The lie that keeps you in the jaws of Death
Down the shovel goes with the remnants of the last grave. Up the ego casts the ghostly shadow of the heavy coat of aging in yet another obituary. The undertaker’s fee, a chime of the clocked wreath that resonates with the sound of the cult of death.
Now death travels among the mourners with mockery, a smile of ages gone. For time stands still as the mind is beguiled by the muffled chimes of Jasper’s ghost. As the chimes continue, the confusion affirms the resolute resolve of the grip of death.
The resonance of David’s harp in the graveyard of death
Yet the persistent chorus of David’s harp is drowned by tears and the war on the ears. As puss oozes out deaf ears, christened oil lubricates clear canals. The art of hearing privileged by the intensity of presence. Presence that is challenged by the constant chimes by the phantoms of death.
But the fight for sovereignty intensifies for those that see the dark cloud rising above the mourners’ gloom. For nothing feeds the phantoms of death like negated grief, an anchor to the undertakers’ hammer. Coupled with fear that shakes nervous bones, imbedding the recipient’s skeleton with ghostly goo; you are but gone, gone to the Underworld.
The shovel then turns a 360 wheel as the living play out the cast of the dead in the frightful knocking skeletons of their bones, a nervous disposition that opens the doors to Hades. Now the play is set as the smell of rotten eggs greets the living dead in their costumes of woe. Turning back isn’t an option as the one you came to grieve steals your avatar body. Now you are the ghost.
The oil the inverts the spell death
The only way back is to turn the wheel with the reals lubricated by oil. As work begins you hear an echo of yourself, but you are drowned in an age-old goo of death. As in the movie, `Get out!’, your awareness awakens and the battle begins. You swim hard, you start to break the icy chains of your bondage. As your sub-marine(subconscious) improves, you gain more clarity of who you are – the lie is broken.
Deeper and deeper your sub-marine continues to dive while the captain(head/mind/mercury) gains a tighter grip of the steering. For it is in your mind that the matrix charges the battery of death through a continues output of distorted information that locks you in the cyclic wheel of Saturn.
Now you are wise, the phantoms of death begin to attack with vengeance. But with vengeance comes the state of emergence; the captain is ready. As the war unfolds, your mind is inundated with offers material wealth (wreath). But by now you know that this is the oldest trick at the devil’s disposal, a key to the re-entrance of your sacred space. The guard to your Temple remembers the chimes of death with a scarred memory and hence dives deeper to avoid the lullaby to Hades. Death is defeated….
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