THE MAYAN CAPER-THE REALITY-SWITCH-THE HEAVY DREAMTIME GLITCH
I went to Mescaline City, I still have the blues. Studied the Mayans with a tribe of First Poets. The Maya still live with us. This is not a bean counting of their history, but a flower-song of their living sacred narrative. but some observations on the Mayan calendar are essential to understanding this report-The Mayan calendar starts from a mythical date 5 Ahua 8 Cumhu and rolls on to the end of reality, also a definite date depicted in the codices as a cosmic serpent pouring water on the earth-The Mayans had a solar, a lunar, and a ceremonial calendar rolling along like interlocking wheels from 5 Ahua 8 Cumhu to the end…Cut word lines-Cut music lines-Smash the control…
Today is 8 Kame, 8 Is The Nawal of ‘The Return of Water’ like the rainy season. The re-start in nature and its ‘Patterns’. Kame, Is the ‘Death’. It’s the spirit of the ‘Ancestors’ that still travels through the breezes of the wind. It’s the day used to honor our dead ancestors, to keep “feeding” them. It’s the most sensitive Nawal and it deals with emotional vulnerability, like when we feel ‘A Broken Heart’, ‘Left Out’ or ‘Oppression and Sorrow’. It’s The really dark places inside of us that we are stuck in sometimes. But this realm of Kame is what can give birth to the most beautiful and touching melodies of life, and also deep authentic empathy and ‘Supportive’ attitudes.
All that shall pass
Is written on the petals
Of the Sunflower Sutra and
On the great stone at Mayapan.
It is the katun
Of great Itzamna
Cosmic Love of everywhen,
Of great tides of consciousness:
The sun swallows the moon
And the moon, the sun.
The earth at 0
Will be as dark
As at midnight
Foretelling the End of Reality
unfurling cybernetic blossoms
omniPoetic synthesis
Mesoamerican codices unfurl as feathered serpent deities coil through synapsing lattices. Celestial harmonic blasts echo from macrocosmic infinitudes:
Feathered chants echo among causeways,
Plumed serpents slither through synapses,
Mesoamerican codices unfurl,
Axioms of chronomyths and cronotropes.
Rituals devolve kapötilistically as Quetzalcóatl’s viridian spirals bloom, revealing obsidian sights to the open nevermind:
Celestial mathematics sing in tongues,
Kapötilistically devolving rites,
Quetzalcóatl’s viridian spirals bloom,
Nevermind unlocks her obsidian sights.
Pyramidion nodes throb with visionplant essence, chrysalides disclosing secrets of flight as ideograms become living scripts sloughing flesh from astral light.
Pyramidion nodes throb with dream-plants’ breath,
Chrysalides chrysming secrets of flight,
Omotenamitls intone living ideograms,
Scripts sloughing flesh from astral light.
The mesoamericanturiavisionary thoughtforms phase into the primordial dream…
We sing, breathe flower-song, to remember. We Declare not only our place in this dream, but our position in consciousness. Maya Daykeeping, view of beings as the microcosm. The axis of the heart-physical and etheric-is analogous to the axis of the world, and the heart of the sky. Each bead, a story in our life. A bead for the birth of our sun. A bead when daughter moon was born. When Ah Xoc Kin first sang it’s song of the heartbeat of the universe. Concepción Teonanacatl totally cosmic giggle, wiggle mystery. A bead for the first communion with Itzamna.
This Mandala Narrative seems to be a hyperbolic toroidal metaphysical hyper-structuring superposition principle. Symbolic ecosystems are core for organic human development to the degree that they point to a way of creative living- the conscious attunement of mind to the cosmic rhythms so that daily life manifests in every way a sense of harmony.
Disembodied poetics, as a game of Infinite jeweled,
Hyperbolic spores of Blakeian, cosmic giggle, hide n’ seek
Symbiosis is a ubiquitous feature of life,
the bitter sweet entangled consciousness
Or at least that’s what Nanakatsitsen,
or “lil mushroom people” say anyways,
Beauty is so perfect that it doesn’t depend on anything happening in this world that we see with our feet and brains. We’ve all seen beauty face to face, one time or another-and said “oh, my god, of course, so that’s what it’s all about, no wonder I was born and had all those secret weird feelings!” Maybe it was a moment of instantaneous perfect stillness in some shroompatch in the Catskills when the trees suddenly came alive like a Van Gogh painting or a Wordsworth poem. Or a minute listening to, say, King Crimson on vinyl when the music sounded as if it was getting nightmarishly sexy and alive awful, like an elephant calling far away in the moonlight.
At that moment you either kill your soul and go out and make money, or you pick up on the fact for good that there’s something ALIVE behind the universe that nobody, but nobody, has ever had the guts to meet. Or said much about it if they did, except in strange art or mathematical forms. Meeting the invisible elephant and looking in his eye means the end of you, and the eternal return of the old God that everyone at once knows and that never dies.
A shuddery situation — it’s hard to let go your selfhood and have a good time with beauty — we’re brought up to scheme and battle to make it here and now with gold, lovers, power, clothes, and face that anyone from our mother to the next door neighbor cop can see and respect. But in the long run we’re all going to have to give up and drop dead and enter beauty — in fact beauty is what kills us, beauty is the great murderer. Get used to it early and it’ll save us all from a life of phony nightmares.
Life is a nightmare for most people, who want something else, not what life offers freely. People want a lesser fake of beauty, something transient and faulty, a hot-dog that’s doomed to disappear in the blink of an eye — any old grandmother will tell you.
pin and axis and rotary around the sun
silly lil hu-mansss, where does the information come from?
before the word, was sound, and the sound came from here!
deep deep deep, in the underground
right in the center of the sun
who do you think pulls the moon?
you sing and dance to moon, we ride sunbeams on the spiderswebs of infinite jewels of perceptions
deep deep deep that cave
we buzzzzzzzz within the darkness
the bolt of sound of honeycomb hyperbolic perception
(ZZK Mixtape 17 El Remolon Selva; timestamp 17:00)
The Cosmic Dance of the Flowers, Bees and Butterflies
in the bug eye region, all matter is composed of four elements; Earth/Water, Air/Fire. Each Element had its own neutral sphere. Just some quick tips on how to “read” this lil gem.
Ah Xoc Kin is disembodied poetics crafting dreamtime into space, the skin of your dreams, its what contains all this matter, Doors and Windows, Rabbit holes and Wormholes, inner paths always lead to outer truths…
Unveiling our naked minds,
the new dreamtime frontier
decoding frequency-domain
of imaginarium entanglement
just another mycelium intervention
the study of pattern formation,
hyperbolic poetics of morphogenesis,
in which the mysteries of creation
are seemingly revealed, in the
goldening unfolding of mind,
singing the hymns between frozen time,
What are we going to do with time?
The clock has stop ticking
There is No Map and
a compass is not gonna do shit,
we are in the Dreatime,
The Great Yawn, Now
We can Begin…