Gorgeous Skulls

Lightning is the Voice

‘Lightning Voice of the Cathari’, original art by the author, MK, ‘25

When you're dead you're gone if you never developed any awareness.

It is the primordial home who calls you, the surrender of identity, the place where you dissolve into nothingness, Prima Materia.

We are taught to be terrified of this loneliness. The religions that pretend to know have no word for it, the unconscious potential, the nothingness that opens below you when you dance into it, and disappear.

Perhaps you have been there, a place where nothing exists. Not a ghost, not a shade, not the dark, nor the light. Did you fall, so effortlessly?

Yes.

Its a lullaby, its a song, it captures you all day long, so when the blackness comes its almost welcome, no more striving, working, goals or identity.

Is it death, or nonexistence?

If you fall into it, the Kenoma, the endless nothing you will not know, you cannot know it, but you will understand when it is said that it is everywhere and nowhere, that it supports everything, yawning invisibly, whispering, waiting, patient.

Kenoma, said the ancient Gnostics, is the mystery of oblivion, and it is very real in an odd sense, a juxtaposition to the loud bangs, running motors and bombs of the collective God Mechanical living world.

What is it, what could it be that mysteriously collects itself and emerges from this limitless sea?

Awareness.

What is awareness?

Awareness…

Is it you imagination?

I suppose one would call it a dream, or a vision. When one is truly in the Otherworld, it is but it isn't like this one. There are all kinds of degrees, all sorts of levels to this immersion. Sometimes it can be akin to memory, somewhat washed out, as if the incident happened so long ago to be foggy. Other times you will leave this place entirely, like True Thomas no one will find you physically.

Otherworld journey.

I visit often in such states with the pure ones, despised by christians to the point of being utterly exterminated by them. The Cathari. The Gnostics.

It is largely ignored history, the Albigensian Crusade.

Bo Yin Ra, among others, wrote of the ascended masters who guide mankind. The temptation in the material west is to assign this status to non western people. It has become, as they say a convention. Part of the reason for the current drive in the western world to end the culture, the genetics, the soul of the European lies in this convention. It is a belief and a deceit brought on by the duplicitous power games of the abrahamics, those who depopulated Libya, held Vienna under siege with their indoctrinated against their own brothers and sisters, and they who pursued their Albigensian Crusade to its grisly conclusion.

All the same.

One can follow a certain kind of understanding. One can discover great purposes and teachings that are fully formed. The understanding follows unbidden associations and currents of discovery that are profound and moving.

The abrahamics exist to sever them. It is a fascination with the material that motivates them, a weapons technology to fuse the division into the very awareness of the human. The drive to become the simplest expression.

Thus flows the current now below those who dream of phones, who fashion computing into slavery to a condition, and who derive all identity from the polarity of politics, the community of injections, where you aren't anybody if don't have money.

The current runs deep and it is very old, light as a feather, the dreams…that sings of reality that no one realizes exists.

They stood in the great room of the fortress, draiped in cloaks, a peace was upon them. I was there from future, allowed to witness the conference. No one acknowledged my presence, yet I understood this what I was being invited to observe, if I had the focus.

Three cloaked figures before the seated gentry, neither imposing or commanding yet they absorbed my entire attention. Everything faded as I felt such a longing kinship, their words were about a request for assistance.

In the very air a knowledge of death hung like a presence. The three cloaked men knew they were not long for the world of the physical.

The question came from the gentry whether they would seek some form of asylum. An escape from the abrahamic vengeance that sought their annihilation.

Three men in cloaks replied they were returning to the land and their people. They would meet their end within the arms of the place that embraced them.

I returned to myself in shock and rage, the tears stung as I realized I had been invited to the close of the Cathari, who were to be erased from all, even genetic history. In that moment I saw the calm acceptance of an end that could not be averted, and a realization that reality extends far beyond the material.

The pencil on paper image that accompanies this piece is my rendition of the vision that followed. I was seeking in a very human sense that connection, perhaps even an explanation of why I was invited to that meeting. Familiar Owl to reach beyond the veil, we met him with a peaceful mustacheoed face, and he breathed out in a voice that flashed lightning, before his face like a mask peeled away from the bone, beautiful skull gleaming.

Beautiful Skulls.