Sunday, November 05, 2006

Rainmakers Credo (A Relation of Colorless to Colorful Events)


Thought of the rain, why does it come when it comes?

Been noticing strange rain conjunctions and felt ion-charges that baffle all charts.

Thought that it is not only rain that falls from the skies.


Nobody knows? Meteor-science cannot predict specific storms with the accuracy of other laws. It can see cloud-clusters form before a naked eye through satellites high and low, but can never read the mind of the eye in the sky. It is perhaps ruling nature's last trenchhold, which is next to none.
The right of cataclysm, energy’s secret agenda.

Technicians of the spirit old could provoke grand meaningful showersprouts.

Laymen like u and i can with our thoughts move layers of clouds, if calling loud could for some time enjoy a sunny day, or perhaps ask for the waterlight seed to yield a mushroom for tomorrows rave.

It is certain we are water and like moons we move waves or influence molecule's crystal tides, mandalas inside.

But the mystery remains.

The same mystery of the limits, not only of bodies in physical reality not overlapping, but of thoughts and wavefunctions not overlapping, reamining in their husks the souls, the stars.

Perhaps not.

Can someone stop the plan of a great deluge?

Can someone say to Mother Gaia, hey please, mmm i know you are planning and all out wet exorcism, that the cities will flood, that it is part of your organism’s homeostasis in the dance of chaos and cosmos, but could you spare us a summer for redirection, for bloom, for redemption under the sun?

Still the rain is good for it is sooth.

Still the transparent tiger is the burning lamb.

The lines in the sky, the vertigo posts.

Rain, well my thoughts raid, is a paradox.

Always a yes and a no.

Always a falling that is an up-standing: the cornstalk mirrors the rain-vector.

A gift and a punishment.

Perhaps conciled in consciousness.

A-foxe's raincheck's blind sign.

Comming to terms with something that is and is not.

Like riding rain diaphanous ravens.

Riding that way is understanding that it is sex.

Ionized like Dyonissos falling from apolinean heights.

(Newtons fallen apple gave him the mastery of the skies).

Rain that is so femenine is extremely phallic.

Soft and fierce, so elegant -at times very impolite.

From higher womb seeding lower womb with ghostly snakes.

Hard lysergic rain.


Kundalini Sprite.

Could we use the rain to get high?

Like Mary-Poppins umbrella/Virgin Mary’s liquid dove.


And divine conception.

Rain that falows leads us into summer Eros.
Like rabbits.

* * * * * * *

Still believe that going through the body there is a rainbow.

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