Selections Mystical Prose and Poetry: Book II

By Lindsay Traynor

This book is compiled from the voluminous material on the author's many web sites -- it hoped that seekers of Truth and general readers find the material as revealing and inspiring as we have -- editors, friends and associates.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lindsay Traynor
• Release date: Jun 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005579128

Lindsay Traynor

Lindsay Traynor is an Australian poet and mystic though born in Eastern Europe. He has travelled extensively and studied under the wise instruction of some remarkable and extraordinary men and initiated into various esoteric traditions by same, which formerly secret knowledge he is now able to share with everyone, fully cognisant of the fact that only those ready would be able to recognise, appreciate and gain awareness from the experience.Lindsay is a prolific writer and has produced the equivalent in text of around 50-60 novels over the past sixteen years though mostly in the form of articles on varied topics and poetry, his favourite medium.The current book has been gathered from his many poems, essays and articles relating to Self-Realisation, Mysticism, Philosophy, Personal Growth and Social Transformation.We hope that you enjoy and derive benefit from his prodigious output as much as we have benefited and enjoyed reading, collating and presenting the material in eBook formats -- assistant editors.

Book preview

Selections of Mystical Prose and Poetry

by Lindsay Traynor

Book II in the Series

Collated and Edited by the moderators of his various websites

"It is not a matter of laborious achievement, as we have been led to believe; it is a matter of Revelation. Everything seen and unseen in infinite existence already exists, it is only a matter of Discovery" -- Lindsay Traynor

The Time Before

before i incarcerated myself in pure text

i painted and so it flowed as easy as

rivers which power is also represented

by pure text, though emotions and moods

render pure text a pauper -- music and

colour prevail in art

tones, colour and shades leap, ease and

slide into being, shaping the viewer

momentarily

art-forms are suited for their purpose

though none fit perfectly like the skin

which medium is also shed

in serpentine fashion

though a realm exists that only the

substrate of mind is able to apprehend,

consciousness evades capture/representation

by any medium, mind however is easily

moved, trained and led in any direction

the artist chooses as it is a cultural product

in text we are culturally bound as text

demands decoding and we learn to decode

in culture -- schools -- that blot and coagulate

free running streams and rivers distorting

the pristine everlasting consciousness

to the finite

though we all must express ourselves with

the limited tools on offer, you see now why

and how text infiltrates, as culture teaches us

that chicken tracks mean something but

meaning is lost to subjectivity though clever

magicians play with words/minds at will and

lead entire nations into captivity

the chains of social slavery are locked into

everyone the instant the letter ‘A’ is learned,

by ‘Z’ we are finished as free individuals --

no-one extinguishes a fire with gasoline (more words)

a dog chasing its tail captures only itself

so i take my fine human hair brush, dip it into

the sea and move it effortlessly across the sky

though few are able to read what is expressed

poetry and artistic prose are simply word tricks,

music endures only to the last note and colour

on canvas fades; what is the medium and stylus

that encodes messages forever?

i may have insinuated the answer by pure chance

though never forget that social/cultural meaning

is lost to infinity (consciousness)

Pages

the white page waits eagerly

for someone to despoil it

i seem created for that job,

how many have i defiled?

my pencil always volunteers

to defile virgin white with

strange scribbles, jolts,

rhythmic pulses and

showers of written tears

-- joy and sorrow

on closer inspection, irregular

designs form words, which form

images that lure minds to gift them

with life until what appeared to be

violent becomes petal soft, soothing,

a witch’s brew to cure all ills

never underestimate the power of

words in the hands of a wordsmith/

scribe, more potent than a gun is a pen

which is not loaded with lead but Soma

which it slurps from the cosmos like a

thirsty beast then gifts it to virgin paper

until the fluid is spent

ur eyes again, imprinted on my memory/soul

etched there for eternity watch me always,

they dance with the rhythms of my hand

racing across