Self-Determination

Horned Mercury Symbol

Ignis Seperatum

~ We sit in the Light of our own Truth ~

The poster on Jacob’s living-room wall declares its transcendent message in grubby gold letters written across an exquisite photograph depicting First Light from the summit of Mount Everest on the First Morning of the First Day of a Brave New World. Inspirational and thought provoking, the evocative image presents a snow crusted Earth stretching towards an expansive horizon gently touched by a lick of light from a sizzling Star bright  in a carnation sky softly dissolving into the deepening blue of a starry cosmos above. Without question it is a stunningly beautiful and unimaginably alluring portrayal of Earth’s lost innocence blushing like a dewy Rose beneath Love’s first deep kiss squeezed from a shiraz-rose Sun casting her Sorceress light far in to the void to transit melting stars and caress the distant reaches of space with enchantment.

Faded and jaded and haggard with age, the corners dog-eared, creased and torn, the potent image has an immense hold over Jacob and often having contemplated the sublime beauty and unfathomable charm of his beloved Earth tears will involuntarily spill from the corners of his eyes. As always when Jacob is bewitched and seduced by the beguiling chatoyant lustre of his Goddess’s chrysoberyl eyes, he surrenders haplessly to her passionate allure and feels the heat of an infernal forge rising to cast a new sense of enlightenment within him with which he transmits an understanding of the one voice of all ages breaking free to be heard. But until such time when Jacob has a true understanding of the Mystical Union at the heart of this one consummated moment such an ecstatic feeling would always remain beyond his grasp to finally put down in words.

On numerous occasions throughout the day Jacob will wake from the near-dreaminess to find himself stood just a few feet away from the poster and leaning against the wall with his musing eyes wide open and staring at the magnificent image before him.  Even hours later, Jacob finds the sense of reverie lingering with him and the same feeling of bliss still radiating through him as he does when indulging in the absolved serenity of the Himalayas. He reflects deeply on Earth’s naked form and imagines the wondrous moment when a new consciousness was conceived in the flaming cauldron deep within the bosom of that primordial landscape of forest, ice and fire, and suddenly Jacob knows that such a rapacious meeting of Fire and Earth was essential in igniting the divine spark that brought forth Life itself. For just one brief moment Jacob  finds his enflamed thoughts occupied  by a fleeting vision of a vast nebulous cloud slipping through a formless universe of unfathomable depth and devoid of all stars and sunlight, and in that one glance he is overcome with wonderment at the self-perpetuating flow of an energetic force alive in all life that gives it true cause to persist upon an ageing globe turning in space.

And then perhaps for the first time Jacob sees the footprint of the photographer who stood in that prehistoric landscape to take the picture and in his expansive thinking he considers most carefully the number of events that had to occur from the beginning of all time to bring the photographer together with the landscape at that specific moment so as to enable him to view the outcome of their union as a poster on his wall. And always the same feeling of humility moves his quietened soul when he understands that what he is really looking at is the ancient face of the infinite and numinous mystery that is Mother Earth herself.

Being an evolutionary product of what fundamentally constitutes a ‘seed of light’ isn’t a straightforward concept for anyone to accept, nor is it an easy or comfortable feeling for Jacob to explain away either. He believes himself to be a part of an highly evolved species of bio-organic life forms that have been born from a succession of incalculably fortuitous events that began simultaneously with the illuminated creation of  all things and which exists forever in the present moment within his soul as Light and Life. And Jacob is so very full of creative Life and so very much in love with the Sorceress’s Light.

He does not know what existed before the universe he occupies was brought in to being, but all the same Jacob experiences a huge burden of responsibility for his choices and an sincere expectation of himself in making those choices with absolute integrity, decency and faith: after all, it is a weight of expectation that comes with an antiquated ancestry dating back millions of years. He knows that as a part of the infinite procession of life his every activity in the present will cause an effect in the future and he does not want to be found wanting or fail in his duty. He also believes that every word he speaks in the present or writes down and leaves for those still to come in the future, is an opportunity for rejection, acceptance, freedom of choice, and self-determination for everyone reading them; but either way, whatever he does or says, or indeed writes down will also cause an effect in the present. What it is that Jacob experiences each time he subjectively contemplates the photograph of first light from the summit of  Mount Everest is the primary urge to consider the evolutionary purpose of the totality of all life and in particular his very own symbiotic relationship with it.

The picture hangs to the right of a large bay window that slightly overhangs an elongated garden 100 ft long by 20 ft wide constrained by a combination of pine-slatted fences, long hedges of thick clipped shrubbery and the retaining walls of neighbouring houses. Glancing down from above, the garden is a stylish tapestry of slick red brick, granite stone and oak wood constructions in the landscaping style of restrictive city living. From within this artificiality flows a profusion of flowering colours tumbling from hanging baskets and wooden archways that cascade like waterfalls rushing to meet broad-leafed shrubs casting shadows of tenebrous emerald into the stillness of rock cradled pools. And in-between, trailing webs of vibrant rainbow lacework infuse the canopies of leaf-painted umbrellas rising self-consciously in a procession of radiant arcs from lacquered urns set along a stepping-stone path leading to a gated patio flanked by two Temple Lion statues. The patio is enclosed at its circumference by a leafy curtain of twisted thorny stems sculptured by an entwining growth of climbing roses woven into a lattice wood framework. Inside the secluded courtyard two marble stone spheres, each the height of a man, one black, one white, stand on either side of a dark wood Steamer’s Chair that immediately takes on understated proportions next to the two colossal structures.

Entering the garden via a set of stairs protruding from beneath the elevated backdoor of the flat, Jacob takes 47 premeditated steps along the stepping-path to arrive at the patio gate. During that short time he has felt the Sun’s heat prick dry the beads of sweat on his brow and inhaled the pungent fumes of nature’s redolence, which tease and caress the receptors in his nose with the hedonistic aroma reminiscent of an ancient walled Rose garden sitting at the edge of the sea. He has acknowledged the playful ballet of plants swaying in time to the rhythm of the gentle wind, and glimpsed colourful blooms ruffling like the surface of water against a background of energetic leaves shadowing grey stone rockeries. He has seen the mesmerizing pulse of nature’s shadow slip, slide, dash and crawl across the floor of the enchanted space before him and wondered at shards of brilliant sunlight bouncing from the surface of iridescent petals. He has felt the Sorceress’s beauty surround him, envelop him and embrace him and ignite his senses with her shining fire of vivid colour and scorching summer breath. And he can describe the origin of scents stolen from the world around him that are carried airborne on rivers of subatomic particles cooked dry by a fierce solar wind.

As Jacob turns to sit in the Steamer Chair he understands more clearly than ever before how all Life flows in front of his eyes in a fluid scattering of mutating forms and exchanging energies of which he is just one small part of something far, far bigger, something immense, unfathomable, infinite, perpetual, and cosmic; and every part of that bigger whole but a temporal commodity, exquisitely structured to experience a period of existence yet none-the-less eternally submissive to the effects of entropy, death, dissipation, absorption and ultimately only of service to the processional dance of Nature’s opera. Whilst Jacob will one day die and return the elemental parts of his bodily vessel back to the ground, he finds an exquisite happiness in knowing that Mother Earth will continue to live on with the memory of his being held tightly to her beating heart.

Jacob is so immersed within this unfolding river of births, deaths and rebirths, that reclining upon the Steamer Chair he already feels the subtle exchange of chemicals taking place on his skin as energy is transferred between one highly intricate combination of bio-chemical compounds and others of varying complexities. And in those chemical exchanges he knows that a part of him is been lifted away by a wind rebalancing matter in the universe by transporting his particles to seed elsewhere within the fabric of a galactic web of life in which one very small part of the universal consciousness currently occupies his human form.

A sliding drawer beneath the Steamer Chair opens to reveal a slate grey tray upon which stands two items: a tobacco tin of the variety that displays a piece of fantasy art on its lid, in this case an image of a naked women moving on hands and knees across a pentagram, and a carved rectangular wooden box 9 inches wide and 12 inches long. Moments later he inhales the sweet aromatic tang of tobacco and slowly begins to feel the pressure of life crumble gently away as would the mortar and brick of a derelict house dissolve when given over to the elements and time. Here in this one moment of cerebral liberation there are no structures to hold on to, no boundaries to thought, and no unconscious worship of the superfluous fantasies of contemporary life. Unlimited by the importance of his thoughts and carrying only the weight of expectation of all those who have lived before him, Jacob feels suddenly unbounded by space and time and deliriously unrestrained by gravity. He senses the bouyancy of his inflating spirit gently rise and rise and rise and continue to climb higher and higher in to a cobalt sky on glassine wings of  intricate beauty.

The sense of absolute freedom he embraces is indescribable. Suddenly unrestricted by Earth’s binding grasp, unimpeded in the speed of his monumental flight, and pulled by the seductive lure of a potent flaming Star, Jacob is catapulted through the luminous haze of the very last Nebula cloud frosting his view of the infinite dark space beyond. Moments later he feels the sudden compressive pulse and dapening throb of an unseen precipitants wings descend upon him and engulf him in the sweetest embrace. Oh my Goddess cries Jacob, She is here, She is here!

Amidst an abundance of shimmering Light, Jacob is only subconsciously aware of her sensual form as it floats and sways over him. He senses her smouldering heat melting upon his skin, her liquid warmth soaking in to him and  slowly course through his veins with the same fiery thrust as would molten lava deep within the heart of an erupting volcano. Jacob feels as if every part of his soul is being ravenously fed upon as if by a pack of esurient lions: every aspect of him  consumed by her biting touch, every cell alive and fluorescent in her vivid glow, every molecule energised and scintillating beneath a maelstrom of surging fire. All is ablaze in the illuminated shimmering heat rising from his flesh burning in the brilliant exhaltation of a thousand living Sun’s. Jacob senses her hot searing breath lick and lap and linger on his hardened wings, his muscles tensing, his body aching, arching, rising and falling with the energetic thrust and plunge and pull and push and twist and turn of two violent forces entwining Fire and Earth writhing together within him in a union of alchemical fusion and spiritual bliss.

Breathless and shaking, overwhelmed and still shuddering with  pleasure, Jacob finally surrenders to the exquisite passion of an endless cosmic cycle and at last slides from out of the fiery heat of the Sorceress’s quivering grasp and glides with effortless ease upon her sultry breeze through the iris and crystalline lens of his left eye and back into the quiescent centre of a celestial chrysalis woven from a myriad of glimmering Stars.

Reaching in to the wooden box, Jacob extracts 3 items: a silvery gold pen detailed with 5 small recessed circles, a pencil-lead threaded in to a clear tube, and a sheet of pure white paper. Purposefully armed and sitting in the brilliant mote speckled light of a neighbouring Sun, Jacob slides the pen between his fingers and tentatively begins to write in words spun from an inky cosmos of turquoise blue:

‘We sit in the Light of our own Truth to Self-Determine the Darkness of our own Mind’

DN – 23/09/2013

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10 thoughts on “Self-Determination

  1. It is your strength in friendship and your depth of compassion that helps support me, your one thought on Self-Determination that keeps me buoyant, and your Poet’s vision that carries me higher on the Wings of my Mind. Thank you p47sj for extending me such grace with your wonderful words.

    • Dominique, thank you for having found opportunity to read my Blog and comment so appreciatively on it. I’d be most interested to know in what way you relate to Jacob’s thought processes and how you consider this provokes your thoughts.

  2. As i passed through i found a captivating pull.This seems to me to be a place i will frequent again and again.Doors are opening.Another secret of mine to be cherished.

    • Hey KendoDyl,

      You are indeed a mindful mystery…at first you were afloat and light-hearted amidst the flow, and now you are passing through with the intention of returning to say hello…one has to wonder as to the manner of your arrival when next you visit 😉

      You mention doors that are opening…I’d like to hear more of your thoughts about those.

      Thank you for your comment. Great to have you come by.

      Namaste

      DN – 16/06/2015

  3. This is such a beautifully captivating, intense and inspiring piece of writing. Jacob’s story is an amazingly powerful read and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. You are a very talented writer 🙂

    • Hey Sammi,

      Lost in the threads of WP, your comment has been sadly hidden away, and regrettably, missed by me….I am sorry to have been so complacent Sammi…my apologies of course. You are always welcome to come on by and say hello, welsh cakes or otherwise 🙂

      Well thank you indeed for such kind words 🙂 I’m not sure this piece of writing really deserves your praise – reading Jacob’s story now, I’m thinking that it needs a little more work 🙂 Perhaps I shall get around to doing just that soon.

      Thank you again for spirited words and kind thoughts. Hoping all is well in the ‘shire’ 🙂

      Namaste

      DN – 06/10/2015

  4. ~ Chantilly Lace ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~

    Into the forest deeper and deeper,
    Cutting broad ties, my moor prison keepers.
    Escaping strip bars, I made for the clubs,
    Keeping away from dodgy backstreet pubs.
    ~
    I hastened along alleyways, avoided avenues,
    I took the bus here and there, a train maybe tubes.
    Perhaps a taxi also, but I’m getting a bit confused,
    For having turned down the last bleeding road,
    There was the corpse of my fiery ex-muse!
    ~
    I was startled like a shot starling! Surprised and ruffled to,
    I hadn’t expected her to appear here! She’d long been done and through!
    She never met my expectations: damn frigid if I were true.
    Then dragged me penniless to fucking Hell and back!
    For some evil fucking rues!
    ~
    I loved her once adored her twice, married her three darn times!
    I worshipped the ground she walked upon, her footprints were divine.
    Without her I’d have fallen apart, we were always together from the very start.
    Until that night beneath the light, the light of the Silvery Moon,
    When I saw a sweet pretty kitty for what they really were, a crazy freakin’ tune!…
    ~
    Late was the hour after a long days work, I was tired and rather weary,
    Feeling contrary my back and shoulders hurt.
    I’ve never been one to slack off you see, never been one to shirk.
    Six weeks now working the grinding stone, the flourmill down the road,
    Twelve weeks of listening to tall sails turn, to hoppers hopping, miller’s burn,
    Then home in small hours through fields of corn, to the one I love, to the woman I mourn.
    ~
    This night was very different, deeper and darker somehow,
    Like an Eagle ripping the throat out of a wolf’s piercing howl.
    I paused by the front door with my instincts alarming,
    Fists clenched knuckles white, body bulk hardening.
    Braced ready and waiting, for Death to come harvesting.
    ~
    Stepping through the doorway into the shady shadowy hue,
    When a sudden burst of moonlight glinted steely steel blue,
    And flashed as it dashed from dark depths screaming,
    “Bastard! I fucking hate YOU!” “I do!” “I do!”
    “Bastard! I fucking hate YOU!” “I do!”
    ~*~
    Twenty years in Broadmoor, and still they can’t prove a thing,
    Despite the beatings and the rapes, the shankings, the suffering.
    Seeing her there now in crispy guise, burnt and charred before my eyes,
    Brings memory flooding back, the sweetness of screaming, the sudden attack,
    O delicious crack! Splicing skulls with my butchering axe!
    ~
    She looks better now than she ever did before, before the blade fell
    Dividing her into four. Four far easier for dragging, dragging her out of store,
    Down the passageway, passed the cupboard, just here by her chamber door,
    I left a little piece of her bloody face in a note upon her gilded floor.
    ~
    The rest I disposed of early one morn, when I had a tidy little pyre,
    Nothing grand you understand, only a little fire: scorching hot and burning,
    Scorching hot and torturing! Fiercely hot debauchery! My speciality!
    Loved watching her boil, loved seeing her in trouble,
    Loved waiting for the moment her ego burst its bubble.
    ~*~
    I would dream of tasting her molten fire,
    Of tonguing her naked flame.
    I would dream of keeping her slowly simmering,
    Upon the extreme edge of excruciating pain.
    ~
    I wanted to lick and lick the fiery red flare,
    Flaming Chantilly lace on her melting underwear.
    I wanted to keep her moist and gently roasting,
    Until she screamed begging in a prayer!
    ~
    Well scream-on baby! There was no-one ever there!
    Never anyone sharing your agony, because no-one ever cared!
    Hell! I was probably your last fucking hope,
    Until the Zippo lit and you simply flared!

    ~*~

    “May the whizz of the Wizard alwayz be wiz you!”

    DN – 14/09/2017

  5. ~ Soft and Slow ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~

    Soft and slow Lamia,
    Soft and slow.
    O Lamia please tread soft and slow.
    ~
    Soft and slow, soft and slow,
    O Lamia, Lamia, please tread soft and slow!
    Softer, slower, now move lower,
    O Lamia! Go slower! Go lower!
    ~
    Slower…
    Lower…
    Move slower still.
    Lower, O Lamia!
    ~
    Tread lower, lower my lover, tread lower!
    O Lamia! Lamia!
    Lamia slower!
    ~
    Lower my lover, tread slower!
    Slower my lover, move lower!
    Lower, slower, lower still!
    Slower whilst I lower,
    Lower you slower.
    O Lamia!
    Softer and slower,
    Lower! Move lower!
    O Lamia!
    Lower and slower!
    Slower and lower!
    O Lamia! Lamia,
    Lamia! Burn!
    O Burn and burn, and burn and burn, and
    burn and burn, and burn and burn!
    Burn and burn, and burn and squirm, and
    Burn from the burn of my burning squirm!
    My squirming burn, burning your squirm,
    Burning your squirming on the scalding hot top,
    The scorching hot-trot on my flaming coal tip!

    ~*~

    “May the whizz of the Wizard alwayz be wiz you!”

    DN – 14/09/2017

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