“Mister big stuff, who do you think you are?”
All roads are leading to the Mountain Dream,
Heart is travelling to share.
Yellow flower, the horns will whisper
a pure song, the moment you awake.
Choose well,
the roads are leading back to you.
A inner embrace
It could bring you back
the mystery,
you are that,
your uprising will be
with infinite measures, the cosmic scale.
The fifth element of the rainbow is light,
the illusion of time, the infected memory of the mind.
Through space the connection can not be broken
you are the One, always
the One that is.
The Mirror Machine is empty
with uncountable evolving manifestations to evoke.
Ghost is whispering through
the spy in the dark cave
behind his fearful spineless back
the infinite circle.
I’m blowing softly in the pale colours of his neck
to make it clear again to come back home,
hoping he still knows how to fall with some dignity,
with grace
his weak knees ready to bend.
He will start crying,
no method could give you that.
from the beginning of time).
You could know that I’m untouchable
many experienced paths of enlightenment
to prove it, your context failed,
I’ve got your Soul
under consideration and I’ll give it back in time.
Your pimped up throne is made of high-tech frustration
worthless plastic dust,
you are just too late to indicate this natural source
that got you now.
(I could force you to be free).
back to your burning desire
and knows very well you’re an ignorant fool,
but not the only one.
To all the leaders of the world,
Ask Help! Your frequency is underneath the standard nature
Your in the underground right here, right now!
to become infected dust between the cosmic pages
of our universal library of Love).
Triangle is waiting
in snake skin moments beside the river bank,
her bright eyes are moving inside the dark room
breathing in the structure of your chains,
the light is playing with the shadow in the purple cave,
the fields are still blooming in the silence of your heart.
What can you hide?
The fifth Sun beyond the mountain
the battle inside the bright morning dew
the divine breathing sustaining the elements
in surrealistic reality,
the child is dancing ecstatically
in complete surprise,
the mystery.
A broad shape of self-interest deprives it into a fearful limitation
after a gold rush some stole from their own essence
and burned this inner Garden to the ground.
Four red eyes, it’s crap.
From the cradle to the grave
in a limited edition.
Be a carpenter and create an easy chair
with colourful structures of experience
and start your meditation,
it’s a divine craft to be free and human
to understand the mysterious seasons again.
But the gluttonous monsters
are still masters with a disputable degree
from the universities of corruption,
still directing the boardroom of the corporation,
managing our marvellous consumption
in our plastic dreams of broken desire.
The pale earth is moaning softly in a sweet silence.
Plant a tree! Let it grow!
And bloom, spread your holy scent of love, be open again
you’re a universe of euphoria,
the deepest source of the infinite Garden
is I.
the crossroad on the Highway
Always expecting the seasons to change.
It’s nearly Eastern time,
the inner source is Love, everything included.
It’s a grey day,
the wind and the drizzling rain are still going through
the empty branches,
I’m aware of it, without a hermetic conclusion,
It’s open, It’s alive.
You are Love, the creation, the true nature,
without a beginning or an end.
Love is the answer
(the word is not the thing, the sentence
just a way to get inside the silent source)
