**Klick Here** Blessings Beloved Light Tribe ~ Our Light level took a jump this week as the May shift began. Gateway passages and unified Grid focus are consistent now, however unified focus during May 9 – 11, and the very amplified passage of May 19 – 21 is requested. Creative energies return to us now, purified, renewed and ready to manifest the New. Use this Light, it aligns you with the Christed timelines.
>>>>>>>>OF ALL THE INTENSE THINGS IN THE SPOTLIGHT OF GOINGS-ON AS OF LATE, there is One MAJOR amazingly positive, super rare and exciting event coming up this month that seemed so very unlikely and unexpected to me in light of how much terribly horrible and deeply demonic stuff is seemingly more likely to occur nowadays on our planet Urth, at the kusp.
TOOL is coming to headline a festival literally RIGHT DOWN THE STREET FROM ME……….
This is such incredibly happy, stunning news for me and I am deeply grateful and honored to Know I will be experiencing yet another Once-in-a-lifetime event (not to mention EXTREMELY EXCITED ABOUT IT). Eye Imagine I could be only so fortunate as to gain epiphanies there that would otherwise aid me somehow in stimulating my budding growth as a new author and propel my kareer officially into its “New Author” Emergence phase.
I’m so excited for BOSTON CALLING festival that it’s still about ten days away, and I already have my admittance bracelet on. 😆😆😆😆😎 It’s been almost five years since I’ve last seen TOOL, and this will be my fourth time Seeing Them. ANYONE ELSE GOING, I WILL SEE YOU ALL THERE!!!! 😀👽
Sent to you / as a pool of drool / my rules
Are concocted from a pocket of endo sacks & jewels
Attackin’ the bent socket / I’m packin’ what will shock you
Fuck the sloppy shit like soppy trips from a poppy
I’m talkin’ of facts that will rock the cradle / so I’ll be able
To discern a burned face from learned disgraced fables
I’m bringin’ mad shit to the table because I’m hackin’ it
Stacking the truth / keepin’ it loose like a noose / before the eclipse
Then my mighty rhyme / given some time / might tighten like grips…
I creep soul to my peephole / seepin’ the keep hold
Gatherin’ light / fusin’ cracks / Fuck the steeple
I keep the coal in the furnace blazin’ sacks
The facts are hazy but don’t faze me ‘cause they’re lazy cats
When I rock / it’s over / like I’m sober
Hear that I’m knockin’ on the door / as I soar through the open sky
I’m surprised my high has subsided / now I’m collided
With sheer irony squeezin’ like pliers…
The fiery siren of the liar that has subsided
I hide / I’m hidden / feelin’ forever ridden of lies
That try to connect with the wrong pieces of the puzzle
I dissect the next activity given to me as a guzzle
Beer / which steers me in the direction of cheer
When I get close to the near hose I shed a tear
Disappearing but merely nearing a searing fear
I’m leaven in Heaven I dwell with the spell I cast on thee
Is it me? Or the meltin’ skeleton key
Holdin’ like gelatin / sellin’ out / spoutin’ a fee
Of grief that holds me & guides me to the leaf
I pack the keef / keep my stride as a relief -MIKE “Kon-Temp Klowd” EYE
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[chapter ONE of MIKE EYE’s The Aqueous Transmission]
WITH A SWIFT PRICK OF PANIC SUDDENLY INJECTING HER WITH A sharp sting of anguish and cynicism, the woman squashed the Blood-soaked pancreas with her fist in rage, hurled it at the floor, and darted from her tiny bedroom toward the nearby flight deck, Blood rushing to her Head with mortification. Approaching the cockpit, the frantic woman reflected inquisitively upon the flash of deep insight she had just obtained, began uneasily entertaining the idea that she may very well have fallen victim to a scheme more expansive and elaborate than her own.
With a few fingerings atop the surface of the console’s flat screen control panel, the woman disengaged light-speed and initiated descent, adjusting the ship’s altitude to take course within the Earth’s thermosphere. She sat frantically on the edge of her seat, smacking herself upside her perspiring forehead in an attempt to jostle herself awake in case she had been dreaming. As she approached Earth, the tense woman at the cockpit directed her gaze straight ahead, eyeing the closed shutter just in front of her. With an eager touch of a button at the control panel, the automated shutter retracted to reveal a murky outdoors.
The woman anxiously peered through the great glass dashboard to notice it was nighttime. She flipped the switch that powered on the ultra-fluorescent headlights. Straining her neck toward the front glass, the woman gazed into the darkness in an attempt to see if she could see anything out of the ordinary. Her heart was racing. With the touch of another button at the control panel, the little spaceship dipped another few kilometers South. That was when the woman caught first sight of the remnants of mayhem just below her: the sinister miasma blanketing the air with dark greys, spread out in thick gloomy puffs, slowly rolling upward.
“NO!” the woman yelled out in alarm, her whole back now soaked in sweat. The smoke was quickly rising up around the ship, encasing it with its drear envelopes.
As the space-pod quickly found itself shaking viciously through the turbulence, immersed in the dense smog of dusky greys that were ravaging the night sky, a flash of embarrassment lit the inside of the woman’s cheeks on fire.
It all came to her.
She realized her ego had been knocked out from having been unwittingly caught in the punch line of a devious joke, struck by the spiteful brunt of a most ruthless prankster that had ultimately proved to be shrewder than she.
The lady placed her dainty digits upon her cheeks.
She screamed in Horror.
The painful shrill echoed throughout the curvy enclosure of the flying silver craft.
The woman maliciously clenched her teeth and cocked her quivering head slightly upward, her Eyes widening as panic struck her hard.
She gaped blankly through the great glass dash in a numb terror, feeling forced to watch the ominous heavy clouds of dark smoke gust about beyond it. She sat paralyzed, sensed a hostile opposing force laughing hysterically at her. But all around her was dead silence. A tear trickled down her left cheek. She let out a few whimpers.
For a timeless instant, the woman remained perplexed at what was before her as she trembled, staring wide-Eyed in a trance out the window.
”It’s true. Oh God!” she spoke aloud, more tears falling down her face. She cupped her palm around her mouth in astonishment. A quick quiver crept up her spine and a shudder shook her glance away. She took a long blink and placed her other palm across her heart.
”My sisters,” she thought. “Oh, God!”
The woman continued to sit at the head of the space-pod, immensely distraught and in sheer disbelief. The ship was now approximately 25 kilometers above the surface of the Earth, quietly cruising on auto-pilot at a smoothly decelerating velocity through the sinister smoke that was growing thicker and thicker as the vessel descended.
WHAT THE F@*# HAPPENS IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE VESSEL DESCENDS??!!? Stay tooned to find out. -MIKE EYE
AL RODNAM APPEARED IN MOTHER MAGDALENA’S TINY BEDROOM OF her space-pod as a ghost that No One Saw but himself, From Above. To his left was a horrific display of flesh-gore set about the Mother’s plush, bloody bed, a lump of a twitched body beneath the soiled sheets clearly evident and completely lifeless. Al Rodnam knew just by bearing witness to this disturbing display that, not only was the limp body under the Mother’s tribal bedsheets the recently deceased Fletcher Munsin, but that his Head had just popped off his neck in final fulfillment of his sick sacrifice the moment the mystic had entered the space-pod.
“Wow,” mumbled the mystic inaudibly to himself as he glanced at the messy bed of the Mother, “that was too close!! Praise Be to these Powers that Be that I was able to make it here!”
Lying Peacefully in a most beauteous slumber beside his own Dead mortal Shadow of High Attraction, was Magdalena. The mystic now knew that the Mother was presently having the prophetic, psychotic dream of the Source-less Blood-Red Moon and her psychedelically mutating freak sisters, the important dream that would soon lead the Mother to discover what she was then obliged to do upon waking. Magdalena had been spared a fatal Fall into the depthless black pit that her sisters had fallen down into, the mysterious abyss on the peculiar planet that she and her High Hawk Sisters had landed down upon, thanks to the quick and covert manipulation of a preset at the control panel of Magdalena’s silver space-pod that was the clever work of One of the Gilded Grunts who had been harvesting Space-Grain at the Andromeda Biodome during that most significant, most evocative Sacred Seduction long desired to be executed by the Mother Magdalena.
There was a sudden bump and the ship started shaking erratically, causing the Mother’s obscure knick-knacks that were spread across the slight surfaces of tiny furniture about her little bedroom to tremble, and some items tipped over, some rolling to the floor. Then the shaking subsided. Al Rodnam could do nothing but stare at Mother Magdalena throughout the duration of the turbulence, wide-Eyed as could be, trembling a bit with nervousness. He hoped to God she wouldn’t wake up. He knew that she must experience this dream during the nap she now took, for contained within its message, rather explicitly and quite perceptibly, was the very magical catalyst that would initiate all the bizarre occurrences that would cause the Mother to be Enlightened to the forces at work around her, and so Come to live perpetually with a spiritual grudge for Fletcher Munsin, coming to eventually realize reluctantly how the man had ultimately overtaken her façade, and in such a devious manner! Ha-ha!!
A sudden shift in course brought the cabin trembling warily and the walls shook as Al Rodnam lost his footing and stumbled to one knee. Cautiously glaring over at his Sleeping Beauty, he concentrated on the Dark woman’s Eyelids, hoping they would remain latched dreamily throughout the duration of the turbulence. After a few more rumbles of the craft that came to take place before the course slightly smoothed out again, Al Rodnam Praised the Lord that the Mother had not Come Awake.
Al Rodnam became Aware that he now had the authentic appearance of his Godhed Identity.
The old man came to his feet.
Now was the time, he Knew.
The Last Godhed would project his very Spirit Essence into the wavering astral Mind of the Mother to make sure her surprising, life-altering revelation would now be personally experienced within the realms of her sadistic revelatory reverie — the horrifying nightmare the Mother would have of herself in Bry Dellows with her sisters, the Moon to go Missing on a somehow brightly lunar-lit, otherwise normal evening.
Al Rodnam actively entered Magdalena’s dream now to be a spectator, but while able and willing to interfere with the course of its events if he so chose. High, potent Godhed liquid-light plasma-photon fibers of the Last Godhed’s High Consciousness conjoined with a flooding of excess melatonin to enter Mother Magdalena’s Pineal gland, coalescing with celestial circadian rhythms that straight-away carried the old man’s Consciousness of High Intention ceaselessly along the catchy cadence of the sleeping Magdalena’s intergalactic, rhythmic dreamscape.
Finally, the old man thought, my due course has proven True, and most Divine, albeit somewhat devious. And the Last Godhed knew for certain in that moment that his High Wisdom had finally aided him in fulfilling his aquatic paternal vocation, his extraordinary exoneration, his ultimate deliverance.
And Into the Bitch’s Head, and with a most graceful swan-dive the Last Godhed dove bravely, and with all of his Identities at every density level, leveling out fastly to smoothly form mindful breast-strokes as he entered into Mother Magdalena’s choppy brain-pool of loyal Lust. It was, unsurprisingly to the old man, a most soiled, sullen, smutty sanctum, and Al Rodnam Now righteously acknowledged upon soakage that, due to his deliverance, it would indeed be within these depths and from where they flowed, inside this most intimate, Motherly prophetic dream, where the Last Godhed will Come to See through clearly Into Himself Once again.
The process is piece by piece with repetition of ill matter
I’m on a mission to fill fatter spots than ducks splatter
Duck & gather your things & run far
‘Cause I’m flippin’ this spit in your eardrum
My repertoire is to come correct with this affection
Alarming like detection / ‘cause I’m startlin’ you
With effects from sessions / & then next,
My words will bust through your head like sex lust
‘Cause you’re bein’ fed with this verbal lead of complex thrusts
Shit’s ill / as I switch up the sick skill,
Flipped / unexpectedly like fate when karma trains slip
Off track & spill / destiny / a wreck successfully in check
Like you’ll be / when it’s your face that I fill
With toxic cum of Holy Shit
Spillin’ ridiculousness of ill words of sickness on your tits
I flip & smoke the tree,
Lettin’ it loose over the façade of God’s land,
In my own space pod / I command the beat
& enhance the mindset / for you to understand
The deceit in bittersweet trances of silhouettes
In fact the threat / of cracked regret / of shit lost
Is past / so I can cross / & surpass the laws
That’ve been lettin’ tax upset the bots
Who kicked back / relaxed / & forgot the max cause,
The facts that don’t pause / in bein’ more ever present & clear
Than the voices a paranoid s-s-schizophrenik hears
Enter Fear: I am near the horizon that’s Blood Red
& I’m feelin’ the rain starting to sprinkle with the wind
I’m parting with sin. -MIKE EYE
Compiled by Gregg Prescott, M.S., BodyMindSoulSpirit.com
Have you ever experienced an 11:11 synchronicity? Psychologist Carl Jung coined the term synchronicity, which many of us use on a daily or weekly basis.
Synchronicity is the coming together of inner and outer events in a way that cannot be explained by cause and effect and that is meaningful to the observer.
~ Carl Jung
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WITH THE INTENSE QUAKE OF A FULL-BLOWN CRISIS TURNING HER hot, Lina got winded.
The insides of her cheeks lit up.
She squashed the blood-soaked pancreas with her fist in rage and hurled it at the floor. She hastily turned around, pushed a button on the wall to part the panels of the door, and raced in anguish through the threshold toward the ship’s cockpit, completely losing her nerve. Blood was rushing to her head with mortification.
Having just obtained a flash of deep insight, Lina started to face the fact that she may very well have fallen victim to a scheme more expansive and elaborate than her own. Reaching the cockpit, the frantic woman disengaged light speed and initiated descent, adjusting the ship’s altitude to take course within the Earth’s thermosphere. She sat frantically on the edge of her seat, smacking herself upside the head in an attempt to jostle herself awake in case she had still been dreaming.
With an eager push of a button, the automated shutters of the ship’s glass dash retracted to reveal a horribly blinding bright white light that instantly soaked the whole ship’s interior with its intense luminosity.
Raising her hands to try and block out the light, she shut her Eyes, tightly, and when she reopened them, found herself on the ship’s floor, bruises suddenly able to be felt throughout her body. How much time had passed since she was last conscious? Her back was to the floor and she gazed up all blurry-Eyed at the ship’s ceiling in total disarray.
Lina slowly realized that she was awakening from having been knocked unconscious, for how long she didn’t know. Befuddled, Lina immediately assumed that heavy turbulence must have shaken the craft viciously through the elements, tossing her fiercely about the cabin, knocking her out.
Slowly gaining awareness that she was now in the midst of the aftermath of an extremely dangerous event, she realized that a great deal of her body was awfully sore. She felt herself up and down, felt grateful that she was at least able to move her lithe limbs around, although they ached deeply.
She wasn’t sure exactly what she had seen out her space-pod before her white-out, but she was starting to remember, piece by piece that it indeed now was the end of the world as she knew it.
At least she thought so.
Magdalena raised her Head Up and took a glimpse into the cockpit from where she lay on the floor, still not attempting to get up, preferring to remain in an ignorant bliss for as long as she could, trying to block out the bluff. The shutters of the crystal glass dash were closed and she felt compelled to see what was on the other side.
But then, taking in a few steady breaths and glaring directly at the closed bay flaps as she lay on the floor, she felt a strange sensation in her ocular cavity as her mighty vision straight pierced through the front-end of the ship and she realized that she already knew what was just beyond the flaps; she could see it.
Slowly shifting her body to come to rest on all fours, she took a deep breath in, and out. And just as she was about to force herself up, she realized she was bleeding profusely from her forehead. Lina was surprised; her forehead was in a great deal of pain, she realized, but it didn’t seem to warrant a yield of quite this much blood for the amount of pain she felt. Quickly becoming very concerned over how serious her cranial wound might be, she hightailed it to the med-kit in the bathroom to see if she could find a way to stop the bleeding.
After dressing her Head wound, she quickly stumbled to the cockpit and earnestly pressed the “open” button to retract the shutters of the premium-grade crystal glass dash.
There before her Eyes was the familiar mucky assortment of indiscernible sludge spread out over the entire expanse of the glass dash that still managed to take her off guard, and she unintentionally leapt backwards, head over heals, back down onto the floor, hitting her head hard.
She could already feel the powers of Solaria draining from her, and she at least hoped the extraordinary child she would bare would be a happy, healthy baby she could love and nurture with pleasure.
”SOLARIA!” the Mother screamed, her fists pounding the forlorn air in retaliation, her back to the floor, enraged as all Hell. “I CAST CURSES UPON YOU, SOLARIA!”
Lina crawled over to the cockpit. From out the corner of One Eye, she could barely make out the disgraceful debris squashed up against the glass dash of her ship, guck daubed all over it, and she shivered. More frustration befell her as the button to shut the shutters somehow stuck fast, preventing the window from being able to close.
”Oh, you have got to be fucking KIDDING ME!” Lina howled at the stubborn mechanics malfunctioning before her Eyes.
She shielded her view from this horrid vision but was unable to shake it from her mind; it seemed steadfastly singed into her sights with a seal of scary scorn.
And it inexplicably beckoned her forth with a tantalizing tease of torture that shook her.
Feeling a powerful pressure that seemed to almost possess her, Mother Magdalena felt persuaded to pursue the impulse that was pulling her in as she popped a quick peak at the repulsion.
What she saw next will never leave her Mind’s Eyes.
She had caught a quick glimpse of an eerily familiar human Head amidst the mess beyond the glass dash, fully detached, and containing three wide-open Eyes that seemed to stare directly at her. She tried again to close the window but it was an attempt in vain that tempted her veins and her body ached all over.
”CLOSE, GOD DAMMIT!” the woman shrieked, but the dash didn’t close.
And from behind closed Eyelids, an extremely lucid vision was finally able to become etched within her optics, melatonin flooding her head in gracious Glory as it fully stimulated her Sahasrara chakra, delivering to her a sacred message that was peculiarly recognizable.
A spherical orb of concentrated oscillating photon fibers materialized above Mother Magdalena’s Head.
She heard a tap on the glass. -MIKE EYE ⊙
ORIGINALLY BLOGGED BY MIKE EYE ON NOVEMBER 14, 2016 @ DARKESOTERIKA.COM
What really is going on upon, within, and just outside of Earth right now??
Okay, let’s get a bit more specific. Let’s Zero-In on the dreaded topic of the well-oiled Machine of US Politricks that is in desperate need of some figurative WD-40. Or not. Let’s talk Ruport Murdock (who’s personal net worth is now supposedly close to 12 BILLION USD).
I don’t write political articles very much because I honestly don’t see the point. I personally “got over duality” some 20-odd years ago. But, alas, I am still an American Citizen, so if I don’t mention it every so often, some people would consider me apathetic, which would, in all reality, most likely just be a dingy, undesired representation of their misjudgement of me.
But, let’s seriously ask ourselves, what the fuck just really happened in the past month or…
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There was Once, not too long ago, a modern-day prophet with extraordinary lingual skills and a passionate heart who Once went by the name of Asha-yana Deen. At the dawn of our ‘current millennium’, just prior to the H. Event, she warned us that this so-called ‘New Age Movement’ Wave Mind Stream we now not find ourselves entrapped, so enraptured within, would demonically pervert the archetypes influencing the channel source of divine incoming messages we Receive from our Higher counterparts. It is worth mentioning here now and today Once Again, that some (ALL) of these ‘divine channeling urgent messages’ Now being received by our lightworker friends from angels and avatars may be (ARE) purposefully warped and tapped intentionally intended to deviously deceive us. The following excerpts are found in the Once Asha-yana Deen’s VOYAGERS II. Secrets of Amenti and her Millennium Round Up Expose. Discern. -MIKE EYE
The New Age Movement represents the emerging Light, or enlightenment, within our mass psyche as we transition into a greater understanding of the mechanics of the multidimensional universe (Time Matrix) and our place within it.
As this enlightenment is in its infancy on our planet, very often the exploration of multidimensional reality is approached with excessive naiveté.
Frequently within this movement one is encouraged to open to multidimensional interaction [found in ‘social media’] without possessing enough knowledge about the nature of dimensional structure, and often surrenders personal power and the responsibility for consequences over to some designated authority within the multidimensional spectrum.
The New Age Movement represents a manifestation of our evolving Collective Consciousness, a natural attribute of evolving to “see beyond the veils” of 3-dimensional reality, which comes with activation of the 4th DNA strand within the greater design of our 12-strand DNA potentials.
The understanding shared by the New Age Movement and the Secret Government (Illuminati) represents a conscious cognition and scientific validation of the existence of multidimensional structure, interdimensional operations, and the existence of other sentient lifeforms from within the multidimensional universes that interact directly with Earth and its people.
Neither [NO] side realizes the whole structure, or the operational laws of nature within this multidimensional framework, and both [NONE] are exploring these new frontiers to serve their intrinsic objectives.
From the “Energy Healing,” Channeling, Vortex/Chakra technologies and ET/Angelic contact of the New Age, to the EMP (Electro-magnetic Pulse) technologies (See HAARP, Psychotronics, Metatronic Broadcast Station), Remote Viewing, Time Travel/Star Gate technologies, and intruder ET Contact of the Secret Government.
The Anunnaki-dominated New Age “pseudo-ascension” spiritual movement (most of it inspired by the “Templar Melchizedek” false ascension teachings of Anunnaki’s Thoth [see Drunvalo Melchizedek and the Flower of Life Facilitator Workshops], pre-Emerald Covenant Enoch, Archangel Michael & Friends,” “Jehovah,” “Maitreya,” “Lord Melchizedek and the spiritual hierarchy,” the Urantia, etc. inherently promote a fear-based paradigm of “Light, Love, and Pretend Away the Darkness (“everything is all right”) dogma.
The Illuminati races within the infrastructure of the covertly metaphysically motivated Illuminati World Management Team, who serve as Fallen Angelic puppets, are being “played on” and manipulated by fear of personal survival and a desire for acquisition of power to prevent pain and create personal pleasure (see One World Order).
These are the same motivations behind the actions of the “spiritual” peoples of traditional New Age affiliation, who think worshipping an ancient book, or surrendering personal power to an external “God,” “ET,” “Angel,” or “Channel” is the ultimate expression of spiritual development and will “make everything all right.”
Fear, the “Pleasure-Pain Principle” and Disinformation are the common control elements by which the Illuminati and Humans become easily misled into surrendering their power to something outside of themselves. Once this “outside source” has your power, compliance with the approval of that source becomes implicitly the only way to feel empowered.
….we listen to the Album.
Change. Do We want it? A great deal of Us here now seem to be personifying that notion, or at least that’s what We’re lead to generally assume. But do We get that change?
To be honest (as I always am on my blog) I’m scared of Change. The state of Mind Eye try to achieve is perpetual harmonious bliss. I’ve always Viewed that highly desirable elemental, emotional wave mindstream to be a perpetual ‘OM’, which Eye View as a konstant, and denotes no Change. Yet I also realize that the Only konstant IS Change, as it holographically manifests itself into Our existence flickering through Our Consciousness to form fluid Images of constant growth that always Changes. And then, it is to assume, of course, that Changes must continue happening, as an object, or subject as is the case here, in motion remains in motion proven by what we can test in experiments with modern-day physics. So I guess it’s logical to presume that We “creatures of habit”, as it were in Our case, require and are hardwired to expect and want Change with respect to the fact that We are constantly changing.
But we somehow never seem to publically, collectively convince Ourselves that We have yes indeed gotten that big major Change in Our Lives that We’ve been Dreaming of because We haven’t as a people yet gotten to that convergence point in our evolution where we can Collectively Live in the Moment and Be Here Now. As Creedence Clearwater Revival alluded to, “Some Day Never Comes.”
To all my WordPress Followers (now over 1,000!) who struggle with the Idea of Change (Thank You!), and since we live in a fiscal society, I offer up this helpful metaphor to consider. Whenever we need to ‘make Change’ we break a dollar. Change is therefore made, and actualized, when We immediately and systematically break down and subjugate the parts, or coins as it were, of the whole, the dollar, and Separate, as Trump would, and does. But We must also realize at the same time that even as that majority of us (U.S.) who don’t live in poverty can Imagine, anyone who instantly needs to make Change attempts to combine and collect those very same powerful Separate coins to form a dollar so that she or he can go buy something and gain from it. So both acts must occur, but simultaneously, One after the Other. This Eternal Process is One of the reasons history repeats itself. That’s a fact, and it’ll remain at rest. And as We Know as a fact, a body at rest will remain at rest! –MIKE EYE
The Bedlam In Goliath by The Mars Volta
AL RODNAM SUDDENLY APPEARED ALL-TOO-SWIFTLY ATOP THE treacherous grounds of an astonishing bedlam that had all gone to Hell.
And the nuclear explosion was yet to make impact.
The tragic conditions of Fucked-Earth were far worse than the old man had Imagined; they were not nearly this bad when he had first started holding Fletcher Munsin’s charismatic form at the edge of Bry Dellows not long ago, just after the Thirteen Hawks had had their Andromeda Biodome Truth Revelation. He was totally taken aback and remained in a state of total shock for an elapsed amount of time unknown to him… all Al Rodnam finally decided he did Know after eventually shaking off the bewilderment was that it was indeed more than a short amount of time. And he didn’t miss making the chilling, mental note that this could all just be as he now strangely felt it to be, and Nothing more…
And, as unusual as it was, Al Rodnam Now felt himself Becoming altogether erratic and distraught at his tendencies to become so easily Distracted on his lowly way to the pond of the Aqueous Transmission! The Opportunity Now Given Here, he suddenly realized, must swiftly come to be taken right away. The old man tried thinking of nothing else save for sharp, running thoughts of a drilling sense of precisely how critical this moment was for him. He caught a ripping rush of icy, raw frenzy right-eat straight through him as he suddenly Came to the Awareness of the dire urgency of his willful Hand to Come Out ‘n’ Play Artfully during this mere consecrated Incident. All that he was trying to think about now was how he was to navigate successfully through and past his next obstacle, however horrid he could Imagine it to be, and in but a flash of an Instance. The Wise Godhed swiftly pounded himself repeatedly on the Head with a couple of angry fists as he cursed himself out and shouted aloud to himself to stay focused and concentrate on his destined Final Destination.
It stank of dying things unrecognizable. The guru now beheld nothing he remembered from the times he had made Bry Dellows his Home, indiscernible objects before him all covered in impenetrable filth and caught in wreckage that spanned out as far as the Eye could See. There were uncontained bonfires everywhere. Ash and smoke and heat and dirt all swirled together before the mystic and his mouth remained partly dropped wide open and dry, Unconsciously taking it all in.
Shortly, after becoming able to douse his dilemma of being in a downstruck daze, he shook himself free from his sucked-in stance and moved onward.
Al Rodnam took a few cautious steps forward at first. He then walked not a dozen more paces ahead before he saw…
A colossal drift of thick and heavy, smudgey smoke in the near distance suddenly altogether slowly blew away in a mock-theatrical dramatic fashion to extravagantly reveal a mind-numbing display most Horrifying. And it came scattered with ear-piercing, panicked screeches. The retarded little Loombugs were everywhere, all howling a wild gibberish most enthusiastically as they frantically raced that way and this, not a One of them having a Single clue as to what they were doing or where they were going.
What Al Rodnam noticed next was how many of them there were.
So many of those filthy, doomed Loomy fuckers runnin’ amuck! he thought to himself. What a disgrace.
Scrambling fro and to like terrified, overly erratic creatures of pure madness amongst bonfires burning uncontrollably, the murky, foreboding sky overhead, in mirrored aquatic fashion, was filled with shooting stars that were chaotically shooting to and fro, these unstable astral counterparts of the Bugs releasing entirely the pent-up energies they had been Harvesting for their entire lifetimes in an instance, and flashing ever-so-brightly across the sky wildly. Electro-plasmic confetti blasted about the Cosmos continuously from every direction, and One Loombug expired upon Fucked-Earth for each fiery flash.
The Last Godhed swiftly darted through the mayhem of the far fringes of Bry Dellows toward a bluff by-and-by as fast he could, picking his way cautiously, but quickly, through the looming grey smoke clouds and harrowing odorous smut rolling softly, amicably on by.
And upwards and out of this Godforsaken Hollows Al Rodnam would hasten!
Beyond this Damned, defiled, deathly domain of the despicable, Dark Mother’s Harvest would he catch brief downtime to collect himself, he thought. There, and only then, would he begin using his super-intuitive senses in full glory to Mind the Magical Staff of Lachrylon and straightaway tap into its wet, conductive properties that would reveal to him his way across the Fucked-Earth wastelands, and to the pond of the Aqueous Transmission.
He dashed on, but with a slight slouch about his great wooden staff, onwards as fast as he could through the mayhem of the all-disturbing, most-devastating display of ungodliness all around him, the hi-fi psychotronic sub-space and free-radical holographic interferences of electrical electrons surging forth about him with utmost iniquity, these multidimensional perceptual blocks assaulting hostilely the full-range of the Last Godhed’s neural senses as he stumbled fastly over the dust and death, and in a terribly hostile manner, it would come to be. The old man felt clinging to him an elongated single moment of Sorrow that would continue Haunting him Forever. This was the land he had helped create.
At first, Al Rodnam was having a fairly agreeable time considerately traversing the bumpy grounds of the doomed village borders, but he Knew that this wouldn’t last long. The old man briskly scampered on and over abandoned bulky pieces of slimy, grotesque Loombug body parts, a whole slew of which were ripped apart and scattered everywhere over the mounds of dirt.
And if the old man wasn’t now fully concentrating on reaching that most relevant Body of Water that had somehow reemerged — and nothing else — he may have taken more heed of the unbelievably vile, most extremely disturbing stench of otherworldly rot wafting through the collapsed community. It was impossible to ignore it altogether, however, and portions of the putridity from the acrid Bug carcasses managed to eek their way past the old man’s mindful barricading of his inner nasal cavity. Al Rodnam was able to shake it off, though, as he held in his thoughts images of Lachrylon and the Pond of the Aqueous Transmission. And along with that, and only because of the sheer magnitude of this most sacred undertaking, he was soon able to temporarily shrug off his Intense Lachrymose Emotions tearing away at him and focus on the most dire, necessary task at hand. Which was the compassionate thing to do, he thought. The considerable thing to do. And, in some sick, sad way, free of distortions.
Concentrating so hard on not being distracted, the old guru missed seeing at first, but soon could not help noticing all about him as he hobbled forth, strange translucent crystalline clusters that had abruptly become plentifully strewn about the gore-infested grounds of the Unholy Hollows. They looked like pieces of petrified ruby-colored ornaments of some kind, and they were glowing softly. Their intricate subtleties started to slow the old man’s pace just a bit as fascination took over him. He thought it absolutely necessary for some reason to take a slight gander at these twinkling red items. For a quick moment, the last Godhed gambled with the lives of a race of people, albeit people corrupted, yet people he had promised to help grow and entrust. Seeing what a High Mystic such as himself could See in the aura of all the dazzling red discards that dotted on by his path as he hobbled forth, Al Rodnam was willing to wager the loss of everything he had been involved with, personally, for the last thousand years. Just to see what the hell these glowing things were.
The Last Godhed briefly set aside his haste, took a quick look about himself, and took a knee before a large cluster of the glowing red stones and started analyzing them intently. Picking a couple of them up, he saw small stone tablets petrified inside the ruby translucence and instantly made out a different Runic inscription upon each one. He noticed at Once that the depictions did not look like the Runes he had initially instructed the Mother to work with. And they were inscribed in Stone! During the early days of Bry Dellows, Al Rodnam had fiercely informed the Mother — and multiple times Passionately — that the Runes she was to Apply with her Bugs in her village be etched in wood. “No wonder things took a turn for the worst… the all-seeing guru mouthed to himself curiously with a slight frustration.
This creeping grave dread!
Fascinated now, he snatched up a few more of the glowing ruby clusters to take a look, and each one had a small Stone false-Rune tablet locked inside, the symbol etched upon each One having distinctively deviated modifications from the uncannily similar original Rune symbols of which Al Rodnam Knew and perpetuated. The original Rune symbols he had etched into the Staff of Lachrylon.
He threw down the petrified pieces of the insulting tainted gems in Rage. He was furious! How could he have let this happen?! The old man slowly started gaining a clearer understanding of why shit had gotten so fucked at Bry Dellows.
Just then, a fat, fetid body slammed into Al Rodnam and the guru abruptly stumbled aside, tripping over the very crimson stones he had just dispelled toward the cynical-seeming Earthlands, nearly falling flat on his face. The stumpy Loombug who had made contact wavered slightly, her blank face totally iced-over in a lost confusion. She then abruptly shifted her whole upper body swiftly from the Last Godhed with a schizophrenic steadfastness, and trotted absently away. But before she could get very far, she rather neglectfully fell down in over-dramatized fashion, quickly got back up, paused, then spun back around neurotically. She managed to slip and fall but again was able to easily pull herself quickly back up, this time hobbling away in a tread of dysrhythmia, the shrill of the most piercing of womanly shrieks to suddenly and crudely be released from the Bug’s throat, miraculously assaulting the air in choppy, deep and guttural exclamations most distasteful. Before Al Rodnam could experience fully the aftereffects of a decent dose of Horror from what had just supposedly happened to him, two more expressionless Loombugs lurched up to the locale, bumping into each other as they approached the old man…
The Last Godhed was close enough to see straight into the Loombugs’ Eyes, and for the very first time in the traveled mystic’s long life, Al Rodnam was thoroughly Horrified.
The old man wished he could disappear briefly, or momentarily “stop time,” perhaps, even, or even morph into his native giant air-dolphin identity and swim away at Once! But Al Rodnam Knew that in order to properly carry out his High Duty and accomplish his mighty Charge from Lachrylon, he had to remain in his old-man human-form during this “final gesture” of avoir throughout the entirety of his Last Mission during this Final Fucked-Earth shit-shamble over to the Pond of the Aqueous Transmission. For the first time in history, Al Rodnam cursed himself out in the name of Lachrylon — something he never Imagined himself doing, ever.
The old man halted his hobble after having trudged almost hopelessly at least a mile in the direction he felt just naturally pulled to. He was either all the way out or on the fringes of Magdalena’s Bry Dellows by this point. Panting heavily, with sweat dripping off his forehead, he raised his dark wooden Rune staff up before his bust considerately, and almost didn’t notice — in fact, almost completely missed Seeing — slight variations in the revered Runes enscrawled upon the mighty Staff. The old man Knew instinctively, and without question, that the Runes he had just Seen on his own magical Staff were not the Ones he had scrawled into it during the time of the Founding of the Mother’s Bry Dellows. And he thought he Knew just exactly why…
Keeping the Staff of Lachrylon held out staunchly before his countenance so that he could keep an Eye on the Staff’s Runes as he walked on, Al Rodnam again began moving as quickly as he could, courageously trekking on rather briskly despite the stiff slouch he harbored due to the lack of aid from his staff. On he went, and in the direction he knew was away from Bry Dellows. A staunch, War-grade determination beset the ol’ man’s Eyes and hard lip as he continued onward. —Let’s go.— —Here we go, — was what he said in his Head to prepare himself.
It was not for at least another twenty minutes along his way, Fucked-Earth time, that Al Rodnam psychedelically Saw out of the corner of his left Eye what he had been anticipating. All twenty-four Runes on the Staff of Lachrylon that he still held up before him — suddenly as a quantum leap — had just slightly, subtly metamorphosed back into the original depictions he had First carved into its wood, during that most mindful crafting of the sanctified staff from its original Four Sticks. Al Rodnam now Knew for certain that he was past the boundaries of Bry Dellows.
Keeping his pace while continuing to hold forth abruptly the mighty Staff before him, Al Rodnam was Passionately seeking, as he kept on, a more familial bondage with a growing psychic, magnetic pull he could feel growing stronger and stronger through the magic of the Staff. And he continued to advance briskly onward and further from the Mother’s subtley sadistic Homeland.
Al Rodnam thought this a great instant to attempt intentionally evoking within the Spirit of Lachrylon his Divine presence and purpose at present.
The real Runes that had reformed upon the mighty Staff the mystic clutched most manfully before him gradually started faintly glimmering an organically lucid trans-luminescence the further he got from the Village in Ruins, the pale, High silvery liquid-light of the Runes coming to emit ever-so-keenly outward, a robust rustic radiance that was, to old man’s relief, most reassuring in its ratification.
Al Rodnam paused in his tracks for a sec to behold this synchronous instance of serendipity in Pure Wonder, his anxiety mostly rapidly slipping away, the frenzy of the environment diminishing, its aural assailants dissipating. Somehow, the High Telling Light that now shot from inside the peeling, yellowing core of each of the High wooden staff’s emblazoned symbols — now all clearly correctly marked on all counts — seemed to hallucinogenically shine out from the Staff while refracting its Force straight around and off of the fiery Rune symbols’ swervy curvature with slick, stark jilts of staticky cosmo-logical tinctures that no doubt bore a godly reassurance, Al Rodnam Knew.
And the Last Godhed then almost instantaneously completely forgot about the Wicked womanly High Deception he was then meant to smugly accept and hold dear to his Heart, and without question, during this Doomsday; the pretend ‘purposeful act’ he was then supposedly obliged to elicit upon being graced with the Staff’s Holy Golden Luminescence: an official High acknowledgement that the Staff of Lachrylon the old man had crafted many years ago could now fully function to its Highest capacity, Once personally fused with the potent, pertinent powers of none-other-than… the mighty Lachrylon.
The old man would herein keep to his wise, deep self that he had personally planned long ago that during this Twelfth Hour, it would indeed be the cloaked Force of Solaria, not the Power of Lachrylon Lachrylon’s self, that would seep into the mindful human pores of the Last Godhed via the Dark-brown Staff of hickory he had Once crafted in the mighty Lachrylon’s Honor.
After a while, he could See it — the enigmatic Pond of the Aqueous Transmission shimmering in the distance, hovering peculiarly over the land. His Eyes and mouth wide in surprise, the last Godhed took more haste toward his destination. But as he got closer to it he noticed that it didn’t seem to be getting any larger. He then realized that the pond was already evaporating…
Run, Run, Run, — RUNNN, Al Rodnam! You just run, young man. Run as fast as you can. It all Comes Down to This, man. You must succeed. You must NOT fuck-up! Runnnnnnnn…………
He was within fifteen feet of it now, sweating freely, racing up to the floating wetness as fast as he possibly could, his arms raising up above his head to form the arch of a dive formation. His jaw was clenched to total numbness. He meditated profoundly on his ultimate devotion to Lachrylon. And Solaria.
Even as his arched fingers came in euphoric contact with the Water, he was thinking there was a possibility that only part of his wrinkly, hairy body would make it down and into this fastly-evaporating, most pertinent pond. He caught the grim flash of an Intense Mental Vision that showed the pond rapidly closing in around his thighs, leaving his legs behind… He vigorously physically shook the disturbing image from his mind as he somehow, perhaps mercifully managed to make it all into the pond in One piece…
He was completely submerged.
For a timeless instant, Al Rodnam lent his Reason for Innocence as he floated Underwater in fetal position, caught within the grey Waters of an embryonic murk faintly recognizable and drifting on and onwards to…
He Gave Himself Up completely to the Pleasantness and True Sublime Nature of the protective maternal Watery drift he Now felt ensnared in, so soothed in.
And then the very spine of Al Rodnam’s Essence was altogether yanked out from under the Last Godhed’s phantasmic personal inner control room, and the old man felt himself being commandingly sucked evasively, and everpresently emptily, into a splashy, gurgling tidal rift that fastly propelled the mystic over and into the lost and forgotten, dark, dark, shadowy corners of a Godforsaken crook of the crux of Hyperspace.
The ordinarily sharp, vast Consciousness of the guru that had just been entirely tripped up due to his aquatic Passover, began slowly and steadily returning to his etheric Spirit Awareness in a gradual multidimensional silver-stream gathering of its lost and found sacred holographic data-chip counterparts, Coming Now in a spectacular liquidic spillover, to sharpen the Consciousness of Al Rodnam into the High Union of Divine silvery Hydro-fibers the Last Godhed Now Came to Actualize as his new existence, and he was rapidly powering up with benign electrical charges of High Awareness!
Then the Last Godhed altogether plasmatically liquefied into a subtle nest of Consciousness fibers that brought Al Rodnam not only back into his High Awareness, but joined with his Oversoul Consciousness Identity Once again, although caught in a perplexing predicament within the commanding confines of a very small, silvery enclosed compartment that just so happened to be voyaging throughout the depths of deep-space strangely, suggestively auto-piloted to an endless looped course along a programmed familiar algorithmic stellar spiral.
thoughts from my mind to yours
Información sobre el proceso de Ascensión (Despertar Espiritual), lecturas de Tarot a distancia, curso de Tarot.
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