SHEEN


“So I said I am fallen, sweetly into this dark stormed sea, from those others, false accusations, those beliefs that terrify me”. Those words came from something beyond me, baritone, maybe, sexually sweetly, “do you not see, that fallen taste, I would love infallibly, that beautiful form I would, make sheen, strip away all the pain that surrounds belief. Breathe, sweet surrender to me”.

Oh who is it now that would judge over me, just G_D in all raiment, my name is indeed, for all sweet surrender in sheen and in storm come join me remember, one judge is its form, for you do not need a religion or peace, you do not need those men who breath death in their grief, for sweet, sweet surrender is all when you breath, it’s all when you breath.

Every, oh everyone says to me, your life should be this or it should not be. Why you should not have her or you should do this, it seems oh Daniel your life’s not of bliss, and if you would be poor, for poor you should be, and you should want something, but something you need. And voices they come, from those who speak while dead, there spirits with Jesus, that place of guilt dread. Oh I say of what there is respect of me, that part in endeavor that part you don’t see. But still they spell on with their Munchausen eyes, there daggers of pity, those Christian dead eyes, and bellows and billows of false sense of ease, I see it when they come to characterize me, for it is a time of dead dawn that is past, that person that holds there sense unwilling dread. For what is the truth of what you don’t see, the G-D you deny, that watches on me. Have you thought your soul so secure in its rest, while marching ore others those who know your best. What oh adventure when you come to die, to know you were wrong to know you lived less.

And now like the watchman that watches ore me, the daemon of purpose that changes with ease, would you know that now I surrender my rest, I give unto others the thing I know best. It is with a still grace and change upon dawn, a sweet near surrender to fly in a storm, a recognition of who holds all keys, a spirit indigenous, to damn theocracy, a billowing storm of all matter and rain. A gift of the purpose, creator all things, a light that moves, and catheterizes me. Reaches for you and ask you to see. A sweet, sweet surrender not Biblical form, a treasured of timber, ghost spirit no forms, and the one that drops down when you’re on your knees, I see that in you and I know it’s in me.

Oh who is it now that would judge over me, just G_D in all raiment, my name is indeed, for all sweet surrender in sheen and in storm come join me remember, one judge is its form, for you do not need a religion or peace, you do not need those men who breath death in their grief, for sweet, sweet surrender is all when you breath, it’s all when you breath.

For those of the select that are fallen, you are so beautifully made in G_D’s eyes, and I might add mine. – 10.11.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Forgiveness מְחִילָה


Today is the day!

Together we come to seal the vault, hand in hand, a stroll through the desert to face the storm, and that sand that swirls and blows, lifeless shame that binds. It can no longer make us blind. The secret you see doesn’t matter, not the me or the you, for sorrow is not love, neither is loss or gain, for everything is in time, and all this stage belongs to G_D, and his compassion belongs to us. Who is a king, a rich woman, so beautiful and clean, a social justice warrior in Queens, a soldier of the Crips, when they have lost their future and rage? Where goes the deviant, the strong, the wise, and the tortured of ISIS, the new car we lust for, when emotion takes all, that has been stored. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door.

Are you pagan, or brother, white witch that seeks a fire rite, Muslim, disciplined with pride? Do you cry for Jesus, striding in rose petals like a Sikh in the rain? Have you climbed great mountains, found your wilderness, is it your home? Are you cut deep, that tomb holding vampires that in your night, that eventide that last forever, rise from their cold, cold graves? It seems to me now, maybe we are not we at all, that what we learn to live without, makes us learn to live again. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door.

Together we come to seal the vault, this spirit and I, and the desert has bloomed, the struggle for water, has never made me appreciate forgiveness more. And there is no longer you and I, joy or pride, there is missing a community of emotion, those shadows that contribute to uncertainty and a lack of grace. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door. – 08.25.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Far end of the Black (Cherokee Park)


“Some whisper holy, holy, but they lie. Some cry rapture sweet Pontifex Maximus, but they do not know. I lay in the secret places, where the wolves eat their meat, and I wait for you to call Lord”*.

I came to Colorado, to the park of the Cherokee, to wild places, to see the light, the fading light, and there was black. Into heaven I rose, into lonely lands, on my own I found memories of some things, tragic spells that I lacked. And those places, so high and free, those dwellings of stone, those places that seemed so black, brought me back, so high they were my friend, and they brought me back. I am a soul who has come too closely to what is not right, and by virtue, what is right, and here in these high places, where there is black, there is light great light.

So close to Wyoming here, so close to G_D, and yet he hides, there among the sandstone, and conifer, the pinon and deep shadows. My frown turned into a debt, my childhood scars, no one knows about, those frights, and glass defenses shattered by life. I cast them into that pool of sand, and it turns into black, while demons dance all along my back, my white, white back. And ruins they come, throwing their stones everywhere around, and it seems they place themselves on the meadow where I might never find my way back. Holy, holy I cry, turning to see there in the wild place, the far end of the black, the stones form around me tight, a place I might find. A path to breath in light.

I came to Colorado, to the park of the Cherokee, to stop what was black, to resurrect a magic of right. You see my fears, have made the one of the world something, lost to my sight. And it was cold, frozen beyond anything, close to what I had ever been told it would be. And the wind blew from left to right, from left to right, for all that is known, he is not, for he is foreign, hidden in a sea of compassion and darkness, waiting at the far end of the black, in light.

And he called me Daniel in the park of the Cherokee, his dances were waves of light, I Am, I Am, he gave me with liquid rays, that touch, that kisses me, at the far end of the black, at the farthest end of the black!

“Some whisper holy, holy, but they lie. Some cry rapture sweet Pontifex Maximus, but they do not know. I lay in the secret places, where the wolves eat their meat, and I wait for you to call Lord”*. – 08.17.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

*The Chronicles of Mihai – Daniel Swearingen
* Far end of Black – J.R. Richards

Anne Boleyn (Vespers)

Anne Boleyn just a little bit stronger, call to me a little bit longer, open a door, and I will come on in. Smallest of men, that charted these waters. Come to you behind this altar, better I not see, if this is a dream. Would I believe in spells of dark magic, wanton degrees and your life so tragic, up from a future well I am summoned in, let us begin. Drawn by design, I am not angel, still here I sit, outside your stable, moon how she beckons, when dawn arrives, the breath of your life will end. Small pale lips that tremble, when able, speech of old that’s hard to untangle, March is so cold, it follows the ides within, Anne Boleyn.

True in my way, I’ve labored to find you, prayed most the day to bow just beside you, queen is it time that brings this weary end. Mystic, or priest that finds you now kneeling, begging release for those that are killing, favor me madam why have you brought me in, Anne Boleyn. My child you say she is in your safety, blessing you after while I am praying, these are those times, where danger lies in sin, for weak men. True it is now that your Henry’s willing to take a vow, and to stop the killing, but after all he can’t stop, what he begins, my Anne Boleyn.

Labor your time to find my mind willing, to bring you here, in life so fulfilling, and to end the dread that has you locked in fear. These are strong tides that pull at all nature, summoning G-D to give you his favor, what in this keep can you release held dear. Time you have moved and now I have found you, forgiveness springs from lessons around you, my queen, my liege in all, you have made clear.

Anne Boleyn, the morning has broken, the sound of the crowds, the rooster has spoken, pray this mad day will find a favored end. There is just cause to move yourself onward, place all your heart on what love has conquered, I bow to my knee in awe my Anne Boleyn. – 08.12.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

William Sandford Pakenham-Walsh was an Irish cleric who claimed to have experienced a series of channeling events with the spirit of Anne Boleyn in the early 20th century.  his book “A Tudor Story: The Return of Anne Boleyn”  can be found at the following link: http://www.amazon.com/Tudor-Story-Return-Anne-Boleyn/dp/071889166X  I found his story fascinating, and my thoughts about possession and it’s role in creating doorways from the past to the present very intriguing.  I think there might be a part II someday. 😉  Read more about the fantastic life of W.S. Pakenham here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._S._Pakenham-Walsh


STAND (Earthquakes for Tomorrow)


Loneliness is memory, misplaced upon by sorrow, used by some daemon, to take you from my hand. Shallow is the mystic, built on faded feelings, depression of the failure, a place you did not stand. Delegated feelings, begotten by some history, an instant of reflective, chosen when you’re sad. Concern built on illogic, misshapen isolation, a curse of antiquity, a curse upon your land. When you feel dejected, invaded by no virtue, rejected by the living, alone in disrepair, perceive yourself taken, perception of my thunder, receive an essence speaking, I will, reveal, I AM! Yesterday by mourning, anxiety for tomorrow, a present place of mercy, that ever place to stand. Stillness is a marvel, an instant tender healing, a circle of repeating, reflection when you stand. I’ll rise you like a phoenix, replace your hate with wonder, there’s earthquakes for tomorrow, but today you’re going to stand.

I don’t want to be bad, I rather not be scary, I’d prefer you to see me as I am. It’s true there are times when truth gets crazy, but I’ll pledge to be as honest as I can. There are places you are going, you’ll need me to understand, that’s okay, you’re just a little shaky, I’ll carry you to safety, there’s earthquakes for tomorrow, but today you’re going to stand. Present words stay constant, their sturdy structure persistent, not nearby, there, or future, just current here I am. Change I built on endless, continued in the boundless, perpetual, when unceasing, an elemental hand. This is love unknowing, spirit built on present, a verb that you can count on, not a description built on sand. Come and face the monster, the essence of the rumble, I made within you magic, there’s earthquakes for tomorrow, but today you’re going to stand. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/28/2014