Mysticism

The Lost Book of Shadows

/ Daniel Swearingen / 108 Comments


“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” – Roald Dahl

“How many pages do you think we have”, he says his blue eyes wide with interest. “More than enough to make this kind of a Bible”, I smile, holding up the three ring black binder to the star filled sky. “It’s a book of secrets alright”, he says nodding his head furiously up and down, his taped black framed glasses sliding down his nose. “We need to hide it where we both know where it is”, I say my smile disappearing, as the night air around us seems to chill. Much too cold for the end of May, I am thinking. “Yeah”, he says. “We need to make sure we don’t forget where we put it”.

What is done here upon this night, by this stream, my boyhood rite. What is done here beneath these bluffs, shape-shifting shadows, on midnight’s cusp. What is done here while stars fall fast, turning the moon from full to the past. Time travelers move beyond my dreams, splitting the heavens and all their seams. For what do I see this vision faire, something found relieved from its lair, a secret lost upon life’s whim, buried beneath and now I know when. Tousled hair on two boy’s blue, who buried a book of all they knew. Down the Coolidge Arroyo, and then a swim, in muddy cold water, that sucks you in. Twelve steps ahead on an island mound, and then another swim, with a prayer not to drown. Seven steps forward and nine to the right, to the dark overhang, where we stand with our book and two penlights.

What do we own but our own minds, what makes us ghost, when we do die? The answers to what lies within, the secret handshake, the hidden grin. Who killed Bobby, and who shot Jack, the answers might stay in this book so black. Does time hold us, or do we hold time? Are we here as a glimpse, or a reflection of our mind? And what of dragons, and what of arks, are both really hidden in our friendship in this dark. For in this book lies craft and Zen, love and character, spells and sin. For dreams have told us, visions we have had, that the past is our future, in a circle it will last. And the doomsday clock that we have numbers circled within, will end all time, when a new age says begin.

“Do you think we will remember where we hid that thing”? My teeth are chattering, I am cold and I smell like muddy river water. “You won’t”, he says his voice sounding more distant and light. “But I do”, he whispers, almost quietly, almost gone, almost a ray of early morning light, for it is a dream. It is a dream. – 05.24.2021 – דָנִיֵּאל

War and Times for a Gentle Man

/ Daniel Swearingen / 63 Comments


“We are all ready to be savage in some cause. The difference between a good man and a bad one is the choice of the cause.” – William James

The ending of a Sabbath for a gentle man. The signs and the lessons for a gentle man. The sun rises and sets on the gentle man. When the day arrives and I seem to die, play Led Zeppelin over me. For not in a grave I will ever be. From the beginning to what is to be…

A gentle man’s immortality.

A gentle man dances in the dark, behind a curtain, oh his mind is stark, thinking not on that which brings forth love, nor does he even consider if the sun will rise above. For that gentle man thinks of worlds to be. Has he done what is right to blend a destiny? For to care outside of self is instinctual not, to hold hearts close, where they are not tied in knots. Yes, that gentle man moves with not much ease, for a train calls a sound from his inward prairie. Indeed, a gentle man is not sweet or good, baring strong sentiments of what most think he should. Not a great cut figure drawn is he, still a gentle man will he be.

There’s a mirror chained in deep waters on a ghostly sea, it reflects certain attributes a gentle mind can free. Without strength or power, or ghastly deeds, moving strong cogs of iron through ocean reeds. A gentle man can breathe, can breathe with belief, part the water of doubt with ease. Indeed, there are moments of immobility, when movement unexpected changes everything, and a gentle man looks to find someone holding a key, someone that is a she. That someone is a she.

The world becomes full of whispers for the gentle man, caressing private moments in places that he thought he would never understand. Movement in a symphony a chart of notes, a minor key in sixteen rhythms on his weakening knees. A monotone turned to a stereo vision. Six pointed seals of such mysteries. An entrance given for the mind that was not living, a thought becomes a decision. Suddenly there is something slight, a spark or two in one for the gentle man. And yes, he sees, for the rest of his life with clarity. Only the beginnings, the very depth of gentleness is G_D’s vision for he. A gentle man he will be. A gentle man he will be.

But then, and then….

The rains come down, and the war does start, and the sky turns ghastly with unimagined art. From the day well given for the night has come, and the rebel man yells, give us your father’s and your sons. Comes the battle for many, is there a man not even one? There are terrible instincts in lives of men, when their nature is built on the greed of sin, turning each woman till she can’t be turned again. For the culture rages, and it sums its end, saying there is no redemption needed for we will always win.

But give me no prophet, or new age spin. Just a sword blessed by G_D and a gentle man.

The ending of a Sabbath for a gentle man. The signs and the lessons for a gentle man. The sun rises and sets on the gentle man. When the day arrives and I seem to die, play Led Zeppelin over me. For not in a grave I will ever be. From the beginning to what is to be…

A gentle man’s immortality. – 06.23.2019 – דָנִיֵּאל

4th Night Studies

/ Daniel Swearingen / 89 Comments


And G_d made the two great lights: the greater light to rule the day, and the less light to rule the night; and the stars. And G_d set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth, and to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness; and G_d saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, a fourth day. – Genesis 1:16-19

Once upon a time in the west, on the 4th night, before the 5th:

I left you at your doorstep, with your taste still in my mouth, and I stopped in Flora Vista with the moonlight all about. In the ruins I walked transparent with all my single lonely doubts, and the daemons reached unto me, to divert me from life’s route. And I wonder as I wander what this night is all about.

Oh, moon my moon on this dry ground, in hallowed whispers, come on down. In the night still, flies caped burdens, bringing night songs to the ground. In cloth I stand a human, watching stars they do abound. Is this night to be divided, or am I forever drowned? Oh Lord of syllable and Lord of sound, beyond my eardrum I spin around. For deeper still you come to reach me, like some lonely spirit found. Be gentle here by this ruin known, how many times have I come here alone? Still I wonder as I wander which light, I carry to my bones, still I wonder as I wander which light will shine if left alone.

This fourth day, is upon me, as the night before the fifth. Something borrowed deep in memory about the light and how it splits. My mother said, my mother told me, oh I had so far to go, oh Thursday child, was really Wednesday how that night was filled with woe.

In the ruins there was a lessor light, an angel on display, said she how it is you left me just a moment or two today. For that girl you left past star ward with her taste still in your mouth, cannot contain what G_D has for you in all your secrets and your doubts. It was a question that I wondered from that night there in the ruins, for what it was on that fourth day in the creation of my youth. Even now I walk division from the night unto the day looking forward to the greater light, not found deficient in anyway.

Once upon a time in the west, on the 4th night, before the 5th. – 06.19.2019 – דָנִיֵּאל

The Great American Gospel

/ Daniel Swearingen / 69 Comments


“The desert surrounds your every step and you walk forever a thirsty man”. – Christopher Pike – Creatures of Forever

“Still” she says, “be still your craving heart within”!

The Great American Gospel begins somewhere just beneath my skin. Standing in the silent desert four yards from a railroad track outside Tucumcari, New Mexico, watching the full moon commit her greatest sin. For she shines as if to rival the sun, showing the contours of the barren wilderness, exposing its wanton skin. And the spirit speaks from the sand, the loneliness calls from the desperateness held from the deep dry well within. It says I am a great magnetic force, the gravity that speaks to heal your craving wound within. The first coming, before the second, the holiness of G_D, that never lets you go, even when you weep, till your soul is a dry cavern within. I am the wilderness of scars, always this great land force, with a night shadow, under these constellations, that tempts you in.

There is a rusty Hunt’s tomato sauce can that I kick. It hits a rock and makes a sound that echoes in the wide desert. A doorbell for the ghost both outside and within. Its colder than it should be outside Tucumcari, it could be that the daemons now have come to play. Like coyotes, no doubt the “Ancient of Days” has allowed them in. For they circle and they taunt, and they howl, as if to say “Eli, Eli, Ichabod” in this dry ocean, is the end. “Where do you now go, with what can you send”? And here while the night does move, the black sky parting, the light from those stars of Adonai, paint a seal upon my uplifted arms. Kissing like a lover from my neck, to my scars so deep within.

And I crave the touch, the unhiding of what or where I begin. For she is like a question that moves around me to where I cannot answer without craving she inhabit my every limb. And she is not in cities, or crowded rooms, neither does she know war or shame. It is the great American Gospel, that inhabits every pore of my skin. Standing in the silent desert four yards from a railroad track outside Tucumcari, New Mexico, I am with you, and you are a spirit fed familiar living time within. Still, oh still my craving hungry heart within. “Still” she says, “be still your craving heart within”! – 06.24.2018 – דָנִיֵּאל

The Letter (Samech)

/ Daniel Swearingen / 2 Comments


“As I have fallen, so surely shall I rise.”

She drifts sometimes slowly, never broken from off the mountain, into the heart of my sea, a union that begins where that evening thought it had broken me. She settles deep, and soothes my wounds, takes me out and kneels me before the moon, yes in justice before the moon. “Look she says all around, is life, eternal, the wheel in a wheel, let go, be normal, rest in comfort, and just be here, and breath”. She takes my eyes from things around me, a letter opens herself in me, and all the restless fears of my nature disappear, everything is clear. She invades my pleasures, displayed within me, a spirit ring, a dance beneath me, the Tzadik of the world is near, so near. She speaks to me as final form, an inner journey in ladder form, so dear, she is so dear.

“As I have fallen, so surely shall I rise.”

I’ve heard it said Samech’s a ring, a circle round of thought in we, that light of fire between our love, that turns us in, let’s say I believe. Come on you who have been felled by a daemon, enter the ring with me. Shadows fall within the light, a lunar ring, a conjugal rite, perfect, free, and endlessly. The world standing in and within water, a deficit waiting. Round and round beneath the moon, Ezekiel saw that wheel within you too, you see it’s within you too. So it takes you upon your knees, takes your breath, just like it did me, you’ll see, just like me. That letter is a perfect fire, a numerical value that never will expire, as said before it perfect, free, and endlessly.

“As I have fallen, so surely shall I rise.”

I’ve heard it said it’s like Jung surmised, powerful footprints running from creation in your mind, and that could be, no problem that could be. The fifteenth letter of support, the foundation of a lifetime tree, for you and me, always and forever for you and me. But here it is a time to end, while this letter continues to drift on into me, so deep in me. Just know that as all ends, like a phoenix from the ashes I will ascend indeed, she is a part of me, and you too, I see her in you, indeed, perfect, free, and endlessly, oh my friends inclusively.

“As I have fallen, so surely shall I rise.” – 02.09.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Children of Color (Stillness)

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(Stillness)

We lay there in the darkness, he but four, and he says, “I’ve seen an angel he say’s Papa’s going to die”. Well I turn there in the darkness, and my eyes are open wide, I say what else of all the future, can you tell me when I die”. “Tell me of the tree of good and bad, and what it taste just like”, then he rolls to one side looking his smile changing all that’s dark, and he says, “the children of color, have come to bring a brand new start”.

(Stillness)

He prays by the garden and see’s ghost go by, and rarely does he wonder if what he knows is right, and it could be it’s an ego coming from a little child, but careful, careful doubter, it could be he reads your mind. Could it be he knows your secret of the times you hate this life. Of the time you committed blasphemy with your body in the night. So it is nobody calls you different, but this child knows your insides, and even though you lie in words, you can’t meet a human eye. It’s a little bit of faith in craft of neurons that don’t meet, but better faith in something known, than men of cloth are prone to teach. Oh he rises ever higher when he watches angles fly, and he claims he once saw Ezra measure walls that reach the sky. Oh it could be he’s autistic, or it could be he’s not real, may be doubter of this noun and verb, you’re the one, who can’t let your soul with G_D meet.

(Stillness)

Numbers, numbers, choreographed from the start of time to now, geographic petrography, to the stars of breath sublime. Schizophrenic as diagnosis from a man who hates his mom, mental health done by neurotics from a psychopathic bomb. So it comes now from a child who counts in numbers six by odd, data to the ones and zeros, dreams of summer though there not. Is it faith or insanity when he learns to tie his shoes, for the whole world has ignored him, while he reaches for the truth.

(Stillness)

We live now in a world of difference from elitist to the poor, where a leader of a people has an IQ of a decimal .04, and while people watch him with such awe, a child sits, in the dark, turning light switches on in Bangladesh, with a synapse from his core. Know you now these days are numbered, when one and one will not mean two, when apocalyptic waves of chaos will be broken by order new. For these children of the color, those that are now of the age, they will break this social order, bring an end to all disordered rage. Call it faith or insanity, time that has no end, for the world has turned in sorrow, and this G_D will have no more. For it is he sends his brilliant children, special lights to change his song, bring a world that’s hung in darkness know it’s love for which he longs. While a tree sits there in Eden waiting for its final end, a child takes the final bite of knowledge, and turns his thoughts within.

(Stillness)

We lay there in the darkness, he but four, and he says, “I’ve seen an angel he say’s Papa’s going to die”. Well I turn there in the darkness, and my eyes are open wide, I say what else of all the future, can you tell me when I die”. “Tell me of the tree of good and bad, and what it taste just like”, then he rolls to one side looking his smile changing all that’s dark, and he says, “the children of color, have come to bring a brand new start”. (Stillness) – 04.13.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Grammy (Reverie)

/ Daniel Swearingen / 2 Comments


I called down a dream of Grammy, she arrived on a Sabbath day, I turn and she’s gone, now what’s told, stays long, and sealed in what she did say!

Your dress it is colors, a book of old stories, a vision in time of my youth. Did you not summon my mind to question, what is not seen, what is true? Grammy it’s summer, though I see winter, how can I touch through the gloom. There are visions wanting to open, wanting to dance with my youth. Are they the presence of what really matters, please in your latitude pray? Has ever color come from what’s over, have ghost delivered a truth?  Has fluid filled the stalk of a stover, my Grammy please tell me what’s true.

“What have you seen boy, there in red clover does the wind blow trouble this day”?

I know not faith that moves worlds over, I know only what my Grammy does say.

Last night I saw you, Grammy you shook me, I awoke my heart shaking, and you were gone. Is there a meaning, to what you were bringing, does my world now have long? Grammy you died, your white hair was dropping, birds were falling that day. In death was candor, of what would come after, thoughts of that child, and words arrayed.

There you are moments, katydids talking, blessing my heart as it storms.

“Boy there are watchers, some roam in daylight, some are moving, way too soon, listen and follow, what is found simple, G_D will not leave you to be ruined.”

Grammy no secrets, life has now found me, ghost are calling me out to play. Chilled falling season, heat all around me, I turn to see what you will say!

“Kindness is simple, it seeks no favors, it has been named in seventy-two ways, summon me no more, it is not natural, go and breath what this night has conveyed”.

Her dress in colors, then it was over, I awoke to find strange shadows at play. A note of a whisper, from spirit’s gone over, a tone from what my Grammy did say.

I called down a dream of Grammy, she arrived on a Sabbath day, I turn and she’s gone, now what’s told, stays long, and sealed in what she did say! – 08.30.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל