a springtime that does not yet exist

Stayed up all night, not out of the usual restlessness, but with the explicit intention of using the hyperliminal state fosterd by sleep deprivation to dive a little deeper into the subconscious and put a couple ideas into practice that I have been working on recently. After reading this article on practical magical rituals I decided the best way (or at least an effective way) to go about this would be to create a sigil of my intention and let it work subconsciously to get around my metanoia. So around dawn I smudged a circle and did some elemental yoga to center myself, and then corpse to relax and sink down through the locked flilters of my sleeping mind to the place where nothing is waht it seems and everything is much more meaningful. There I formulated the intention of attempting to emanitize the Spring, by becoming an avatar of its qualities of rebirth, new growth, bountiful love, revolution. The microcosm is the macrocosm, so by being the change I already want to find in myself, the total self-revolution of consciousness, the sesons will turn onwards too (and we can finally have some warm days around here).

Then I drew the sigil and meditated on it in the flame of a candle till I tranced, and then trancended. And then I had breakfast and started my day as if I always was up with the sun, with the sigil lurking around the back of my mind. Around eleven when I realized my focus was utterly shot I passsed out and had some dreams at a much deeper level then any I've had in a long time. I won't go int othe details, but I do recalling showing myself the sigil in the mirror, so it sunk in at least that far, planted like a seed or a timebomb, an exploding flower of potential.

When I woke up it felt like I was starting the day over again as I normally would, but with this other layer of the first waking beneath it, so I couldn't tell if I was actually still asleep. And then with the subconscious open and available for pilfering... I wrote.

Can I talk about Spring now, or is it still too early with the snow falling and the cold not yet gone? Springtime is for lovers and revolutionaries, newborn plants and mother earth and the rebirth of the dying god. Isis dragging Osiris across a frozen nordic tundra, a wrong turn on the journey from shadows to sunlight. Runic interpretation of the word paints spring as this longd for hero's journey of rebirth, and all things follow that tale as the season's turn. The plants, the sun, the animals and us, everything is coming out again, being reborn from the thawing womb of the earth. A metaphysics of archetypal identification, we are the dying god, we are the hero, we are avatars of spring, symptoms of nature springing back up, Perspehone dragging herself by her coattails out of the frozen winters of Hades. If we are thus inflicted with springness what's to say we can not act on that, as if spring were already here ad light and love and sense of radical play we bear forth might bootstrap Spring along with it. As Above, so Below, wherever we spin so the Heavens go.

And what of all the assumptions and taboos that we must break for this to be so? That we are incapable of moving the world, that we are small adn follow blindly after the bigger patterns like flotsam in a tsunami, that we are not each a god capable of enacting our will upon the entire Universe, these beliefs and reality tunnels must die or be cleverly sidestepped. Somewhere deep inside I am sabotaging my own divinity, pulling down my internal temples and screaming that my will to power as a false idol. It is, no graven image can ever represent the true nature of existence, but the symbols are all we have to work with, and the manipulation of he profane int othe sacred the only process left t ogive meaning to the essential chaos of our experiences. It's not my reality if I can't be in its center... if I can't feel... If I can't dance? That phrase probably needs some editing to be really potently meaningful, so Emma Goldman won't roll in her grave; most things I say need editing, but they come out as they will or not at all. Any control otherwise is an illusion, we can only steer ourselves across the depths, not driect the flow of the waves. But my vessel can be tricked out to the max, a full bar and pool table, lounge chairs, fully ergonomic mind controls, a time travel module built into the rudder. This is boating in style, a cybernetic cruise ship sailing from port to import in the chaoseas of existence, stopping occasional to pick up a couple passengers for a wild party where we all get drunk and loose ourselves and howl at the moon, while the surround sound systeem pumps out waves of the latest technorganic dance mix. Give me a couple days and I'll rig this beauty with Icarus's wings and we'll sail to the stars.

I mentioned taboos, taboos! This reawaknening of spring is not a rebirth of the old, but a total transformation of life into full realization. No more hiding, no more restraints, only pure unbridled joy and growth. I want to see the sunflowers forget how tall they onc grew, and kiss the clouds; I want to see people forget the boundaries of law and reality and spill into the streets and each other, an orgy of revolutionary potential. I want to see the old gods torn down and a pedestal built to each one of us in everyone's heart. The total worship of reality, the perfect hymn to becoming. I want to see all beings alive with longing for each other, the external suraces of things attracted into temporary erogneous zones, the perfect medium for expressing the light and love that hides inside. I want to touch and be touched by everything at once, to sing gloriously from rooftops and soulfully from streetcorners. I want the sun to shine as if it knew it might be the last time it did so, and us to feel its warmth as if we knew it too. I want... too many things to name, they bubble up in me like sweet wine. To open up to just one desire is to open up to the desires of the whole world, impossible to cork back up; they flow and flow till we are drowning in it. Drowning in desire, so drink deep, this may be the last day left to enjoy it. The world already ended, time died shortly after God, when Chaos was reborn, and this can only make our every action as meaningful as the lasst action we will ever do. If there's another, what a blessed surprise, a bonus gift from the Universe to you. Enjoy it, and enjoy it; it would be an utter waste of a good moment to do otherwise. This is a springtime that does not yet exist, planted deep in our hearts. Like any plant it needs warmth, water,and fertile ground; light, live, and life to sprout and grow. And when it does, it will bloom into a flower of such beauty that all who see it will weep for joy. An ephemeral blossom who's form is always dying, but once sown will bloom again and again, spreading its petals till they brush the ends of space.