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| The Intuitives Sacred Community of Four Art, Writing Listening & Creativity |
| THE WILDERNESS WITHIN In the beginning nature of what needs life, is the full expectancy of what rhythms the pulse of voice. Voice that eliminates all unnecessary sound, and grounds all potent factors. This voice runs wild within the musky odors of passion. The beast of burden smells of this voice, in the sweat of its labor. Life becomes more earth than sky, more fire than water. The salt clears the pores, and sets the skin into its period of rest. The environment of life becomes acquainted more with what is formed, than what is not, and the alchemy of words becomes more smell than thought. You begin to smell the readiness of will. You begin to feel the heat of intention, and the moves that make life merge, comes into your hands. The focus of time becomes the internal digging of one force that becomes so present, that one can no longer refuse entry into life. The force is more animal or more bird, than human, and the nature comes from the depth of your own wilderness within. A place where the wild nature is allowed to be alive. The wild nature that connects us to all life. A nature that sees from another eye. An independent voice that has not been clipped, or crushed to maintain acceptance. The voice unsheathes the naked sword of truth. There is no favor to obtain, it is direct. The only key is courage. The courage to look it in the eye, and smell the weighty leverage of its pitch. The Sacred totem of ones own destiny, and the sacred connection of ones own inheritance. An inheritance that is deeply pitched, from the core of inner instinct. This core being the knowing of sight, beyond the eyes content of one body. A totemic awareness of such instinctive posture that you are united with the essence of your full autonomic system. The internal nature of what can sense, before thought has time to convey. The center thrust being kept to the forward feeling of what seeks voice. The internal posture of the intuitive signals create an ability to put forward more direct connection with what is being moved or sought. Within the intuitive system is an acute registry of what is exact in position. The failure to notice the intuitive embrace gradually creates a dullness, and lack of acuteness in any position, which then continually misses the mark of what is aimed for. The sacred geometry of each moment has an angle that opens to a direct position of the next angle of spiral, to create an upward sweep of life. If the feeling of acute knowledge from an unknown source deadens, life becomes a succession of motions that fulfill the demands, and silences the instinctive voice. After a while, the pallor of such a life becomes ashen, and more hesitant. This life becomes oriented to others demands and schedules, and is hesitant in any moment that is without these. The instinctive nature gives vitality to ones life, and allows for more expansion in a way more wild than tame, more colored than not, more voiced than silenced. This instinctive nature speaks in many ways and through many means, that only those who watch and listen can be ready. The animal within can smell the angle, and it can see the direct route, because its senses are keen and it can see in the dark. It knows its source and is not confused by the mind of the many. The sacred volume that grows within time comes more into your life, as the instinctive nature is allowed its persona. The greatest position of height is created by the willingness to move throughout the full territory of sound, without a limit of range. To sit into the pelvis, and moan into the sounds of birth. To reach into the gut, and pull out the longing of a hundred moons. To pour deeply into the heart, eons of awakenings. To fill the throat with the liquid gold of the grail. Pulsing the veins with the passion of what hunts us out, in our most buried ways. Stalking the stalker that stalks us. Facing the face that peels away our true identity. There is no pretend within the wilderness, there is just the raw edge of truth. The cutting sword of what is smelled, beyond all defense. The urgent muscle of what can lift when the weight is too heavy to feel. The instinctive force that pulls up from the sacred caves of our knowing has no allowance of ignorance. There is no unknown, just what does not know it knows. There is no patience for this face, so it will rip away the layers of what is not yet given to the light. There will be no mocking from this force, but a steady insistence of pick up your weight and carry it. Pick up your knowledge, pick up your humanity, and carry it on your shoulders instead of kicking it under your feet. The raw edge of what is current in your life becomes the current of your life, and truth becomes you. The Raven for me has caught me up in her wings and thrown me out into the air, till I knew I could fly beyond what would only drown. I learned I could breathe in the air of transformation. The creating of fire, from a passion for heard. The hearing of a decade comes through to your time, and the folded sequence of what needs motion comes clear. The center expression that dwells within the core of one habit gives the ritual a time that it can sit within, and relate to the effect of sound within a repeated motion. The common denominator in all this is the willingness to feel what is more present than not. The Raven for me has created a space for the sacred of my wild nature to dwell. She has welcomed me into her mystery of black. She has become the essence of my unknown becoming known. She is the allowing of sacred within what shadows my wisdom. The rooted language of the earth and sea is within this shadow, and the deep waste of forgotten must be remembered. The fiber of muscle within Raven has become the force of will I reach into the black thirst of coming into sound. The void becoming more what reaches, than what I fall into. The void becoming her arms, her wings, her reaching muscle of destiny. The finding of exact is an instinctive endeavor, and only through the instinctive can you find it repeatedly. There is so much within this wilderness that gives to ones timing. In this, timing is simply a moment to be sensed and heard. There is no calculating number, which gives turn to all it is, just one moment consumed with itself. I sit on top of the waters? rock and feel the waking flow of what gathers sleep. Sleep that runs wild, sleep that goes through the lock and opens the door. Dreaming in a sleep that gives freedom to the wild nature within. A nature, that has no rules, just the instinct of the moment. A moment so keen, that it could be a thousand moments when awake. To gather the speed, the full texture of what feels, evokes our courage. The strongest thrust is through the odor of dirt, quiet into its repose on the floor of our landing. We smell the dirt. We become grounded in the instinct that knows its way home. It knows its own property, and the smell of its own dirt. Smell the odors of your own body, and the dirt you stand upon. In this, you will find your way home. You have left the crumbs of memory you need in your own nose that plays the roll of tracker. We have come into a time of no true smell. We cover up or detest our own smell, and when lost, cannot find our way back. Our instinctive nature is buried by the secret that confuses our rights, and abolishes our identity. Inside the depths of deep awareness is a potent pulse that feeds the form of human, as it encompasses itself as beyond its meaning. The related effort to feel this pulse is within the core of the lower chakra system. Without this pulse, the instinctive nature cannot grasp its own vital cord. The timing of all parts of self relies on this potent factor. It is what embodies the nature of itself. The part that lives within this awareness is the part that now touches into the sound of earth. The depth of inner pitch creates the layers of earthen vessel we are. Relating to the inert causes of what gives up its gases for the potential of firing, and then reclaims itself in the heat. The aloneness is immense at times, when the wind of air seems to press you into a cave of such intense solitude, that we need in order to feel the dirt in our toes. Under the surface of words that try to impart the way of the wilderness, is a motional volume that is needed to endure the travel. The motional volume is created from the deep pitch of loosened effort that parts away from the volume. The motional response creates a shift, and the volume increases to set in the center of the pelvis. The pelvis then becomes the oscillating vessel that spins out old patterns, and spins in new equational shifts that create new pattern acceptability. This shift is accessed from the region of the kidney, but the penetrating volume is given forth through the bladder excretions. This creates a new ability to register a deeper totemic pulse. The full integrity of animal is given the full integrity of human. The interior position of trust widens, and the ability to see becomes more illuminated. Illuminated by the sight, illuminated by the sound, and illuminated by the heard. To feel, to touch deeply into the surface of what supports you, whether it is earth, air, water, fire, metal, or wood. The deep intuitive persona is earthed in its memory, and has accumulated its understanding of its own human body. It first knew its own nature and body, of water and fish. Then it knew its own of rock and fire. Then it knew its own of animal and wood. The Etheric Arc is emergence memory, and brings it always back to its angelic form. It knows all the angles of form it has been, to know the form it is. It is consumed in its form of current, that creates the deep nature of what lives. The sacred tunnel of memory, that drives the moment into itself. Harvesting what is called forth to be invested into. In time there is a consummation that succeeds in mapping itself. This map creating a leap that moves over and through time in a very accelerated way. The rhythm of pitch creating a surface it can run along. Lines that thrive the current of existence, and permeate the feeling of hope. The hope thrives in the skin of time moving through the portals of touch. Greening the parched of earth in this time of waiting, the totem knocks at the doors. Which one will open? Which one is wilderness enough for entrance? Color rising from the surface of opening, and the handle is grasped by the hand of what enters. The spray of essence enters the air, and the final messenger awaits the memory of its name. The claim to root takes hold and the gratitude of eons enters your heart. The spoken becomes the words you climb into, and you awaken to the ripe posture of Ready. You go deep into the word of Ready, and become what it is to be vital from within the wilderness of your acceptance. To accept what cannot be told easily, to accept what is so deep inside you cannot see it. ?To accept what is between. The totem rises through your spine and reaches up through your crown, till you see and feel, and pitch as if you were the totem that rises. You finger the form till you remember the ways of its essence and the texture of its motion. It is male and it is female, all is accepted within the form of totem. It gathers the eons of its nature and wraps around you like a cocoon, till you finally feel safe in who you now are. Allow the wrapping to happen. Allow the image to form around your frame, and feel the safety of what knows how to live. Rising the thirst for water, the elements within the totem pitches fire within your veins, and you are consumed by its entry. This entry gives you power, strength, and keen senses that fuse with your need. Your need keeps the focus till you have come to the full presentation of form. The form comes into your power and you hold what it holds. For me it was Raven, and she was dark and deep and pitched in her depth. She was feathered by her victory to be transformed in a way that I craved. She was a shape shifter, so the feast of shapes became my journey. She has shown me how to shift from fast to slow ? slow to fast ? in to out ? out to in ? above to below ? below to above ? side to side ? inside to outside, and with each shift, the acceptance of wolf to eagle ? eagle to seal ? seal to hawk ? hawk to panther ? panther to dolphin ? dolphin to whale ? whale to bear. All in the shifting to transform the way. To feel part of what folds, is to collaborate with the entering of yourself. The entry of wood brings forth the elemental desire of time and the focus of all that is within the wild nature. The feeling of inherent knowing is within the air we breathe. The current of life gives forward the complete idea of all that is. The full integrity of what needs is bringing forward the interior impression of what is now within the time of reason. The sacred fossil of existence is held within each cell of our bodies, and the cellular mass of eons moves through our timing. We acquaint ourselves with much that feels this reality, and no longer realize that it is within our very words. Within the sound of emergence there is a much warmer existence of cellular fire that reveals the center force of what is remembered, but not understood. The sight within the fusional volume of performing positions gives us small clips of what originally was joined into our cellular equation. Realizing the greater distance between existence and rooted memory, the time that now emerges its felt as the surface level, in an even more instinctual way. Within the typical there is the not seen structure of what changes form when it is felt ready. Within the breath of one organic memory, there is an immense potential. The potential rises through the calendulum of what was given space to be held within plant. The deepest feeling being the intricate nature of sense. The sense being the wild nature of feeling expressed through form. The form holding the nature within its cellular mass and equation. Giving forth the will of occasion, there is no accompaniment for the position of memory within the cell, that recalls the form beyond cellular equational containment. Quietly making the real more potent that ever before, the wild nature poses no obstacles in the way of deep journey. It takes us more acutely than any other vehicle. Death, pain, illness ? no comparison in speed. The wild nature fulfills all the measurements needed for the key to fit. The She La Na Gig was the keyhole Goddess for the wild nature of the people of Celtic times, and she fulfilled the offering needed of feminine opening. The She La Na Gig became the entry portal that remained at the temple door, that later her vulva became the holy water fountain of the Christian faith. Feminine juices being the holy water of the Goddess. The opening that gave forth all potential of life support, the higher consciousness of the spirit, in its orgasmic intelligence. The genitalia of the inner intelligence. Intelligence is the entering into the genitalia of life, giving forth the mind as the difference in species. The wild nature creating the intelligence that creates the wilderness within, that enables us to deeply know what is not easily seen. The given darkness that enfolds the sacred coin of value that pays the way for the passage below. In the below, the nature breathes with a fire that kindles the heart and frees the mind. The mind can then wander in the dark tunnels of its own mystery. It can ask the question that it could never think of before. It can feel the answers it could never feel before. In the deep wilderness of what seeks this time, is the hunted part of what needs the flesh of the heat. The flesh of the heat, that feeds the meat of intensity to the Soul. The Soul eating all the portion within its own need. The need being the future radiance of what was given light in the dark. The dark, that holds your hand and strokes your head, till you feel at home in the world of blind. Blind to the eyes of what usually sees, and open to the sight that cannot see in the confusion of what is said real. The calling forth of this intensity creates a full countenance of knowledge that knows the passages by heart only. Inside the naked structure of what the frame of body holds, is a zillion nerves that feel the flesh upon the bone. This flesh upon the bone is given ecstasy to measure its full essence, beyond all boundaries of time or space. In this ecstasy, the flesh upon the bone exits its limitational framework, and succeeds in fully coming into a new acceptance of what it is and who it is within. The full capacity of form has not even yet felt the full wildness of what the cellular consciousness contains. Inside the time that lays before us, is much expansion in the expression of what is within the wilderness time. The calming of one factor becomes the firing of another, as the deep plunges us into a more exterior surface of our inner reality. We come into the call of different channels that fill our space with the feeling of peace, in a time that creates fusion. The internal distinction of what is needed for the essence of relief. The interior vision of reality that heals the solid nature of our desire. The feeling of texture gives to itself and the quality of self completes its resonance. The reality of life forgiving the finding of form that responds to the cry from within, that voices the aloneness that the hunt between the pages gives. Inside the time, is the passage of relief and the internal character of vision that digs into the crevices that all falls between. Between the days, between the nights, between the hours, all involving the naked structure of what is used to fill. The sacred cunning of a soul, inward drawn, is being held within the wild nature of what looks into the pitch. The pitch, that sees in the dark and knows what foxes know. Panther-like nature in the hunt, becoming more reclaiming in the search for meat. The meat of what truly matters, in a time that files away the losses. The truth surfacing up from the stacks of lost potential, being placed on the back of panther, forcing the cry to be heard, as the clothes of past are shed to the floor of the wooded way. The wooded way of the deep wilderness within, that evokes the longing. The remembering of a part, almost forgotten. The center of longing completing the journey that was to remember the almost forgotten part. The part that treasures the earth, the sky, the feeling, the body, the wish to be here. The part that has no desire to be anywhere but here. The part that remembers what it was. The part that becomes aware only to be here. The part that lives only to be alive. The part that has no plan. This part was the most important part, and now has almost been lost to the senses and memory. This part is now returning, and it has no where to go. It has no meaning. It has no ritual. It has no lesson. It has no job. It is within the ecstatic. It is within the rush. It is within the spine. It is only fire. It is only heat. It is only creation. It is only new life. It is only essence. It craves. It knows, It growls. It groans. It laughs. It screams. It cries, It moves, It plays. It sees, It hears, It feels. The part that knows itself. The part that cuts to the core of what a body is. The part that knows the sacred secret of life. The part that holds the answer. The part that snakes its way through our underworld, to raise its head into our dreamtime. The part that follows our feelings, that flow into who we are. The part that recognizes what it is truly made of. The one that sees its beginnings, and is not confused about its source. The part that hears the power of its source ? the part that knows why it exists. This part has become so unknown to many that they die. They die to reach what isn?t there, but here. They reach through the part to find themselves, but it is only the part they miss. This part that resides in only one place, and that place cannot be found somewhere else. It is here, inside the smell of your heat. In the sweat of your brow. Your response to life is its sensing. The deep nature of what knows itself. Do you know yourself completely? This part does. It has no doubt, no hesitancy, no regret, no guilt. This part is in the center of regenerative behavior. This part triggers the will to relate to life. When one begins to journey within the wilderness within, one meets this part and becomes the very nature of truth that resides within each cell of the body. The truth that holds this part as a pattern of its own true nature. The single-celled insight of all that knows it knows, feels it knows, and knows it feels it knows. The trianary consent of what is. Within the sacred is the memory of this, and the sacred must be entered to secure oneself within the boat that travels through the dark caves of this awakened passage. The equation of life that has held fast to the separate of life in form and not in form, has had to reach far and wide to block the time when once again what is, could be seen on all the levels that it is. In the reality of true vision, the final position is within reach, and the stretch is adequate to touch. To touch the sacred essence of what is secret to the time, but now opening to the space. Space will enfold it and once again give it to time, and the darkness will not enfold her. She has lived the hidden way of utero, and now is in the open way of light. Illumination fills her, and the naked oppression of a body exposed, is given rise to beauty. The quickening rotated her passage, and she knew she was alive with the word of Illumination. In this the part is yielded to its location, and the memory begins to return. Inside the grief of eons is the breath of return. Inside the empty of death is the breath of return. Inside the cry of fear is the breath of return. We now return on the breath of our wild nature. A breath, that evokes trust and instinct. A breath, that follows what remembers. A breath of birds, that know their way, over thousands of miles. A breath of Ravens, that do not sow, but wait for the wolves to open the carcass. The breath of wolves, who create a family among them from instinct and memory alone. The breath of elephants, who move obstacles as a way of life, without a ruler or scale. The breath of frogs, who become fish, then reptile, without a teacher. The breath of ells, who allow current to rule their bodies without control. A nature of creation becoming more resonate of wisdom than cunning, and the animal of life becoming more human than thought. Thought becoming more animal than human. All in all, becoming the grace of instinct that remembers the smell of home. The smell of home becoming more known than the seen, in the distance of journey. The way is known through the smell and the nose is the key. It sits into the face as a vehicle of grace that winds the scent of life into our cells. The cells becoming the nature of what the nose knows. The constant posture of what gives the body a way to actualize its needs, the sense of smell gives the warning. The warning that all is in place, or not. The Sacred, becoming the full astonishment of what the air entitles us to. Air is not for breath, but smell. Smell is what breath is. On the breath one smells oneself, and knows that one is within itself. Smell is more acute than fragrance, aroma, and stench, it is the recognition of environment on all levels. Smell moves the sight into awareness and the hearing into its sound. Smell is beyond our senses of description because it sees, hears, tastes, and feels. On the breath we seek to smell more of our life, more of our nature, more of our source. Have you ever smelled the deep dive of what you hear? Have you ever smelled the texture of your thoughts? Have you ever felt the smell of your own ecstasy? Smell becomes the way you know, and the way you see deeply into what really is. The crisp clear line of a day has a horizon that gives forth the smell of distinct decision. The deep pitch of original thought has smell. That defines itself into our senses, and we never will find another like it. Once the angle of difference is felt, the smell of all times becomes the nature of our knowing. We do not hesitate because we recognize the distinct differences. Wrapped within time is the full texture of smell and this is what our senses activate from. The deepest registry that is now surfacing is that the forgotten part is no longer forgotten, because it has been remembered in this body of work. A body of work that goes deeply into the senses & pulls up what was buried for the freedom of life to be here. There is no longer a place to go or a place to dream of that does not fulfill the body. The body was to be fulfilled in its expression of living, not hunted & punished for its nature. The nature of creation is fuelled by the nature of its creator & the creator is part of the created. There is not relationship between the hunter, the punisher, or the punishment & the creator. The creator does not create & become part of what is created to be fulfilled in sadomasochistic ritual. There is no freewill, because there is nothing to decide. Raven Su.Sane |
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