85: Story

All of my research has led me here, the space of the ancient futurings Residing. A space between realities where all kingdoms interweave, a shamanic layering, a vortex of the Gaiian mind, an inter dimensional/galactic space station, where creatives pass keys as the creative Eye.

A Native boy of the land has agreed to help guide me to the Holy Mountain. I feel he knows where iT is, and though he’s agreed to help me, he will not lead the way. Though u know he understands me, he will not speak my language. At first frustrating, I soon came to realize the way he does speak or rather see and feel, translates directly to the scriptures of the Ancient {Future}= Timeless

I don’t know where we’re going. It feels like we are walking in circles, but the land is ever changing. He changes with each landscape, draping himself in the theatric mask of the animating Earth. His personaliTy and being is so fluid with the season, he seems to have overrided the element of human nature which is emotionally reactive. He doesn’t seem to care whatsoever when we arrive or even if we do. He is so amused by the Journey the destination seems irrelevant. He walks as if holding an infuriating secret, cards he refuses to reveal, though walks as if they’ve all been laid upon the de table and laughs that I cannot see.

Here Gaia spills from Herself as decadent fields of lava unfolding life, a Mycelial super bloom abundancy, she herself cannot breathe and so drowns in her own canopy

These rocks weave in landscapes of encoded scriptures where the unseen foreplays the periphery of physicaliTy- ancestors of be past and those long yet to come drape themselves along the cliffsides of eterniTy, the space between, an edge expanding until the bird, once incubated, now suffocated by the nest of nonexistence, leaps to fly free. To rise and let die all the previously conceived.