Last night in my dream I was talking to my dead cat. Being astrologist is not an easy task. People think that you are Jack-of all-mystical trades. Sometimes I was asked if I can materialize things, fly or talk to dead. Though I can’t do those things, it’s not entirely impossible as a sceptic might think. I know that this dream is not exactly “a dream”, a fruit of my imagination. My cat told me lots of things which definitely made some sense. My mother told me she once had a dream in which her pony she used to ride when she was a kid warned her about fire, which happened in a week time. So how it could be possible?
There is such a thing as brain frequencies which are usually measured in cps (cycle per second). Most generally those masters who are capable of creating objects and situations with their thoughts have brain frequencies up as high as 20,000 cycles per second, whereas the average person runs 40 cycles per second. More about this you can find from the excellent book “The holographic Universe” I came across recently.
So, with the new age occurring and dimensional barriers breaking down there will be a lot of communication between folks of the same brain frequency levels across many dimensions, that is not meant to be construed as “talking to the dead” as some overzealous Christians would like to imply.
What I think is: if there’s anything dead in our current world it is the worlds established religions. About everything else is alive, pulsing and can be tuned-in. Life is everlasting presence.
Maria Cohen
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Unknown beauty, sleeping, calmly breathing
Next to me
Turn around and there is nothing apart from imagination
Breathing, sleeping calmly, unknown beauty
Soft his fingertips on my upper lip
On my upper lip soft his fingertips
Walking down the imaginative landscapes, getting caught in the armpit, exempt from doubts, just climbing the bewildered mountains, following the satin path and drowning eagerly into the sea of sensuality and delight.
Just like this during the daylight. 2 o’clock in the afternoon while outside this passionate filled place, people are walking up and down, filled handbags.
A glance of the eye spies her lipstick, a packet of chewing gum against the bad breath and her cigarettes. The box still showing marks from a night out. 078821410 call me.
Buzzing headaches and the usual lack of memory. Call Jim, John or Keith. Or was it Jade she went to school with during her 1st year in Blackpool Junior School? Mhh…never mind move on to the picturesque colours of yellow, green and red- peppers from Holland and juicy tomatoes, next to the red and ocker painted apples and the leak withered at the ends starting to become yellow.
Quickly rushing through the crowded market street and following the movement of people, listening to their conversations on events of the week passed. Yes Kate came over for the weekend from Birmingham together with her estranged husband. It is so lovely when the kids come back to the former home they left for a slice of apple pie and a cup of tea once every 2 years. At least they write a card when they can’t make it. The other usual ones for Easter, Christmas and the birthday. If they do not forget you can expect one for Mothers Day as well- how lovely.
Meanwhile somebody else is catching the smell of grilled chicken and the sound of Bob in the ear…emancipate yourself from mental slavery. Cheers another pint downed, drowned the boredom, simmering down on a Saturday afternoon waiting for the evening and dawn to come.
Hours later my thoughts are carried away, out of this room through the cold window glass into cascading clouds, roaming above these endless roads people walked, passing the streams of imaginations people thought into the ocean of the dark, sliding, slipping away
Just the wind whirling up my hair, soft strokes my skin whit its cold touch but feeling warm inside when coming home. And crawling back underneath the blanket that is even warmer. A light smell of vanilla and perspiration. Moving a bit closer to feel your heated body and wolve into these strong arms. Vanish and disappear just for a fraction of an hour. Sensing that it is spring and everything starts to blossom.
Fran
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You cannot write a single line w/out a cosmology
a cosmogony
laid out, before all eyes
there is no part of yourself you can separate out
saying, this is memory, this is sensation
this is the work I care about, this is how I***
make a living
it is whole, it is a whole, it always was whole
you do not “make” it so
there is nothing to integrate, you are a presence
you are an appendage of the work, the work stems from***
hangs from the heaven you create
every man / every woman carries a firmament inside
& the stars in it are not the stars in the sky
w/out imagination there is no memory
w/out imagination there is no sensation
w/out imagination there is no will, desire
history is a living weapon in yr hand
& you have imagined it, it is thus that you
“find out for yourself”
history is the dream of what can be, it is
the relation between things in a continuum
of imagination
what you find out for yourself is what you select
out of an infinite sea of possibility
Continue reading ‘Rant’
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In 1687 Sir Isaac Newton published Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica, which laid the foundation of determinism. Through Newton’s ideas in what we call now the Age of Reason, rose the idea of ”clockwork universe”, generally stating that by measuring things as they are, we can accurately explain all the Nature’s phenomenae and predict the future using the laws of science.
One probably could wonder, what does Newton’s work has to do with my memories. Though I haven’t read the original and was born nearly 300 years later, it had a certain impact on me. As a matter of fact, we perceive reality and interpret it through the prism of our cultural and educational background. It’s never “as it is”, but as worthy as it’s description. My father was a strong believer in science, and wanted me to be a mathematician, a kind of a weird wish keeping in mind he was a poet himself. I remember him trying to come up with a precise word, which could describe what he felt at the moment best. He often felt stressed about it as he couldn’t. I guess he thought it is easier to operate with numbers rather than words. I remember refusing going to my 1st grade in school: I demanded science. I wanted to study physics and maths, I wanted to understand the mechanics of existence. That’s why my parents have sent me to a school with advanced maths and science programs, and determinism was what they taught in school too.
My belief in numbers was ruined after I’ve read at the age of 12 some popular books on astronomy and quantum mechanics: it turned out that, with the course of time any system behaviour starts to “fluctuate” and become disordered, behaving randomly. Even orbits of planets, massive bodies, never quite follow the same path. We live in a universe which is rather chaotic, then orderly. Our brain waves, or the pattern of it’s electric impulses, is also being chaotic. This could be the origin of consciousness , free will and creativity. Our mind is ruled rather by Chaos, then Order. Continue reading ‘Feeling of being human’
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