DEEP VISION ( fluctuat nec mergitur)
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Epistolary trance (extracts)

Just a note to say nothing, just to have a chat in the cold of winter night in this small Provençal village, where I long to sleep while somewhere the sun rises above cities I'll never know.

Just to say something, oh so little, this flow of light shadows, light years and other cosmic Christmas garlands which dress the galaxies.
Do you know that the probes sent to Mars have revealed a frozen lake at the bottom of a crater?
Some water! A huge amount of solidified water, with all its treasures inaccessible . . . and its dreams swallowed.

Dreams of the Red Planet frozen in the polar ice shrine -

Night tightens its grip, and I hear it press against the walls of the house, trying to penetrate the slightest flaw and identify the least glimmer.
Slowly, I slipped into the sheets, colder that its breath, colder than the bottom of the Martian craters.
And I sink into visions where the ice becomes sap and rises to the leaf tips in sparkling beads.

I sink beyond the lava and layers to the dark core, expanded and exciting, inside the center, and in the inside of being, under the glare of fluorescent molecules and nodules, whose language whispers improbable combinations, a vibratory grammar that spreads through time and space from my fingers to your eyes. . .



Bansure raga

Doug Maxwell

Epistolary trance (extracts )

Dear Soma,

I am now under the pressure of considerable hostile forces, and I must mobilize all my energy and wisdom to cope and possibly thwart the scabrous Machiavellianism which they are using.

However, I take a certain pleasure, to the extent that I can discern with a clear and incisive clarity, the vibrational field in which they evolve, the subtle play by which they strive to trap the light that blinds and transcends their understanding, and for which they are still deprived of access, the limits of the mind vitalized foreclosing any break in the world of uncertainty that the Divine is particularly fond, where it crouches incognito, safe from prying eyes rebellious and in disbelief.
The Asuric Consciousness suffer no compromise, sees no compassion for the souls suffering in a becoming whose hope was taken from them forever, and I have the deep feeling that what it loves above all, is an irreducible slavery in all its forms, in which the ego of some souls would be the central pivot on which the whole periphery hairless and sanitized revolves carefree of better days, under other skies.

Human no longer evolves, it devolves. It does not free but chain himself.

Subtract the ego, and the whole society / civilization collapses
as a foul inert mass. . . Finally, it is hilarious. .

All these balloons inflated with pride, parading in the confines of their small sphere, alternating the gift of flowers and thorns as a daily bread donated by a random Manichean creation. . .
"Suffer, and you will experience what is joy and the truce, inveterate sinner Soul. »

What a gigantic absurdity.
What beam and not any straw in their eyes searching for illusions!
I now realize what this world is, a great body contorted which dislocates or prancing at the least importunity perceived as anti-systematic, gesticulating in all directions, and uttering insanities of haunted assumptions and infantile conflicting doctrines, tacking, wearing a semi darkness, under a sky covered with blasphemous atrocities -

I address you, Little Angel, and to you only, a Sweet Thought.

Sree Devdeep.

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