The Land of Eerie

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ayahuasca, dance, dawn, death, discovery, drugs, kiss, life, love, meditation, Messenger, nature, now, photography, poetry, psychedelic, re-birth, reflection, search, sex, Spirituality, travelling, universe, woman

Do you know the feeling of when entering a cave, while outside the cold wind blows so hard that it tears off your skin – a devilish rupture? The first assimilation of the senses, is the welcoming warm humidity of the cave, a cosines that reminds me of home – the womb. Where all exterior sounds and noises fade in the echoing melody of water droplets falling gracefully to their destiny of rock. Placed myself in the depths of the cave, staring at walls that recited the story written in scars on my own body.

“My my, let us sing this poor boy a lullaby – bye!

Let his sickening anguish,

Through our water perish!

Drink the sour tea,

From the sacred tree.

Chew the hardened root,

In it you’ll find wisdom

– and truth.

With Her kiss, a drunken taste of mint,

She will take you through the labyrinth.

Now! …the puzzled query…

Are you ready for the land of eerie?”

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The Messenger at Dawn

Tags

ayahuasca, dance, dawn, death, life, love, Messenger, nature, now, poetry, psychedelic, re-birth, sex, Spirituality, universe, woman

For Her, a name would be vain.
Her face, on each drop of rain.
The messenger that comes as thunder cutting through the sky,
silencing our secret dreams at break of dawn,
bringing the demise of our mediocre lies.
She won’t ignore our pleas, our cries,
but Her duty she must fullfill.
She will come to take with Her the children of night,
those that howl at the pale Moon,
those that dance like beasts around fire,
those that breathe the hurricane winds of stormy seas,
those that have fallen from Heaven to save what was once lost.
Let’s meet Her fury on the edge of time,
for yesterday and tomorrow death has come.
On rocky shores we will stand naked,
singing songs to Her and praises.
While the relentless waves carve the land in their own image,
blades of grass cut through the winds of change
– winds that burn History’s page.
The slaughter of time has saved us.
Greet Her with open hearts,
cause She is gentle,
She is a Mother,
A mysterious Lover.