The Funeral

Pastiche of Ian Curries book "You Cannot Die"

It's tempting to explain these experiences away as mere hallucinations.
I got up from the ground where I lay.
The incredible feat, duplicated.

Flashes of light, swaying feathers, the soul in action, phantom animals...

Our plane of illusion.

Every material form, and every variety of life in the universe is at a different stage in the same very long process of psychic evolution. More than "men" are "brothers".

~Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the pacific-and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise-
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.~

-John Keats, "On first looking into Chapman's Homer"

away

Bells and fields, calls and yields.
Other things telling wings that
singing shields play to win
and feel feelings worth winning for.

like edgars lore but evermore.

Evermore is the time we live
in divided frames.

alwaysmore ...

Completely formed from wonderful and instrumental in my consciousness.

Unaware and lackadaisical but physical and conscient.

Je vois.
Completement formé de merveilleux.

Instrumental dans ma connaissance.
Je croix que je suis une étoile comme elle.
Ensemble. Dans L'espace...Pour Toujours...