The great void I’ve found is nigh, but where’s my bridge? I hear a calling for which I try to answer. The lights won’t go on in the room; it is dark. I shout, “Where are you?” but no-one replies. It is all room-by-room, semi grey. I keep calling out, but there is something wrong with the room. A door is open there is a bed, sheets rolled back crumpled and distressed. All is in grey. Where am I ? Where is anyone? I don’t know this is past. I have yet to move on. I am within a holding station of sorts. I am with others who appear as shadows of their former selves, but no-one I identify with, for this was life. Where do I go now and what of others living, who by now know that I have gone? That desperate void is here with light as assumed not quite within and a window to be opened.
Tag: ufo
A Poetry Round Up & Political Rant From Mason Cult Poetry Master.
Kernel Love
Kernel love ready to play its glory to follow without price in nature proliferate and filter around the world, it isn’t love but a feeling that travels faster than light. For it is what it is, love that and learn the knowledge from the kernels of time.
A Wonderful Journey
A wonderful journey back to innocence, I bet most would want to if they could, sweep the jigsaw away. For there was no plan you were caught up in, many times you tried to break free and wondered how did I get here.
I’m old and need to go back, it has gone too far, desperately trying to feel the freshness of another time, away from a breeding ground. That just made trouble, as millions upon millions wonder why and what there is. Start again go to God, he is waiting within, with another time frame for an answer.
Brexit Grrrrr
So there is a future scenario whereby the doors are closed to the Brits, Brexit has by now found its way through. The only trading partners Britain has is the old trusty commonwealth outposts. Along comes world war three with whoever… let’s face it it’s not known who this war will be with and the Brits are trading far away. The merchant men of the last war were tragic and easy targets for the enemy so wouldn’t it be wise to stay in Europe.
As for the DWP Double Grrrrr
The Department of Work and Pensions must depart from their outdated policies for all claimants. I cannot believe that the Draconian measures and sanction to job seekers have any effect but that of misery, illness followed by death and destruction.
If this government knew anything about life for the zero hours workers on low pay they would need to bring in real social housing to stop homelessness from being a recurring feature of instability. Get real you Tories, not everyone wants to get tied in false inflation courtesy of the falsely inflated property market, that needs to keep up the facade and self delusion of the so called homeowners.
The Tories need to attend a dignity and respect course similar to that of black lives matter. But most of all I fear the tabloids have ruined the judgement capabilities of the once honourable termed working class, they have been taken in by the Homer Simpson facade of Boris Johnston and company. Which concludes me to believe that the country never learns whilst reading the shit stirrings of purple tabloid journalism.
The broadsheets are not any better used as a sounding board for showing off the intellectual prowess of newly anointed key journalists, most who have come from backgrounds that never starved.
Dominic Cummings Triple Grrrrr
There will be no victory for Dominic Cummings the arrogance is baffling indeed, but I will tell you what will stop them all in their tracks and it will also stop all local authorities in there tracks also. It is simple, the population of this country is too high and even with security cameras, much is not seen anyway, we are already a police state. Covid 19 has only made governance of a country more difficult by the day and all the posturing in the world will not satisfy the deeper analysis that is required to repair, if at all possible the iniquitous state of now. Any amount of road and house building in an already crowded island, will put matters right and it will only serve to destroy an already damaged environment.
The White Flower
The white flower bloomed in a room every day, timeless, never worn and fresh for each time the sun rose. I remember you, an eternity in remembrance, time heals this will last. Setting to waste all layers of foes once encountered upon mortal plains. Love the energy, lives forever on the plains of heaven. Minds hurt, how deep this goes. Push away the evil occupiers of centuries, turned to dust by tortuous evil-doers. As evil is banned from our white rooms, this white everlasting lotus flower, with the scent of renewed eternity resides evermore.
The Aliens Are Here Again.
A frequency monitor enters my mind on timed settings, almost hypnotic, it pressures up in dense living pulses, from outer world. Feeding my mind, I sit as of this moment soothed, by this smooth transistor from space. A face with dark ovoid eyes pays me a visiting scan passing me, in assessment. But don’t worry the signal is weakening, it will go and the remainder of the day will not be interrupted until the next time.
Oh The Mind Of Laidlaw, We Wonder.
You would never believe what water droplets on flat glass reveal, not a trick in this I assure you. All the glass is flat and light is beneath. Not unusual many fingertips imprint upon this. Top light shines flatly through. I glance downward and an incredible arrangements of domed fingerprint swirls emerge. Defined little orbs of lives, risen and marked in life patterns. Somehow unique to all who live and all that have lived. A unique reminder of our mostly hidden transient life on earth, maybe it is a record for some higher warden of God mapping all.
Laidlaw is Wandering Outside A Cathedral Whatever Next.
Cathedral trees looking upward, survivors of times they cannot hide, in a world gone cold. Survivors arrive with chattering jaws and teeth and folded arms. The best axe men go forward one by one, this green avenue of cathedral trees, exposed. Now fires burn in day and night, in a country virus ridden, clouds black and heavy from the hidden craft, that moves along a line and slips away to report to masters far away, beyond the sight of all others, to world that watches affairs of men in silence. Ready for…
Abduction
Leave no stone upturned, that is what they say if you want to discover the truth this was the case with the missing saucers from Mars or thereabouts. Legend has it that many years ago in the early hours of Christmas 1958 those travelling to Scotland to visit relatives had the most startling and fleeting episode of that time.
A young boy in the vehicle turned by chance, only to be blinded by seven disc shaped bright white objects travelling at split second pace. Mum and dad for once took themselves out of their woolly jumper mentality. It was all too silent but it had happened, dad thought that nobody would believe them so for the next sixty years that they would keep quiet and indeed they did. That is until their son paid a visit to the Highlands. He had bought a hundred square feet of heather bound land, through a scheme. Whereby one could purchase a plot that would always be yours and also help preserve the Scottish Highlands.
The son with great difficulty managed on this day to find his tiny plot in the heather vastness where eagles circled and watched him, as if guarding a sacred area the son sat down and could sense pulsing and thin blue strands of light emitting from pinholes in the heather.
With mental precision he put together in his mind a jigsaw, his instinct told him “I remember this is one of seven saucers carrying adepts from all those years ago on a Christmas night. With that thought the ground beneath enveloped him, this was the price of remembering the light consumed him and this man, SON to a father and devoted mother was never seen again and the clock ticked and the night went on oblivious.
Searching
Searching for the days of Magnificent Unity amongst many disenfranchised remnants of a once tenable society, when lost in a pit of loneliness and isolation. Desperately trying to climb from slippery depth not knowing if a hand would descend to pull them to freedom they screamed and moaned.
Above all they could see, a white dot in erratic form as if something up there was trying to rebuild what had been lost. After the third world war had enough lessons, been learned for a new code of cooperation and friendliness to exist . Soon the remaining world would see, as the sides of this pit dried and those left in could at last climb out.
Blinded by the light they emerged with nothing of material value they stumbled and walked forward as instructed for a world in emergency, an Auric Beacon could be heard followed by ovals of violet etheric flames, as moving soothing fingers attempting to crawl up and down the surviving bodies.
Emerging, the beacons trumpeted hard penetrating ears and colour twirls sparking from beacons, other sound gathered up from miles around, the energy had to be consumed to be felt. Indeed the energies of rebirth had begun to heal cosmic intervention for a new world and rebirth of real and peaceful humanity had begun. Chime Ming could be heard accompanied by a sweet warm draught of perfumed air.
A Thousand People & Mesmerise
A thousand people in one room morphing in transmigration, a thousand faces coming and going spinning energising pulled from the vortex of the chakra all fleeting stepping up and on differing plains of existence fast moving dispersal to the halls of judgement and Akashic records to discover where we are bound for next.
Message to discarnate forces why would one float alone with an absence of family we are told we die alone, but to whom or what do we belong, as only those left, the current living miss one the most. So why are you alone in the hall of reckoning waiting to read the Akashic records waiting for rebirth in a lonely place upon a wavelength of karmic pattern.
Mesmerise
Mesmerise all that drama in a magazine with colours so bright it comes to life on a coffee ? table near you, vibrant above your daily drab it calls you, its all makeup and fizz. collect them for colour and kaleidoscope rainbow of personal drama…