Epiphany During the Ninth

True artistic expression
is a manifestation of the daemon.
A revelation of that hypnotic
and timeless state
in the multiverse
where you must appease
the energy force.

You see hear and feel
the tentacled groping
of this haunting.
You gasp a strangled cry
and grip the sides of reality
to assuage the inner self.

Expression without the daemon
is a phoney and dishonest
statement of nothingness.
But the battles and tormented
wrestling with the daemon
drive many to despair—
as they wring out their souls
while expressing their art.
Transporting themselves
to a freedom zone
and the liberation terminal.

Some seek a crisis to satisfy the daemon
and shred themselves to excess
drowning in drink
overdosing on drugs.
Believing that a life lived
at the edge of existence
will enable a purge
of the creative force.

If they cannot inhale
the daemon’s breath
then the purge is
— a useless and pathetic
exercise in futility.
Dying in abbreviation.

You cannot fake the daemon
but you can fail
to recognize it
at your peril.
As the Gnostic Gospels say—
“if you do not bring forth
what is within your self—
it will destroy you.”

An exasperated suicide
desperate desperation
eternal frustration
damned to disaster
vaporized despair.

I longed to be known—
so I created the world—
that I could be known.1

Connection realization transportation.
Thesaurussed thoughts.
Borderline dreams.
Nightmare visions.
Dragged through the dredges
of gushes of ruts—
swamped deluged and wiped out.
Psychedelic dramas
magnified perceptions
simultaneous equations
of experience.

Neither too much or too little
but the nice absolute quantity
for life’s balance.
Brought to the doors
of the big bang
to quantify the galactic hopes
and steer away
from chaos to order
and back again.
Catalystic energy
quantum designs of fine tuning
in a parallel universe.

Face to face with the daemon.
No longer inside you
but exterior and partnered
with your soul.
Automatically written in
the mystery matter and energy
darkly shattered
by the unexpected miracle.
A long low hum
of a black hole in B flat.

Shards of splintered civilizations
and shreds of genetic memories
in convoluted and contorted
grey matter.
Segregated and symphonic dreams.
Myths of personalities
gathered and recorded
as a remembrance
of the human condition
rendered obsolete
by extinction.

Redemption by my redeemer
deemeth to demystify
the declaration of demeanour
demanding an end to damnation
devising a doctrine of
ethics morality and madness.

The edges of the blues
drooled onto a dime
of dimensions.
The improvised jazz of feelings
a jam session of sensuality
the bliss of a symphony.
Striving to pacify the daemon.
Demonstrated by flamenco’s duende
and whirled by the dervish
in spiritual removal.
The deejay priest at the craving rave
moved and rhythmed movements
ecstatically worshipped
by the groaning teen
strung out on chemicals.
The poetry of rap—raptured.
A symphonic connection
in the cathedral’s vocal cord.
A chant of Gregorian sound
musically moved
motivated to the roof
and all around.

The individual meld
Of visual waterfalls
in a legacy of paintings.
Sucked into the centre
of a canvas in a
split second glance.
The dimensional twirl
of a sculpture.
The patterned preoccupation of shape
imprinted on a primed mind.

Once you meet the daemon
And are introduced to
the manifestation
and recognize
those obsessed features
caught in a compulsive grip
and a convulsive gasp—
an esoteric mask
must slip to reveal
the universal self
and unite you with the immortal beloved.

1 Sufi saying.