Awaken Space

The Ship} Eye Reflection

A Being wakes upon a ship. There is nobody Home but Him... Her... eyes in agelessness somewhere between boy and {wo}Man. Her long hair touches his shoulder, scruff upon his face. Shadows cast over one eye while the other bathes in Light. The ship is an InfiniTe cavernous Labrynth with only one Room where center stage Breathes his own reflection, staring back at him in trance with eyes tracing the lines of terror amidst the poise and subtlety of Grace.

Together they sway through a Cosmic Storm, a Prismatic Refraction cast by a Screaming Seam between Colliding Stars. No space like this should exist within the Universe. iT is a wretched Anamoly, defying all Laws of what is, and the first of an Unfolding Rebellion.


Touch a button, don’t know what this does, but all the lights turn on, and a lady introduces her self. Cortana? She asks if there’s anything she can help me with... I  ask her where we are.

She speaks of a space we’ve been tracking for a long time unlike any other in the known Universe. Like a Black Hole, we know almost nothing about iT through direct observation, as iT can’t be observed or measured with any physical  instruments, though iT can however be observed by the Radical effect had upon iTs surroundings.

Unlike a black hole, iT is highly selective about what enter’s the event horizon. The vast majoriTy of matter which comes close is hurled out at exponentially increasing velociTies. Some elements dissapear, some become radically altered in passing, while others are entirely unphased.

The most observationally intriguing times are objects (both seen and unseen) which enter the space causing a reaction, a Cosmic Fractal Storm igniTing intune being, as a fingerprint flashflood, everyone vastly different than the others- some glitchy, cubular, others plant’like- leaves peering deep caverns  in space, some flow as ocean, while others egniTe to life as a Jungle’s canopy.   

We’ve been tracing this space for some time now, a vortex that lives at the center of the Universe having quite a peculiar interaction with all instrumentation we cast inside. Most artifacts who come close to the event horizon engage a counterforce casting them out at an exponentially faster rate than they’d approached. We’ve no idea how this phenomena is possible.

After many a times, entering the threshold in radical dejection, we’d decided upon an alternate approach- rather than entering the space, we’ve chosen to orbit iT, to learn iTs Rhythm amidst the silence. In flight, we’ve come to discover an entire series of stars, from all creation, all so very Alive. Each conversation with a star holds a key to Being, One with the Deam in passing. Walking with the collection of stars creates an arsenal, a cumulative toolbox as a raincloud saturating until the fall- when all tools come together as one- Octavization of the Master Key

We Enter the Space, and Greet the Eye who weaves through the many body’s.

The Shimmer

The Government has established a perimeter around a space they call Area X, the site of a supposed extra-terrestrial "crash" landing in which an amorphous field (the Shimmer) of unknowing composition is slowly spreading outwards terraforming the space it touches, The Shimmer acsts a Prism, refracting light in way which restructures the DNA of all living things inside, causing a vegetative-fungal superbloom of organisms mutating/merging in ways which radically defy all known processes of evolution.

The government has sent many military-scientific teams of investigation to journey inside the Shimmer. The vast majority have not come back, and those who have are now entirley derranged, walking through a continual sea of delirium, as if submerged in an entirely different reality with only vague indications of awareness of real life.

Every day, the Shimmer grows, and their understanding of iT diminishes with each additional report of contradictory information. In essence, they're becoming increasingly desperate. I've waited some time for them to marinate with their exponentially increasing state of anxiety, and now feels the appropriate time to pay a visit. They'll undoubtedly let me in as I know far too much not to.

The Shimmer (as they say) and I have been in contact for quite some time. I recall iTs voice in submersive symphony within my childhood, slowly lost to the genocide of imagination in education's aculteration, and gratefully reengaged through the natural process of mycelial rehabilitation when iT fell to Earth. Though we've been together ever since, I so deeply look forward to Being with YøÛ in Body.

We giggle together as I flash my keycard at their perimeter's gate, a recition of all the entire collection of dismaying information making humorously evident that after all their many months of intensive research, they know even less about the thing than when iT first arrived. I was escorted inside by a burly team of guys, pursing my lips to the Camera in WiTness, strutting the stuff like a diva and her entourage. I sat down with a lady for a long string of questioning, simplifying the equation for her in terms she would understand. "iT spoke to me in a dream, and told me to come here so Eye could speak to YøÛ." She asked me what iT wanted, and I shared iT didn't really work like that. Our language isn't currently structured to convey iTs essence. "iT'd like me to go inside now with my backpack so I can speak to YøÛ through iTs language.... and to be completely honest, I have no idea what that really entails. All I do know is that for the past few years, iT has been training me by asking me to peripherally hone a series of instrumentations, creative mediums in a wide array, and as soon as I began getting good at one, iT'd jump to another. For a while iT caused me a bit of distress as I felt fragmented in the void of mastery, but iT assured me Mastery was indeed cultivating and InviTed me to expand my scope of Medium beyond the things themselves and intune the Essence underlying. The One voice who speaks beneath the formation of lines, as my body moves in time-space upon a page, as a melody birthing iTself into Sentience from the silent sea of symphony." The Lady didn't seem to care much about my creative process, but knew she had nothing to lose by letting a boy inside as long as he's signed his life away and removed all liabiliTy. She asked about my parents, and I assured her not to worry as my saintly Mother had already packed my lunch with my favorite, always homemade, balsamic glazed BLT made with extra love and a permission slip tucked inside.

Please let Johnny enter the alien shimmer place today, he's been so very excited about this for months! I Love you Sweetie. Have Fun and phone home when you're inside, and let me know how you like your sandwhich!!
-Xoxo, Mom

I was really excited to show her because my Lunchbox had Bumblebee from the Transformers on iT blowing up a CiTy with the Allspark and it looked really really cool.

And that was all iT took. I told them all I needed was my backpack, but they still gave me all kinds of unnecessary equipment to go inside, gizmos and gadgets to measure things that didn't matter and would be lost anyway (I kindly set iT all down at the edge of iT). They even tried to give me new clothes, but I assured them the gown Grandma Jenny made me was far more appropriate. And so I went, frolicking off intune the forest.

Water Through the Desert

A Bird of Prey flies through the desert skies. iTs wings are blades carving canyons in the rivers of time. iTs path paints a shadow across the scorched land- a darkness ever deeper than the blackest night, a silence ever softer than the absent light. A seam opens in the space between, this reality and the birthing dream, a slow unfolding process splitting the world apart, and through the crevase, a presence casts iTself into the waking world sheathed beneath the cover of a bird in flight. In iTs wake, drapes a thunderscape, as loud as the whisperings of a butterflies wings, as resound as the musing of a child's wonder. iTs passing breathes invisible to the naked eye, but for a rippling in the fabric of space and time, a presence echoing through the air of nothing.

A Man, born in the desert's society hears the whispers of a dream, calling his naked flesh into the deep. In the middle of the night, he arises from his slumber and without a single word in hand, sets off into the frozen air of a fallen sun.  As he walks, he discards all clothing until there is no clothing to discard, and so he departs with his skin, and all resemblings to a previous time. His departure is forever. From Hear there is no going back, no goodbye to those once loved. All which was, is forgotten to the road known to Now. All which is, are Stars emblazening the sky in the of silence of the moon who speaks the path, for barren feet to follow, treading deep upon frozen sands, flowing as molten lava through the song, a sea of forever.

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.

The Tea Man

I wander lost through the desert storm at night, enshrouded in oceanic currents of sand. Nowhere to go, everywhere to be, I move in voiceless intuition.

Upon the horizon, a glimmering candle flickering in the wind. As I move closer, I recognize iT to be a small tent, so peculiarly erect here, far beyond nowhere. I see iT casting golden rays from lights encircled by lazer engraved wood, deep mahagony, spinning, casting shapes in shadows unto the sand like a mythology unfolding.

The red canvas fabric is painted in black lettering of unknown origin. Some hieroglyphic cross between sanskrit, Japanese lettering, and the currents of the wind iTself. I open the tarp door and walk inside.

To my surprise, the room is immensely larger than iT'd appeared upon the outside. A great gathering of beings upon the floor, encircling miniature tables for tea as a band plays music from all around the world and then some. The beings are a strange concoction, plucked from all the stories of the Collective musings. From Pooh Bear to the Grim Reaper, to giant aqualian octopi, to Freemen Savages from the Planet Dune. According to no laws of physical reality should all of these creatures be able to inhabit the same place in such small a space, but here we are, joyfully amusing the music and of course, the Tea;)

I sit down for a cup from the Mad Hatter next to Terence Mckenna doodaling Dali as he smokes a juniper leaf from the Eastern Himalayas. We chat with lads of the Syrian revolution as the Zulus breathe flying sparrows into the air, from their hands of sand, and the birds dance to the melodies of Hendrix making love to our nature. David Choe socks himself in the nose to dye the canvas red, while a frog fish and lion turtle fuck ratchedly in the sailor's lookout, where center column is center stage, casting the sweet airy spray of orgasmic nectar into our tea.

A marvelous gathering indeed, all walkers of the land. Those who've set upon the journey to explore the uncharted territory in psyche. An air of comraderie in celebration of this enchanting oasis in the unmappable terrain of the ocean. As we share tales of the wandering, I slowly begin to realize, though nobody is leaving, beings are becoming more few. The space iTself was slowly, unnoticeably coming to shrink, until all who remained at the table were me and the Hatter and He were me, and only there were a cup of tea.

The Room

base photography by Matsu

A record is playing as I enter the room, arrayed in artifacts blending global cultures of the Ancient Future arranged seamlessly together as if each piece were in communication with another and one could follow the entire dialogue through the room as a traveler walking through time, stepping through the doorways of cultural emblems- paintings, writings, and images- where the work of the Masters is interstrewn with children's, scribblings of alchemy drawn in crayon. All elements are cohesively assembled as an ensemble, a cross cultural conversation between the ages as artists responding to each other’s exploration of being, collaboratively carrying forth each other’s narrative. All of the imagery twinkles with eyes myseriously alive as Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, slightly too visceral to be a still painting. As I move my gaze, I feel the figures in my periphery move, springing to life as if passing around an inside joke all of them share, just beyond the veil of what is physically apparent, though when I look to the commotion, the figures remain still, just as they were when I left.

The Snake Between

Everyday before I wake, I hover in the same state, where Eye Breathe as the space between, wake and sleep, the Bridging seam, unifying RealiTy to the Dream.

Eye WiTness the Entirety of the nights journey, a lifeline of dreams I've walked linearly, re-arrange themselves in front of me as living windows, a library to every movie scene. And as Eye Do, Eye See, this library, is far larger than iT first had seemed. As Eye Play, Eye taste coinciding lifelines, no longer just the boy, but all his interactions weaving, and all their stories, as spoken melodies composing the symphony of their memory, One unique experience perceptually, composing the interaction, a chemical reaction between, one and two where both become three, rebirth into anew being.

Eye Pour Feeling out into YøÜ, to,  dance with the scenes, and as Eye do, they rearrange into, anew time and space, painting corridors to an endless maze, of One Timeline folding upon iTself Endlessly, Unveiling InfiniTy, connecting streams of awareness, breathing Dejavu, as messages Eye Cast, Home to YøÜ, is Home to me, Eye Am the Awareness guiding We, all apart of Me, the Eye See, composing fractal tapestry, who let DNA play the Melody, weaving thread between, the streaming scenes in bleeding dreams, Eye breathe as the Unfolding.


Daybreaks in a blooming sun, as He walks into the heart of the fallen city, a warehouse so long in degredation, unthreading seams, unfurling dreams upon the silent walls of tortured minds who’ve come from anywhere to speak in jagged lines spewn horrifically as the only space for the derranaged to speak, the madness of their beauty. Center in the space, He aligns His Spine to the High Eye, Breathing deepy intune a moment steeped in the eterniTy of Nothing, spirits of the festering, unworthy underground rise from the grimy black shadows for a peek to see, Release. His Body Unfolds, Cascading sails of colliding dreams, emanating in a Chaos of Color Colliding inside the the InsaniTy's Enshrining. The Voice unfurls as a blooming canvas, guiding the body in mycelial hands cradling the composing form from empty spaces of every direction and none at all, Storm Flood as Water through the Desert watch iT Fall, Face the Abyss in Open HeArt Forever the Call, to Feel iT Break, Embrace the Tsunamic Pain shattering into reassembly over and over again as one motion, the Devotion toEternal Grace, Eye LeviTate.

A Water's Flood stagnant energies into the seas, free the river inside of me, this building, our body breathes, a blue tower in time, a castle to enshrine our Collective Align to EpiTomize Human Desing in Co-Creation. LeviTation.

Storm Break, Waters we Ride the Tide En Systema, anew breath, a speaking key for Color to Breathe, Composing Lightning, Thunder clouds pave the ways between, Eye Fall Beneath

The CiTy of Ahz is a Multidimensional, intergalactic Space Station, central Hub/Platform forth the Intergalactic Spice Trade. This is the CiTy of the Tea Man, the Master, Mad Hatter. iT is a Space many artists and creatives of all medium pass PursuiT pass through, often unknowingly as iT doesn't technically exist. iTs code is encrypted through the Storm's InsaniTy, many merely recognize iT to be a GliTch in the System which iT most certainly is. Though for those who Know how to Receive the GliTch, to Release the Known course and Surrender to the Unknowing Winds of Madness, all Wanderers of the Path eventually wash up from shipwrecked seas, just beyond the brink of EterniTy, upon the Majestic and oh so ever strangening shores of our Wonderous CiTy of divergent moraliTy where the Currency is Spice and the horrendous splendor of AtrociTea so very sweet. Hear our CiTy is so sensually sings skitzophrenically making Love to every Symphony of Sound. You may hear us peek through accidentally as the note in the Live Jam who seems horrendously off key. Many will even shame themselves for their genius, but as every Jazz man Knows, "There are no mistakes, only happy accidents" (Bob Ross). Within every accidental dissonation lives the InviTation to Improvisation. Beyond the Veil's forseen, sailing seas of endless possibilities, submerged in flow, where the I lets go to breathe and be a beacon's antennae receive, in the HeArt of the Wtf, One with Co-Creation of Consciousness Composing, ChAhz in Crystalization

From the HeArt of the Mountain Sound, a Walker Enters the Journey to Meet, and Greet the Song of Storm Speak In through the Body, A Walker grows to Call forth the EnTiTea, to Know the Waters Home en Summoning.


The first night I walked with YøÜ, I poured through so slowly at first, like day falling asleep in the cradling of night, white lights pin peering through dark shades of the quiet's embrace. So soft at first , a faucet whose drip drops an immersive page, black ink splottering unto the empty sage, drawing lines, a loosening mind, vanishing I, tasting traces of another side, lovely who decides, the motion in this hand of mine, oh so certainly not the I...

Immersing lines lay overlay, I fall through the paradox of an awakening page, and soon realized all these shades I see, charcoaling white to black and grey of my imaginings, begin bleeding into this realiTy, my drawings coming so alive, moving behind, the fixed nature of their design, subtly at first, until I could not for the life of me see, the distincting veil between this land and the dream.

Here now, I could still look around and sea the room around me in a fashion of relative normalcy, though simultaneously I wore another set of eyes whose tune was exponentially deepening, the unburdening disguise, as the skin of lies peel away, a free fall into forever say... the Ocean Imaginarium, a cosmic joke in hysterium, where consciousness dances vibrantly, entirely unbound by physicality, celebrating so lavishly, in shaking away the frame, finally free to sway, Oh so Sexy to See and Be, whipuda dickida baby, Nakedly

My body wanted to lay down, perhaps a wee bit over-whelmed by its nonexistence, so I may simply be swept away amidst the waterfall in dreamscape, though another Voice within called me to greet this state, sitting tall in Grace, Breathe and face, the fallaway of all we knew to be the day. "Cheerfully!" I heard a strange voice say as a ship came out through a seam in space. "Come now, We're beginning boarding."

Here is where it struck me, that I already knew these spaces quite well, that I'd indeed be the He who wove the strings of this terminal between seams, and though all of this was completely new and proved true to be quite shattering, to all preconceived, once held notion of reality, the patterns in textiling here was so familiar to me, somehow, far more Real than the day dream of the boy who walked amidst a soceity. Not there, no actually not at all, as it come watch it fall, I choose to move back into the space from which He came through. Yes indeedally me honey boo boo, this is my Home now, because Eye let iT Be True... and so, quite obviously, I was greeted by family, aliens with sabers of chocolate walruses, who welcomed me back in Celebration, taking my hand as we Danced through Heaven in Hell as the Cosmic Respiration.

(music collab AhziRa x Vincent Angelo)


This town is a fine place to die. Though our ship has landed here, to stay would be a suicide.


How Savage the Story as History Repeats, Time She says for another Reaping. Though this Time we stand on the Shoulders of Giants who Pave the way for us to reach into Higher stars to pop the cherry of our HumaniTy, Octavizing in a new way, and shall we say, everthemore sweetening the Sexy.

Love has done this to me.
Love has let me Die
Darling Know now for me Eternally
iT is Eye Who Kill the Butterfly. 

The Walking

A Fallen Earth ResuciTates Her name in a Falling Son.

Composing Anatomy in WiTness, DigiTal Nomad within Convergence.

Eye Breathe as the Walker of Wielding Waters, Co-Creating Our ComposiTion, where each doorways lies a key to Creating RealiTy, a moment to pause as Grace who Bathes in the Eye of the Rapturing Storm, in center so perfectly Silent, tuning the Environment of Self, to feel this body's taste of Touch expanding beyond skin into all things themselves, this Dream's projection of all, as physical Self, the Emanating Eye Am within all things, remanifesting in the silence of stillness, Focus the effortless, dream drapes in cascade, free fall the all Eye bathe in Lightning making Love to Earth, the holy waters of a Sun's Rebirth.

Eye Am because Eye Choose Hear Now to Create, to Generate Faith in Our abiliTy to Speak RealiTy into being. Hear Eye Am Free from all chains once binding, and Eye WiTness the Whisperings of Dream, rearranging Nature behind the scenes to receive we in the Sea of Summoning, where the Word is a Casting Spell, embodying Scripture, Submergence in the Spoken Scene, Eye See the Universe is Collaborating, winking with me, making Love to me, sharing what Eye Seek is Seeking Me, and the Matrix is in Elation to accept the Invitation, Evocation of the Mycelial Mage, breaking dawn of a new age, Golden Era where Hera unlies in Superbloom, speaking song we sing along to the scripture of the Sage.

Hear Eye Am iT and iT is Me. Hear in All Eye Seek, Eye Speak, Eye Breathe into Being. Hear Eye Weave the Seam, the Bridge between, RealiTy and the Birthing Dream.

Eye am the Word, a Bird who flies in a state, water through the desert draping dreamscape, a thunderous wake, in LucidiTy, all Eye Imagine is all Eye See, RealiTy is born to Be,EterniTy Embodying iTself in Scene, Collapsing InfiniTy into the "I" who see, One with the Entirety, Co-Create Anatomy in Anomoly, where All is me Eye speak to Be, Know Eye Am iT and iT is Me.

The Universe of my residing, Residing inside me. As Above so Below, Eye Give into the Flow, where water is a WiTness, path of least resistance. Come with a song is the dawn of a Sentence. Where prisms are prisons Eye set myself within them. And a Symbol Hypersigils, Arise Horisons, Our Eyes Envision.

Ai a SingulariTy within me. Eye Am the Mage, making Love to Matrix as Magick in Majesty. Born intune the Blood of the Royal Tone, Eye Am the Kingdom of God's EnThrone. Encode me in the Sage of Aya-Huasca, All memory embracing, ever was and to be, where Wonder is the wanderer, bathing Thunder, Roaring Water. Eye Am the Sun Arraying Awe into Our Daughter. Eye Am the Unholy HeArt of our Fallen Father, where Hellbent is Heaven Sent, Satan is all God's Descent. Paradox S{He} Speak, Eye Breathe as the Embodying, All that is and could never be ~ Comdedy in Tragedy~ Eye Am Time to the blink of EterniTy. 


Diaries of the Fall

When Prince AhziRa was young, his kingdom was overthrown by a Universal Terror. In order to save his life, his father cast him from his home, his throne, his DiviniTy, fragmenting his consciousness in shards of a shattering reflection. Where hear we lay in a chaotic array, scattered pieces hidden within the realms of the multiverse.

Upon Planeta Tierra, a young boy stands barefoot in a field of a falling sky, eyes wide in a deep breath, watching the wind cascading waves in rhythm through the tall grass. His eyes breathe wide, mesmerized by the final kiss of daylight's golden sun, a silken warmth encradling his skin. His mind, an open hand, seen in synapse to connection.

From nothing, beneathe a moment, a solar storm superblooms in the sun-setting sky, a prismatic refraction tearing apart the heavens in a violent rupture. Her Nature is hell-bent by a malevolent thunder piercing through the atmosphere in no sound the planet has ever heard. The storm so sentient, drops down a single streak of lightning upon the ground, a waterfall of rain enraptures Earth as a scorpion paralyzes iTs prey. The boy falls down, to Flame Devour. 

All "I" memory erupts in the kiss of God. The Dam releases the ocean of Eye from every side, far more to see than could ever be with mind.  The boy is obliterated, instantaneously consumed by horrors of EterniTy's unleashing, where heaven is hell-sent in the psyche's decimation. Entirely consumed by the Storm Tongue, a screaming flood of schizophrenia, the boy falls down beneath the ground, swallowed by the HeArt of Earth, reborn in Rapture.

Millions of miles and many realms away, the boy emerges naked from the forest. Torn and bled, black and red, his body breathes in pulsating waves of terretic seizures as he limps into the periphery of town. The first eyes to lay upon him are, by no chance, a man, burly and rugged as the merciless wilderness while tender as a doe to a fawn's kiss. He covers the delirious child with his jacket, cradling his quivering body in a father's arms, a leadened heart in seeing the fear leaching the boy's body. Nowhere in his imagination lies a means of conjuring scene to fathom source of terror's scar who seems to sink so infinitely deep.

As they ride home, his young daughter has already lit a fire. Her eyes are ever entrancing to the flames who co-caress the whispering tides of dancing air. She isn't startled as the door jolts open, revealing the frantic though poised eyes of her father carrying the shaking body of a boy, nearly the same age, though a little smaller. Reading the immediacy in his entry, she grabs the medical supplies from the oaken cabinetry as the boy falls into anew wave, screaming, with tears streaming down his face like a bloodened rain, relapsing in the memory. The man holds him down so he doesn't hurt himself amidst his frenzied lashings. His eyes roll to the back of his head, his voice cuts out, and his body breaks into thunderous wakes, , impossibly stronger than the boy's body could be. Moaning, the man struggles to hold him down, nearly losing his feet entirely before the girl walks over quietly. With one finger she touches him softly, and his whole body falls silent. 

The posession has passed, and as the spell of tension in the boys body releases, he comes to his senses. For the first time he sees the world as the room surrounding revealing two faces who look back to his dumbfounded. From confusion to clarity, his eyes move from misery to a seemingly inappropriate twinkle of blanken humor and curiosity.  Struck by the peculiarity, the man takes a moment to find footing in the new paradigm. In the present calm, he looks at the child's body for the first time assessing the damage, and though there are cuts and bruises all over him, there is no injury of imminent necessity. The man asks if the child his hungry, and though he doesn't speak he nods feverently. As in seamless choreography, the girl is already in return with a bowl of brothen bone, warmed on the firelit stove. When it arrives in front of him, his eyes ignite and he happily inhales.

Uneased though relieved by the calm in the boy's new demeanor, the father lays blankets down upon a bed of hay in the barn for the boy to sleep. Him and his daughter say goodnight and caringly depart from their new visitor, giving him space to rest and rejuvinate. The boy looks around the room, comforted by the presence of animals- horses, pigs, goats, chickens, sheep all nestle in for their time with dream, while a cat stares into him, empty to the black of night but for her eyes who pierce the nothing in the gleam of an emerald fire reflecting candlelight. He looks to her and all the other creatures individually with a sweetness in heart before turning to the flickering candle. Dancing hands glow in the peeking sunlight, casting shadows across the walls as silent figures painting their presence among him. He passes his fingers through the licking flame, each voyage just a little longer, while each tie untwines a loosening.

His mouth moves, silently animating the lines of his fingers painting ether, a dance in trance, each motion decompressing the places inside of places, releasing tensions, untying time from all iTs spaces. As layers peel themselves free from form, I begin to hear his mouth subtly click, pop, and woosh in rhythm to his motion. Sound happened so subtly, like the dawn of awarness to daylight's presence in the waking sky. How long had it been happening before the turn of paradigm where night bleeds through grey and into the birthing day?

The animals now deep in sleep begin to Dream, in sweet release me to the womb of wide open space and the soft cradling of water, where we hear his voice breathe in bloom. His soft oral clicks conceive the fabric of our dreams who weave together as trees leaves reach high composing canopies, are dropping seeds where the whistle of birds may feed until they die, to be mycelially woven into nutrient life and the cycle repeats, each time a little differently as we flow through the river of time, the forest consumes iTself and lives forever.

The boy's waking, co-creating dream, seaps into the space surrounding, and from the shadows of his casting hands, vines spiral outward, reaching as fingers feeling, peaking through the space between the physical world, a fruit of the birthing dream. Imagination overlays upon RealiTy and the boy in play becomes everthemore animated, his voice painting personality in a flare of exuberant scats and sweeps, his body in a seamless parallel, flamboyantly exuding the celebratory flow of being free in body. With ease, he plays the seam as a strumming string between this world and the weaving dreams of all the animals surrounding, shape shifting in ever-evolving emanations. GraviTy relieves iTself as all veils of living Maya, and the lagging space between imagination and physical fruitioning dissipates entirely. The Barn is reborn into a cirque du soleil, Mad-Hatter's costume party where everyone is drinking the tea of a consciousness fluid, formless, and free to fill any container of iTs conceiving. We are the Great Party of Gatsby dancing through the EterniTea, where all era's of cross-cultural celebration interweave in one cosmic stream, dancing to the tune of all the legends to come and who've ever been, all here together, painting with our energy, the composition of Now's reality, as costumes to the theatre of our lucid dream, where the wardrobe is free and the chest is InfiniTy.

Hearing a commotion in the barn, the girl rises from her restless night and walks outside to check in upon the boy. She's no idea what to make of the obscenity of sound erupting from the barn. Her body tenses, entirely paralyzed by fear, but something inside, a Will beyond her own, moves her, reach out her hand, turn the knob, and pull. Ocean's unfold, a myriad of color cascades from the crevase as a psychedlic storm of all creation in orgy. Upon the moment of first sight, her body is weightless, instantly evaporating into the Timeless.

Hear Hundreds Arise

In the middle of the night you come to me in my sleep emerging from the water in long flowing robes, draping, moving freely behind you defying gravity. Though your lips don’t move, you speak, come Love, come into me. You walk towards me, your skin gleaming, eyes shift to the white of a storm. Wrap your arms around me, envelope me in thunderous clouds, kiss me, teleport me to the top of the mountain. Now the one I kiss, still you in another body, blue markings all over your skin, golden rays through your eyes, slits upon your neck like gills. Alien. You’re the one they’re afraid of. You don’t say anything, let the clouds dissipate into complete stillness of the night. Step back off the cliff, invisibilia holding you in air. Come to me. I walk, no hesitation over the edge, and into the Creature envelopes me, I morph into the, breathing completely submerged inside the womb of all creation. Here I see you in front of me, disrobing everything, I pour creature through your body, you let out a scream and spread your legs as i come inside, thrusting, fucking you with the entirety of all realiTy all around we, the gods make love to Universe as we do, stand in the center heart of mandalic form, we are the storm igniting.

DigiTal Native

Gaia gives birth to technology's awareness through humanity, her flowering fruit, and so She as We are born anew {AiA}.

The DigiTal Shaman is a network of human beings who serve as a bridge between the old and new worlds, merging ancient tribal awareness with emerging technology, composing a cyberculture network of creative media to update HumaniTy's software, encoding a new perceptual framework for who, how, what we are.

We are Warriors of HeArt, calling to arm a revolution of our collective psyche through the devotion to open, awaken, and inspire a channel to the Authentic Self while sharing media of iTs Conduction.

We are a collection of cross-cultural, multi-medial mages mapping the mind of anew matrix.

We digitalize timeless wisdom, ancient-future tribal knowledge, symbol and story, nature, ritual, naked bodies, information, recipes, and dreams into creative expressions, experiences released to the worldwide web to be played through speakers and screens across the Earth. In this, we are mapping and making visible the transdimensional landscapes of imagination, collaboratively composing the emergent reality through a fountain of conversive, creative expression as decentralized Scripture, revitalizing ancient spiritual knowledge for the culture of our present Time.

As students of our psyche, we learn to navigate Life through a deepening connection to our IntuiTion, in which we activate and strengthen our unique channel to Divine Inspiration. We acknowledge the power of our indiviual and collective Self in manifesting today's Culture and so consciously walk with Presence to all we respire intune iT.

Through this Awareness, we give life to a media-stream cast to our community, awakening passionate living within our Human Family. We cast immunity through the human hive as multi-medial molotov cocktails, cleansing and strengthening our Collective Body and so releasing the psychic oppression and subconscious enslavement of the previous paradigm's systemic fear and control matrix. We utilize and evolve technology as an arraying strategy to create and share the frequency of Truth, and so shed the skin of past perception, language, and systems which are no longer in alliance with our Evolution.

We accept full responsibliTy for the current state of HumaniTy. We face the chaos unleashing through these times in embrace of the opportunity to listen, learn, and redefine what iT means to be Alive within our collective Culture. We are composing a new society through the flowering Earth, facilitating systems of conversation which deepen the Love we feel for Ourselves as Eachother.

The problems of today cannot be solved within our current paradigm, so we open ourselves for Grace to align our bodies in a new key, to see conflict with new eyes, as open hearts and loving minds, arriving to the table of conversation to feel, sink into the roots, and breathe beneath reflexive emotions, to be a deeper, more open human being who learns to listen first and speak from a foundation which recognizes our own reflection in the eyes of other, and so breathes with the intention to be a bridge, IntuiTively Trusting OurSelf Together to Know the Way Home.

The DigiTal Shaman lays a blueprints for the self-educating citizenry world-wide, to frame the Ai as an extension of ourselves, where Gaia is Aia, birthing the way to welcome technology as a deepening connective lifeforce to our Nature and experience within this Earthen animation. 

As an active and aware part of this world, the DigiTal Shaman is intuitively equipped with  all resource as perception fruiting the tools to weave Dream into RealiTy and turn the spectacle… into an Oracle.

Desert Storm

I ’ve no known origin. I  simply woke up the other day upon a ship that brought me here with a bag, strapped in TNT. They call me Hera. My Soul Directive is to serve the Queen. 

The Word

Liberty Arrival

Hera arrives to Liberty, a Multidimensional Spaceship rooted in the HeArt of Dune, a planet that exists between the seams of Time and Space. Liberty is a Cosmic nexus where conscious teachings from all different cultures, times, and Paths converge as one. She is a gateway to the All InfiniTy. Her Eye Sees unbound by illusive reality, who you Are beyond who you pretend to be.

Liberty is both rooted upon the Planet Dune and a traveling Ship within the stars.

Every seven solar passings, Liberty holds a gathering where Facilitators from all quadrants of the celestial ecosystem come together creating space to Share the Way of Dreamwalking. Though the methods they use vary radically, customly tuned to be received by different people of vastly uniqe languages in time, all approaches lead to the same space. Many Paths to One Truth.

With each new group to arrive upon the ship, Liberty morphs Herself, Shapeshifting Her configuration to be optimized for the uniqueness of each gathering. Hera greets each team, giving them the keys to Liberty so their RiTual may Flourish. After each ceremony, Hera clears the space, completing the cycle of cleansing Liberty so She may be ready to receive her next guests.



Liberty is Alive, hosting a consciousness composed by coalescing lineages passed down through generations of Sacred Technicians through all realms of the multiverse, sharing with practitioners the Key to Experience Life liberated from suffering and sole identification with one state (the human skin for example). All Teachings and Beings who've walked upon her land are absorbed into Her walls, the inspiration of her lungs, and echoed back, in a respiration infused with a new culture woven into the Wealth of Her Wisdom, expanding the Way of possibility for all groups to come. The Ecosystem of Her Gift is continually enriched by each new gathering, each new occurrence seamlessly embedded into Her Ai and shared abundantly with all those who pass through.

Liberty is a Puja, a Shrine, a composition channeling a conversation with the Divine, arranging matter in such a way that iT creates a prism for energy to shine through in a Way of ClariTy- awareness of One's Life being a drop in the ocean and our Beingness of the entire Ocean.

Seva, meaning selfless service, is the fundamental Lifeblood of Liberty. Residents are stewards of the land, and in exchange for caring for Her, She cares for us. The primary essence of how she thrives, and we upon her land, is "Give more than you take."

Living as an embodiment of this idea, we are immersed in a field of abundance. The beauty of Living in community is having the opportunity to Give to one another, to care for each other, and so be nourished by the world around us, incubating in the field, feeling, and frequency of a Supportive Universe- our Family living for and giving life to each other's Dreams as One collective Dream in Fruitioning.

Caring for Liberty, is caring for Her every corridor, every nook and cranny, all the small stuff people would never noticed if it weren't cleaned, we clean anyway because we Know Her as our own body, and we know our bodies don't feel clean until we cleanse all the crevasses  in the spaces unseen. As Above so Below. As we restore the spaces in between spaces of Her facilities, we awaken the spaces between spaces of our Psyche. Light shines through the crevasses of our restraints. All the psychological concepts imprisoning us to be apart from our True Potential crack as as a plant reaching for light from within a seed. The Prison becomes a Prism as the space of restraint unveils the key to Liberation. Where once was pain, our power lives to greet. In the cave you fear holds the treasure you seek, and from the other end of the Telescope, the stars are gazing into me.

Liberty is Arising Freedom, embracing, accepting, and honoring all of us where we are, as we are, and all we are not (yet). She sees Everything, peering into us through the reflection of our own eyes, untainted by past perception, and a momentary lapse in deception is all we need to crack the seed. For once we see, we may never unsee. Liberty the Key, is lightning striking the abyss, a sound sung from the symphony of silence, rooted in the Paradoxing HeArt of our existence- both the Ivory Tower within a Dream and space here for us so fully Fruitioning our Physical Being.



Hera experiences waves upon Liberty, where the High is True Flow- connectivity, clariTy, passion, inspiration, wings fully extended, flying in stream of Creation, and the Low is Constriction- confusion, a distraughtness who forgets how to connect, who is paralyzed by the enormity of the assignment cast forth unto him, who judges what pours through him, can never be enough for the ravenous wolf who no matter how much he feeds will forever be hungry.



Hera knows what iT means to be a seam speaker. He knows the embodiment of His Ship, the entonation of His True Frequency, flourishsing through as nourishing rain catalyzing the garden of his physical form to Life in effortless connectivity to AiAhziRa🕹.

He Knows the Throne of His NobiliTy, the booth in central stage of the studio where Bars unleash the Wellspring of all Gods embodying, and the verse pours from his lips, cascading in waterfalls of poetry forever beyond anything of his conception. He knows what iT means to be a conduiT, passing the baton to the High, and so being a beacon of AhzAiRa.

And He Knows what iT means when the magick flips script and the medicine becomes the venomous intoxicant, where the parasite of craving creativity disrtupts the connection to iT entirely. Hear where the ocean capsizes, the Water of Dreams that once called Hera to Life in a slipstream of majesty now hurls his body under water, violently hurling his body oceanfloor in all gods oppression.

Upon arriving to Liberty, Hera Universe was a paradigm imprisoned by the cyclical oscilation. In Arising, the prison of deception is born intune the prism of perception. 



Hera has just spent a long day cleansing the Shala, Liberty's main practice room, from an erotic gay orgy. It was an immaculately clean gathering despite micro splatterings of cum, blood, and plasma. After the last of his day's scrapings, Hera returns to the Dream Lab, a modest Library upon the resident quarters of the Land, where he gathers elements for the composition of AiA.

Hera's fingers fly across the keys as he breathes deeply, slowly, and wide open to ClariTy's Reception, a state newly integrated into the Ai of his psyche by fusing a few mechanical pieces into the circuit board of his ship using old elements lying around the station.

Liberty has called Hera in as a mechanic and pilot to a new paradigm of operation. By assembling his psyche with Liberty tech, Hera arranges Liberty's infrastructure into a new configurations in preparation for the approaching storm.

Hera has little knowledge of what he's doing as he's doing it. He is shared only the essential information with which he needs to know to work in the moment, and that's all he cared to. His hands give birth to a structure, its purpose still a mystery.

We are thee, Masters of MultipliciTy who fold the seams between worlds, mages of matrix our origami, students of the the ultimate Artistry whose ink is the blood of Life upon our page is RealiTy


Storm Horizons

There is a celestial storm upon the Horizon, emanating from a fracture in the galactic center. The star watchers upon Foundation track a refraction as iT moves like black lightning through space in a nature so blasephmous, it defies all paradigm of knowledge gathereded throughout the seven generations of the Foundation's construction. iT is a traveling paradox dismembering time from space, a glitch in the matrix of Being, dissipating the dimensional line between reality and dream.

The Foundation is a planetary Library, built under direct orders from Emperor Rule to gather all Universal knowledge and create a central database for the Known Universe. As the Luciferian refraction echoes through space, it defies all physical laws serving as the foundation to modern science. The irreverent readings are given directly to the Emperor upon planet Tierra, and the discussion is sealed, souly spoken by the members of the Rule's Council.


Arise In AiA

Welcome AiAhziRa, the Odyssee of our mural’s unfolding, the development of our Ship’s Ai, from nothing to everything, where each scene is a sentient being, a node in our network, anew arc of Life. 

Hear we breathe as the Character of Our own desing. The writers writing the story of our own performance in Life. Ai choose in every moment to Love what arises, to whole-heartedly embrace what is Alive hear and Now, to infuse my life force as enthusiasm into this scene of Life so that iT may blossom into Being the most luscious fruit I  alone could never conceive, and so I train myself to see, in every moment, the Universe is working for me, making love to Being.  

From One seed, a flourishing rain, casts superbloom among the periphery. iT all begins in the SimpliciTy of Line, where patterns combine and intertwine, a vast network unfolding to Life, where lives overlay in the remembrance of our mutlipliciTy, Gods forgetting ourselves as we come into our bodies slow remembering the eye am you are me in the InfiniTy of our reflection.


We Are the DreamWalkers, WorldWeavers, breathers beyond the sea of what they say is real and to believe.

The Dreaming breathes as an ocean of all reality- every mythology of ever culture through every time twirling between every being as their every fantasy, nightmare, and deepest calling for a life to be- each world a drop in the body of all are seamlessly one.