Cycles Of The Truth Fits
by Ancestors through UsekhuOn my back, in a cocoon multi-wrapped
Grave bed is my craft
While in a surface sleep dream state
Consciousness is deeply awake
I draw from original for my draft
The message vibrates, scrolls and snakes
The One who gives is the One who takes
And then, among the elements who accompany me
The subject comes up about karma reparations about to break
But don't hold your breath and don't wait
The cycle refreshes continuously as night and day break
When autumn descends
Weakness gains the upper hand
When spring ascends
Strength gains the upper hand
Spirit motion flows according to position
Of the first and second hand
Needing not the permission of man
Awareness flows according to orientation
Of the over to the under to the inner standing
When shall these kharma reparations begin
Same question keeps repeating
The earlier form of what's happening
Asante sana for asking
Same answer keeps repeating
Nothing much
The process is always through the emerging
Energies and resources are always changing hands
A way of knowing is through observation of generations
Though young and old are always being told
They are now listening more
The Ancestors are rising from Khat & Khent
To contend with those of John Willie Lynch
Aren't we our ancestors, comes the comment
Yes
I speak of Ancestors whose Khu is sleeping
Locked in the safe of keeping
Unable to descend through temporary impediment
Influencing, but not to the fullest extent
Who pass through this dimension
Reseeding spiritual, not reproducing physical
Their numbers outnumber contemplation
Mind-boggling if you comprehend
Everywhere they are in concentration
Dwarfing the current human population
Water indeed revives their seed
Star energy provides, they breathe
Then comes pausing for reflection
Resetting direction
Shifting conversation
Further away from interpretation and back towards translation
The dream channel turns left
As I tilt on my axis
By virtue of much practice
I watch and understand evil versus good
The nutritious and toxic that coexist
My spark is consumed by a giant many-toothed fish
I cut my child out with one motion swift
S(he) is covered in a poisonous liquid
Flame extinguished diffuses into anguish
Life unnoticed seems nonexistent
I bark to the crowd, bring water to assist
To revive fire requires counter-intuitive
I perform the ritual of existence
I khekh the child back to lower
Then kick forth to lift
Winding my breath into the breathless
In the chaos of moments like this
Khaos still persists
Khu, deeper in me as my elemental crew, do not panic
The current set of conditions are another form already managed
This awareness keeps us equipped and poised at the point of vantage
The transition where things merge and diverge
I repeat the down and up until the flame is re-lit
I hear the change in octave
In slow motion, from commotion to music
Totality changes in our midst
And without mouth to mouth
Everything shifts and flips
Solstices and equinoxes
Time recalculates, phoenix recirculates, life resuscitates
And the noise that went up from the crowd
Becomes calm on the way down
We gather closer round our child and listen with greater intent
For signs of life movement
Then Khu breaks through
(Nowadays called clue or hint)
Recognition, sounds out the name of the parent
Tears of pain become joyous rain in the same torrent
We raise hands in praise
(Sign-language from ancient days)
We choose as common voice
The congregated choir rejoices
As we are being exhumed
From womb, tomb, cocoon
Again, in, of, from the waters of Nun
To enter we must exit
Now, shall we bury or burn this decaying fish
