Pyramiden.

Merkabah: The divine light vehicle allegedly used by ascended masters to connect with and reach those in tune with the higher realms. From the Hebrew. 

The Storm

Where the sea meets the sky. Where the storm and sea are one.

The strength, the power. Here in that strength we find calm. 
Where the sea meets the sky. Where the storm and sky are one. 

Night Park

Where are we in the night park. Behind the doors in the night park. 
What is said here. What is thought here. In the night park. 

Where are we in the night park. We are the glow of the night park. 
What is dreamt there. What is seen there. In the night park. 

Arctic. 

Dreamers. You are never sure of when you are. The only sure thing is the perpetual day. Day in day out. 

Arctic spring is a time of birth. Not of flower or bee or bird. But of the day. 

The sun returns to a land of ice and rock. A land where man barely stands. 

And as the sea melts and returns to the oceans the pioneers once again set out in search of the bluest of ice. The morning sky (or is it midnight, who’s to know) and the sea are one. Their weight unknowable. As the boats cut through the fiords the mystic Fulmars follow,  the Guillemots dive to the icy waters, where man has no dominion. 

Dreamers. Only when the ice wind hits and pulls you do you begin to awake. The sea and ice. The ice and rock. You dream of them. But they not of you. For you are just a moment and they are eternal. The Arctic Fox watches you, knows you. But to you it is a movement, a phantom. You can never really know him. For he is the land and the ice and you, you are the dream. 

In this land where man barely stands a change comes. When the man in his far away land punches his timecard there is no hole made in the card, but in the ice of his dream. The ice bear winces to the sound in these far away lands. The dreamer dreams an ice to melt. 

Dreamers. As you stand on top of the world. Bathed in the midnight sun. You are no longer part of the dream. For now you are real. 

Now for the first time you exist. You no longer dream of ice or of rock or of a sea. For here you are. You are now the Arctic. At last you are free. 

Pyramiden.

A space. An empty space. Where we sat. Where they sat. An empty space. That is full, full of our memory. Where we were. Our shadow still here, our place still here.

I wander Pyramiden. An Arctic abandonment. A space. An empty space. Where we sat. Where they sat. An empty space. That is full, full of your memory. Where we were. Your shadow still here, we see it, we feel it.
This is Pyramiden and it is an Arctic abandonment. We are returning you to nature. To the rock. This was the place of the Miner. Your shadow is here, with the chair.

The Mist, The Sea 

Neither light nor dark. The mist, the sea. Where there were waves, there is nothing.
After the land the mist, after the mist. Nothing.

Neither dark nor light. There is only the mist and there is nothing.  For once there were waves. Now there is a dream of a land. Forgotten.

Neither light nor dark. The, sea, the mist. Where there was nothing, there are waves.
There is a dream of a sea, a sea long forgotten. For after this. Nothing. 

 

 

 

 

Mojave.

The last of the light brings with it the smoke, the moon and the passing of the sun.

The sun hangs in the smoke, it's last light fades. Passes into the desert. 

The Mojave it holds secrets. in that smoke and moon. No man will ever understand this place, this place will return you to rock and sand. 

The last of the light, the smoke, the moon and the passing of the sun. 

        

        

       

     

     

    

The Forest.

The primeval forest in the half light, this ancient world. 
A world before man wandered into this half light and broke that silence. 

The primeval forest in the half light, I stand as first man.
I break that silence and pray I leave no trace.

The sea, the dawn.

The sea, the dawn. You are a tone, a glimpse. Before the return of the light, there is only a sense of what you are. This is not day, this not night. This is a dawn and the sea is still but a tone.

There is the wave, the cloud. You grow out of the tone. We feel you before we see you, we sense you. You return with the sun to reclaim the day from the tone.

There are the gulls, who awake to that tone. The glimpse of a day to come. The yet to return as the night drifts with the tone. 

The snow, The white.

It is the white, the snow. It brings a silence to this land. Nothing moves in this in land of white.
This silence is the only sound this land can make. We do not hear it, we feel it. This silence, this white, this snow.