And who should float up but the Aesthete, already devoured. Sneer at him but love him. For scrutinize the self-mocking smock, the artistic (facial) expression; the Bohemian mannerisms.
Behind that art-lover, the flame-pink and mucusy moon forms the crescent palate* of Hara: the place of folded hands (sacral chakra).
So far to go up-torso; still more to wind deep into the channels! Observe the bog plants momentarily resting from carnage. Careful of the cheese! – it’s about to be plugged in – bait, for the voracious root chakra pushing forward its snout.
* p-a-l-a-t-e (sic)
Powerful flowers – commemorated on a plaque – woven into a wall hanging – cross-stitched into the crown of a milk drop –
are only part of the hidden throat of things (Vishuddha).
Another is the high priest’s ego – both in aerial and audio view – with most of the underneath chewed away – as if it were only reindeer leather.
Which side? there must be a stitch in the side! That all depends on a naugahyde step-into a former gravity center –
so note the volcanic sproing of today’s Mayan slinky… I tell myself – as it waddles self-consciously through the military uterus.
Linked Lone Chakra
But way before that grenade goes off… there will come into being a bright basic awareness.
Footprint of the Buddha on three windy sheets – NO, I’m mistaken – on my four cheeks….which have blown out unexpectedly in a vulgar representation of the heart with wings…
which rings a bell in my lower consciousness…
which my higher consciousness treads with indifferent and unfeeling heel…
which is to say, all has arisen from emanations of false omniscience: In my case: nose ring, belly ring, secretions of the earlier dream, joys of the shamanic saint… now nowhere near the level and dominance of the ubiquitous and (somewhat) annoying heart… with wings.
Missing from this result:
a) a discarded Latinate explication for “kitsch”; and
b) an elaboration of the “four cheeks” adage and its Latvian source.
First Clown Chakras
How to say it delicato: a clown has fallen and now lies broken. That old favorite sad clown: who will come back to him?
We will come back to him.
Meanwhile, hovering behind him in the box canyon: could those be prehistoric shoes? No, they are ledges in the walls of the canyon.
They only seem to be prehistoric shoes.
But back to the silly familiar! crawling around in the middle ring: he’s wondering: If these are not prehistoric shoes…
why are brontosauri eating the fleur-de-lys?
Now notice! above the Stone Age mountains, an ethnic vessel hovers – begs the question: must a bowl symbolize offering, always?
But the shepherds are not about and the sheep are in the churchyard and we prefer to think of prehistoric shoes! which, off-pattern,
speak of the fear-relief that religions offer.
Second Clown Chakras
You are either on the Taonut or you are the Taonut. The inner-tube sized calculated to-be-a-Taonut flying there above its shadow on the carpet. Apparently grounded, that flying carpet…
theless this is an authentic para-gliding Taonut, geometrically toroid. Accept and go with it. You ought to become securely clamped to it, as has that Western Bird, high with altitude. Or maybe attitude. Or maybe just gatay, gatay… *
The wrist has timed this event. The hedgehog offered its insignia. The bug-eyed antennaed one, segmented chauffeur of the Taonut, branching his arms out, could only remind you of ‘The Fly’–
if you’ve ever seen that movie, or been that movie – Though, now, ‘The Fly’ might be seeing you… from its perch on the Taonut. Wouldn’t that be sweet?
* From the mantra, variously translated, but often as “Gone, gone; gone beyond; gone beyond the beyond; hail the Awakened One.”
Third Clown Chakras
Now, in the Now, meditation-straining has borne particles – auras of them around the trickster’s elbows,
flung out that way. Centered on animal intent, our guru, the top gander of the Goony Clan, has shown us all how to sit immobile, but fairly trembling, on the world pillow, really the world egg.
Which gives a little as he increases his preachy poses.
Wing blades invisible to us shrug up energy to make this exertion profitable. Never mind what’s happening down the street in the galaxy. Chakras mosey around an uncarved block of complication there. In its crevices the refugees cower.
In its alcoves, lit like a rock drawing:
the fish-bone brothers’ likenesses range from Alley Oop to Muad’ Dib of Dune.
Partly Clown Chakras
In the end the bottom again. The skeletal clown has been kicked down to root level. A charitable act. Micro-waved to that slack jaw from a central station, that blow is the only obvious clue to an Orientalist apparition still dancing in the brain… Beyond that, the larval clown (the one and the same) has pinched the American turban… and a voice from the blind spot reports: “Yes, to have myself to fix, I pretend I’m broken.”
P.S. Note that the clown has broken in two places: East and West.
Chakrays in Outer Space…
took off through the crown as soon as the primate cracked. Root to Eye they charged right out, leaving the thing, it, the earthling, empty.
First to settle down atop the skull in bardo was the ethereal form of the former scrotal sac. This helped with identification.
The ankh symbol soon followed and came to rest where the ethereal form of the cock would have landed, had it followed, in flight, the ethereal balls.
These apparitions soon descended to random incineration by, for example, electronically-driven shark’s mouth…. the boon of bardo.
Since that time of all-change and no-change, the stone-tablet twins have continued to turn-turn-turn in vain from this particular diversion. Arms at their sides, immovable, they have remained rooted, yet rotating, in a great unfolding — whereby
occasionally a bubble of awe escapes them.