my iterations was acting out circumstances imaginally. then immediately afterward being surprised that the same argument or interaction with their physical world. Over and over with the same intensity of physical reality, I taught each of them to train their imaginations to think of others lovingly and watched their whole worlds change to match. So today I did the same as I was teaching in my vision... And my lover also took to me much more kindly. Her son is the same and I have a very realistic vision of the success of several of my projects. Take is as you will but, I now know all that I behold is under the influence of my supreme dominion!