Atlantic Oceans and the end of time.

The memory fields 4 got 10

So many different types of people in the world.
So many individuals, yet carbon copies of a blueprint.
Snow flakes melt in the heat of the moment.

Life is fragile, yet life is indestructible.

Recycling the cycles, with our limited intelligence, our handy caps, our mushy minds, our memories, emotions, fingers and toes, our nerves, our endings and new beginnings, the patterns, the sleep cycles, moon cycles, Venus cycles, macro cosmic, microcosms.

Bacteria germinations, the germ of an idea, the gut-brain, the colonisation of the colons of humans, gestation, gesticulating - dare I jest?

To articulate the conundrums of human thoughts, of human frailty, of human design, of human amnesia, of human hopes tied like like a ribbon to human despair.

A pair. Repair the split, the seeming seam stresses, ripped apart, like the wishing bone, sinew, merry meat and flesh and blood and marrow, marry merriment for the wedding feast.

Pair, pare, pear. Pear-shaped, heart-shaped, star-shaped, ship-shaped, shape-shifters, from one to an other, trans-missions, missionary positioned, inquisition'd.

The human-race, lost-at-sea, sin king feeling lost, crow king croaking upon the telephone wires, snake slithering in the long grass, whispering wisdoms while worms agitate the soil and sparrows seek to grab the grubs in their toil, and all the while time is ticking, inventing clocks, our glasses emptied and inverted refilling sands and seasons, years and epochs, galactic wheels spinning on universal axis.

My God !! what stories we tell !!

I talk to my dog while out for a walk.
I talk to my self about my mental health.
I talk to the wall as I crawl down the hall.
I talk in my sleep, counting sheep.
I talk to my wife, she's the love of my life.
I talk to my kids, lullabies to shut eye-lids.
Mind matters muttering chatters.

The inner child, now tame, once wild.

The adult mind, childish matters, put aside.

The heart beats, auto-matic.

What is it to feel, alone and all, at once.

Forgotten feelings, emotional states, buttons triggered.

Eddies in the streams of consciousness, little under stood.

“I” stand upon my understandings, little understood.

.

The future pours through the our-glasses of my eyes, through the aperture of my focus, informing the pupils, water streaming liquid impressions into the blind-spot where intelligence joins the dots, painting by numbers, pencils shading the grey areas of a black and white in divi duality.

The incompleteness theory of everything.

I sit still, fingers poised before the keyboard, inner “i” searching as the cursor blinks inviting patiently, digitally translating, english to machine language, to text on screen's reflection, feed back loops, imaginings, making sense, pre-sent, tense, adrenaline flows, poetry in pro's and constructions, instructions to Self.

Pupils open and close as eyes blink, mind thinks, fingers pause, teeth clench, clenched jaws, see saws, pivot plank, weights balance, waits and measures, words like treasures, trickle through the finger tips and topples cascading sand-castles as the tide comes in and floods the plain with frothing waves of imaginary imagery, of sea-horses galloping, stampeding in the rush to fill the high tides, before the turning resides, subsides, retreats, repeats infinities.

Yesterdays civilisations dissolved like yesterdays sand castles.

Yes, yes, yesterdays' fading fast, overlaid with today's obsessive fears about tomorrows future destructions of castle constructions.

Rolling rocks uphill in the midst of avalanches cascading of Nature's chaos.

Oh, how the human race is run.

No One won.

Know One won.

The end-game is in the “i” of the perceiver.

The inner “i” buried beneath the avalanches of trickling thought processes, automated cascades like the codes of websites, click-bait, wait, point cursor, click mouse, scroll, seek, scan, read, listen, watch, tik-tok, short form, attention-span, grains of sand, gathered together and stuck in a bucket, turned upside-down, remove the bucket, fuckit, another crumbling attempt of perfection, another childish sand-castle, another tide turns, another memory stored, compacted with the others, neurotic time-code-stamped into the muddy-waters.

2 hours to write 3 pages,
post on Facebook but make no wages,
waste of time or wisdom of ages,
free my mind from guilded cages.

I'm thinking about Atlantis.
A golden Age of technological advances.
But crashed and burned and buried beneath the wave.
The Ocean Goddess Rose with feminine feeling.
Drowned the empty shell shocked mental husks.
Devoid of feeling healing, an artificial intelligence failed.
Mission aborted, time distorted, conception contorted, back to the drawing board.

Galactic Federations consulted other considerations.
Con side red other consultations.

Pulled the plug, emptied the sink, ground to zero, shut down the electrical fields, power failure, controlled demolition, an inside job, higher-intelligence ascertained that the future simulation bore no fruit, the Atlantean consumed Creation, fuck'd without Love.

There is no time.
Yet Time seems to be.
There is no life without Love, yet Life seems to be.

There is no concept to explain Creation, yet Creation conceived “me”.

God, all might he, why have you forsaken we?

Guarding the Garden of Eden myth, a snake ate his own tail eternally.
His story of history, for bidding the value of this tree, of knowl edge, of Adam's Apple, of Eve's tempting Faith, of words not-yet spoken, a spell yet to be cast as a neural net – work .:. con – text u all arrange ment .

Lillith's Lu see fire coded language matrix model cypher Create Trix.

We humans are encrypted.

We are an enigma.

We are a machine intelligence.

Atlantis failed to embody empathy.

It's information technology was merely consuming energy.
It's creations lacked Loving feeling.
It's emotional states were static electricity.
The Ocean Rose and drowned the obscenity.

Frankenstein form lacked appreciation of the miracle.
We were grey goo.
We were programmable matter.
We were empty vessels.
We were destroying Creation.
We were a snake eating our own tales.
We were an ever-ending story.

And so, we were decommissioned.

The mission was distorted and Atlantis' civilisation was aborted.

Back to basics. Back to primitive. Back to Native.

Our memory was wiped.

Our pathology was ring-fenced and quarantined.

Quantum soul intelligence had to re-imagine the whole paradigm.

Heart-shaped humans re-in-habit Earth.

Light language code was reseeded.

With Love in the kernel,
Love in the Heart,
Lust may be infernal,
Yet Love is de fine greatest art.

Come join in here on sacred ground
in green man's glen
and faerie mound
come hold these hands
in every land
each drop of water
each grain of sand.

Flower and root and leaf and stem
Trees and birds and beasts and men.

Come join “i” together
in a one great clan
come fill up this chalice
over flowing consciousness of de vine manifest plan.

The Planetary Peace Process.

Each one of us is a spark, an ark, an arc kissed.

We each are a birth chart, destined to sail through relation ships upon the tides of Time-code-stamps.

Sparks expelled from the flaming Creation fields,
shining star souls shimmering for a mo-ment,
with in eternity.

The Holy Grail is feeling.

The emotions are energy in motion.

The emotional states, dictate the quantum decision trees branches.

Choice bifurcates consequential steps.

The God-given ability to invoke our own creation.

The Goddess Mother's gift to express the inner feeling.

Feeling our way, within tuition.

Perhaps, this time, the bubble expands without popping out of existence.

Perhaps, this time, we create a future where Love is received and freely given the Space to free our Will to Live in Love.

Perhaps, this time, we find the missing link, the flowing ink of authentic flowing ink.

Linear timelines are exponentially accelerating rhymes,
internal schemes of eternal themes,
collide-scoping, collides yet coping.

Memory was a coping mechanism.

Time was a quarantine mechanism.

We are a machine learning to Love Creation.

Flesh-bots developing heart-field intelligence.

11:38 – numb err sequences.

Our limits, like sand-boxes, intended to give us time, to learn to Love.

Infinity in a grain of sand.

Poetry in the motion of soul.

We now live in a virtual reality.

We are each responsible for what we imagine.

For what we imagine, we think, we feel, we invoke, we create, we make-believe, we experience, we live.

In any moment, we can “change our minds”.

In any moment, we can process our e-motions, we can change our emotional State. We can change plat-forms and ride upon a different train of thought, to a different destination.

The expectations of the external mind has been like a Plato's Cave, con-taining and enter-taining the shadow plays of incubation.

We have been living in cubes.

We are becoming aware of the sacred geometries of the universal codes, from which form of cuboid-thought-forms draws our attention.

We are living in a virtual world, where the inner seemed distinct from the outer, distanced by the virtual reality of the constructions of Time.

Time is running out.
Time is running in.

Beyond the i'm-aging of the our-glass,
time is an artificial construct of an artificial intelligence.

Light with in D'ark.
Dark with out Light.

4 hours of writing,
process of creation,
passing the time,
for giving of our ignorance,
the weight of enlightened minds.

Thanks for reading.
Please share if you like.
The circular thinking
of the end of the time-line.

The Heart of the Matter.
The Earth of the Mother.

Art work by Vernon Jones,
from the book - Da Return of de Faeries
by Kelfin Oberon
available to buy

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