Sunday, March 8, 2009

Mythology of Emerging Lines

"True creation is inner balance." [T^Traveller - Zensu]

The gathering constituted a merging of the dimensions. Animals, trees, fish, microbes, megaliths, star alignments, dolphins, birds, rock drawings oceans and humans emerged from the background Otherness.

"You are the mythology," he said.

Who would understand the truth without a conscious awareness of T^Travel?

They emerged. We emerged. It emerged. From the void. Mythological creatures giving birth to ourselves. How long had each race, each species, each particle and vibration existed on canyon walls, before entering the test zone of existence?

The dolphin surfaced, blowing the last breath of air into the sky. Buoyant on infinite oceans covering those wet canyon walls deep down below the surface. Hidden by centuries of underwater volcanoes, eruptions of mud and glowing lava, these ancient walls still held the fossilised lines of our existence.

Like shadows on the walls of Plato's cave, humans were cast in vague shades of misty uncertainty. The fossils deep below the oceans surface were clearer, brighter, richer, more defined. Whales, sharks and dolphins observed the frail reflection of an eagle as it cross the midday sun. Just as bright, just as sharp and defined as the ancient fossil of its creation, deep deep down below the oceans surface.

My friends and I spent thousands of earth sun revolutions listening to the fragile and beautiful lines of our humanity. Each line was a portal, and each portal a line. In one life I awoke from an encounter with those line drawings we call mythological fossils. A painting so profound it leaves one wondering who the artist is, and does the observer know the artist, or even themselves?

Like creatures emerging from paint and clay we crossed the eternal canvass. Where death was a blessing, because there we are closer to life. Not in the future and not in the past, but in this moment. Hidden within the lines of our existence, mythological paintings of death are hidden from our senses. The old enemy fear points a boney finger at the location and direction, and those who touch upon it freeze and turn away - or they travel in time...