Kyle D Asmus
UNEARTHING THE TEMPLE:
Dark clouds gather, with the skies that rumble threateningly. An unnatural calm that follows then vanishes without a trace. So lightning strikes. The storm has broken, with its wrath unleashed. Each of us must face its torrential rage in our own way.
Wretchedly misguided and vengeful betting on the fore mentioned aftermath. With the bittersweet taste of centuries now long gone. Eventually the tempest will subside but nothing is forgotten. This all ends in uncertain silence. With what began with such ferocious roar. Its simply the calm before the next storm.
With daybreak that draws near, the ditches being dug at the corner of such busy streets, the people come alive. Throwing sticks and stones that were decorated in relief. Salvaged immediately the very things we couldn’t stop. With what begins as an uncovering, extraordinary monuments excavated with a reckless abandon. The dismembered bodies of circular stone. The significant remains uncovered the center of this great temple. But such a find is surely nothing new.
The butterflies monitor the movements of cracks within these very walls. The goddess carving out the ones she has loved. An unexpected insight into the grandeur of yesterdays former empire.
The monuments to the deities of war and rain. A symbol for what our ancestors had accomplished. Comes with a warning to any would be enemies. With our faces looking towards the west, marvel at the dream weve witnessed become real. The layers of increasing greatness, in this realm weve all added to. As successive kings rose to power, with times that’s called for different direction. We still consider the devils dirty work and look for a church that we can burn. Down to the ashes, smoldering smoke engulfs the cinder. Buried under countless centuries, a reckoning of half truths, and soft spoken lies, professed before our very eyes. These so called scholars still wonder of what used to exist but may never know.
A discovery will help us in our search for answers still unsolved. This temple becomes symbolically the seat of ancient power. Yet beyond any significance we may someday find, there exists a myth of a power struggle that’s yet to see any sides prevail. With this myth that takes on various forms, given a description on how such gods thrive. Made circles around the ghosts of the past. A drawing that looms over with such promises of doom and gloom. Here there is no room for happiness or appreciation.
Myths often evolve into rites. Many of us feel the cost of such an offering and sacrifice. Passing by the stone with our enemies on their way to die. Defeated and mostly all dead as we descend into the madness of our very own self inflicted hell. Heavens never seemed so far away but I could never tell. The futures past seemed so bleak. The work of the devil is never done. Always on the run. Always outnumbered, always outgunned. Leaving you without your soul, reckless of you. With more questions than with that of any real answers. You still have a lot that needs to be resolved. Identify all parties involved. With the right amount of facts gathered this case is solved.
The abundance of sacred artifacts cannot resist the urge for truth to exist. With the judgement for blind justice and its scales tipped, in favor of the prosecution and persecution of any real life heros. Better here to just remain a zero.
The untold thousands that gave their lives in dedication to whispers echoed in the halls of the great temple, with our spirits being trampled to death. Give up your placement to ensure the continued movement of the sun.
Uncover the oldest of constructions laid to rest and unable to withstand. A sacrament offered up to countless gods and mistaken hosts entertaining the company of our shadows while chasing after this fools gold, why is it we were never told?
The years havent been kind to any of us. Any of us who were lucky enough to last as long as we both have, regardless of any uncertainty or misstep, afraid to look back at the path weve carved or the bread crumbs we had left for all the others to follow without getting lost.
Anything to gain the years I had lost. Driven by instinct resolute and im the cost. But I don’t remember existing at all. Only in these moments as I struggle not to fall.
With the mouth of ghosts killing me again. We are dead as history. The highway robbery. Watching the hour hand drag, destroyer of the past. Devour what is left. What if we had a chance to change our past. What if we could go back?
Would I be one of the very things that youd change? Sunshine should fix your face. The perfect design well we will phone it home but then again we were never truly alone.
With each of us looking back through strands of broken glass, to all the things still waiting for a past. Letters we never sent become the words to our epitaph. Witnessing this but we cant react.
Don’t you realize that nothing is true? But everything is allowed. So who dares to break the conditioning of society and commit adultery that dies in the moment of inception.
Suddenly I understood, how the roots took its hold and kept its form. The sublime destroys the boundaries of finiteness, yet this act is seen by the self not as an act of destruction but rather the elevation towards higher consciousness and spiritual liberation. For it is this feeling of infinitude which we now discover within ourselves that we may enjoy the experience of our own boundlessness. The days are as if they were the children of time.
Where modern conjecture closes its faithless doors, weve commenced our research and findings where the common elements of today leave behind a familiar disdain as wild as the despair were deprived of sharing. As mysteries as unfathomable as the oceans and its currents, there exists somewhere in this world an old book, so very old that the ink is barely ledgible.
Pondering over these pages that are now mostly blank, the written words that fit the paragraphs look like they’ve been erased and purposely left out with no such mention to the authors who fathered the birth of this single story. Rewritten and retold in countless forms, held to its former glory.
Like the luminous arc proceeds to form its circle, considered in its light a literary relic that has attained its highest point in its circumference, the suffering bends back again and returns to earth. The emanation becoming more of a shadow until it touches upon the ground from where all life is sprung.
The company conviction founded upon thousands of years of existence and the experience of spirit. With matter that has in time become through our sins, more evil and wicked than the serpent we shouldn’t look for and seek out.
Faith in courage destined to be remembered as heroic deeds. But since that time, matter has become the formidable barrier between us and the spirit world. So how else could this precedent be more than perfect?
Did any of us belong to the winged men who used to rule the skies? As another cycle is ended, our eyes opened up from being kept tightly shut, until weve come to know whats truly good or whats purposely evil. Having reached the summit, the cycle now begins its slide into downward motion where the arc has attained a fixed point that’s relative to whats certain. Brought forth between the parallels that fixed the lines inside the ghosts machine. Space time continuum that coincides with the terrestrial plane of existence. Man was once furnished by nature with a coat of skin. Possessed by almost boundless knowledge, only to parish in the birthing of the aftermath. All of this just to humble us simple creatures from forming cosmic habits. Guided only by the 5 basic senses. From where we are destined to someday eventually escape. The unattainable conceptions of an uncultivated past as if its possible to somehow hide behind. No one can draw back the curtains of collective reality.
An epigram that intelligence carries out from the permutations of so many failed seekers and nightmare dreamers. As far back as one could trace, the first footsteps of early man, even at our lowest point in known history, weve been given this divine gift of sound and along with a sobering intellect, that belongs to us from the very first idea that emerges slowly from the depths of animal brutality, we can never maintain again.
A Cosmic Birth. Clothed in the fabric of darkness inhabiting the unseen stars and planetary names. The indoctrination of a common origin. The attraction and repulsion serve as factors of motion. While our eternal mother relapses into undifferentiated states, guided by the astral light. This great picture gallery of eternity. Accompanying a faithful record of every deed and willful act and thought of man. Of all that was, all that there is and all that will be.
The divine event in the unseen cosmos we call the book of life. As matter is then projected into objectivity from the passive universal minds. Reconstrued the galaxies that run parallel to the present moment and then traveling backwards into the past.
While a shadow never truly falls upon the walls from where the light is cast. Without leaving any trace that might somehow be made visible by the proper process of turning lead into gold. The transmutation belongs to alchemy and belief in magick. Hidden in the very landscape beneath the surface of colors changing inside a kalidoscope. Now with the operation complete and the duration passed, the very change is now able to appear. With a specter concealed in the silvery glass underneath some kind of surface. The will had to ascend towards a higher dimension.
It is the sad perception of this truth, how powerless science truly is based in our world of matter. With all our subsequent actions depending on the power of the atom magnified underneath microscopes. For us to continually keep digging through the pure excess of complexity and even after so much time had passed, still to have no voice or choice in the matter, with the most refined and disciplined imagination, well retire with bewilderment from contemplating this very problem.
With this astounding statement, we are struck with the dumbness of standard operating procedure. Doubting the power of the industrial equipment and instruments we use to chart our positions, can we ever really possess the intellect, let alone the elements that would enable us to grasp the ultimate structure of natures energy?
Its safe to say that dependence upon physical facts has led to our growth of materialism and a decaying decadence of our personal faith and stunted spiritual growth. And for the longest time, this was the prevailing tendency of thought.
In order for us to know what being human is, we must begin by knowing what humans once were. All of this while materialism gnaws at the roots of our faith. The mysteries themselves have been watered down into speculations and religious fraud.
Few were the true adepts or initiates, let alone the heirs or descendants who have been dispersed by weapons conquering of invaders as such strangers in the old land.
Our time predicted this very dialogue, of us adorning monsters and slaves to ancient masters, taught only by the written letters our ancestors engraved upon the monuments. The sacred scribes and heirophants were the original wanderers on the face of this earth.
Obliged to put fear aside, taking along with them the profane mysteries they had set out to seek some kind of refuge. Swept away from the paths of conquest, instructed through the science of secret knew of little of this crowning result.
The soul within escapes their view, our divine mother has no answers for them. With uncovering to our sight, no indwelling spirit is under those layers of muscle and skin, or this network of nerves. Thinking they have solved the absolute, comfortable enough to rest upon their backs from the painful labor and back breaking hours they somehow endured.
Yet they will never be allowed to go beyond that which is given to us mortal men. Not of those of who we elect can trespass beyond the line drawn by the finger of divinity itself.
Within the halls upon whose blue and golden vaults, the weird signs attract attention. But their secret meanings are never revealed by the penetrated stares of idle gazers. For even when they are seen, they are seldom recognized.
On the dead soil of the long by-gone past stands the sacred oak. Now dried up and stripped of all its meaning by the venomous breath of materialism. But for us, the seekers of the occult know that life still slumbers within, and its full of deep and sacred truths. Magick itself is as old as man.
Yet it is impossible to give the exact timing of when all sprang forth into existence. Whenever we are to start with the idea of connecting the foundation with a historical first, further research proved to be useless. Compounded the views as groundless.
Without limitation, the individual movement manifests motion and current. Arises the expression we all generate. A single spark lights the way. Braving the unknown, wondering on this beatenpath.
We struggle to meet the demands of a mutual understanding. To somehow express the same truth differently.
With reasoning that applies as well to matter as to mind. With these things now in focus, necessitate all of space and time. Out of sequence orderly. The abstract can now exist. Conclusions that have been reached. Yet nothing within oyrselves will respond.
The self evidence of reasons for part taking in grand illusions…an illustration occupies canvas paint. A stain left thickening. Youre to blame. Left us with such polarized states. I think ive managed to lose all of my graces. Oh lord, who knows whose really misbehavin.
Only in active states are we kinetic. These things become the sense of absolute. With the very uncertainty, the kind of reasoning that might be leftwith no comprehension outside of time and space.
Time is only an expression of sequence. Passing thru all the various modes. That familiar feeling but never really feeling at home. This restlesness has rotten in my bones.
The codex contains a vast matrix . its casted out by the many crucifexs. The priests claiming triple 6s. While they preach about this…or that. Then watch them yank away the welcome mat. Cause santa made this list himself and hes now rotting on somewhere house shelf. And all the kids in the straight edge scene are in their basements huffing gasoline. Chanting |Dead dead dead!!! Your godis dead to me!!!|
Now theres a hunger within or maybe a tapeworm deep inside. Or maybe its just the cancer, but the doctors cant decide as you grow ill and weaker every single day.
Digitally mind controlled by the flat screen. This here black screen.
Now everyone is scrying in, dwealing deep in our minds abyss. Now go back to sleep. Everything is fine, we got this on repeat. Remember now free and brave. But weve gone to bed, your god is dead. With50Stars to hynotize, andexactly 13 stipes to mezmoize. Free thought has comeandgone,youll never see youre just a pawn.
The life around us, this universal flow, with so little effort, in an age of express gratification, five seconds and ill forget it. In this age of express train, and an electric telegraph, years are crowded into months, and weeks into days. This feverish haste threatens life. Meetings crowd on meetings.
The living reciever chosen to guide this artifact back into position, towards the entire journey back to the center. The primary force both moving youand me.
Blessed with gifts from the four dimensions. And we are often tormented with the terryifying dreams we cant seem to shake.
The Manipulated Dead congratulated and coagulated blood clots, a mere after thought. Now return to this artifact. From every single fiber engrained in the word of truth. Words we pick and choose. Roll the dice, whats left to lose?
This one force appears to divide itself into two separate forces, electricity and magnetism. The one and same but moving tangent pulling in opposite directions.
This increasing intensity of oppoistion between the gravity that sets our orbits, forces push and pull as above it so below it…
Opposed. Equalized. Opposed . Equalized.
Energy and inertia retrieve this amnesia. The radiation expands, the action again regnerated.
If both the past and external world exist only in the mind, and if the mind itself is controllable what then?
So why not try and truly state an extroadinary premise.
Back so long ago, when the earth still stood still. A signal had been broadcasted out. Returned in strength, bearing power and arms, in truth and justice. This signal here accumlates its space. Other fields transduced, rising now from the nonliving. This signal is its own reciever. Boasted feedback to grow. Send out a prayer automatically.