Prana Pyramid


I made this picture  of how I pictured myself experiencing a Prana Pyramid .

In episode [#183] Build your own Pyramid Wisdom by @david_wilcock on

David Wilcock talks about benefits of using pyramids in his Build your own Pyramid Wisdom episode from Wisdom Teachings.

I used prana to build a pyramids around me.    I immediately experience benefits of a pyramid.

I am not religious, or spiritual in a traditional sense.

I am a yogi.  I have and do experience samadhi.  I have meditated more than 10,000 hours.

I use the words conscious intelligence to describe what I am.

What I am determines what I do and see and by negating what I think I am, I experience new perspectives and or meta-perspectives when looking.


The picture above is combination of  this picture  in public domain with this picture  which

is C.C. 3.0   If someone wishes to use this picture or build on this picture they may do

so under the same C.C. 3.0 attribution.

Silence, Gravity, Extraterrestrials and Socks

Silence, Gravity, Extraterrestrials and Socks

but not necessarily in this order

Maybe a computer algorithm will like this poem
and click “Like” without the person reading it
So that I will pay attention to a person
who feels ignored
So they can get more followers
Would Jesus, or Buddha do this to get followers?
Probably, yes

I am mentally unwell, I don’t use (computer) algorithms

I use Silence, Gravity, Extraterrestrials and Socks

break bread
eat with my family
convivial smile

the loveliness of this
you, her, that I call her
This sounds less than Kipling and more than Keats
Romantic poetry is so entitled
yet I sometimes write verse like this
or maybe even I do all the time
and pass it off as ignes fatui

ig knees fat chu I

“Cut out all these exclamation points.
An exclamation point is like laughing
at your own joke.” 1

I want to use an exclamation point now
and F Scott Fitzgerald whispers in my ear
and says “NO”, and I hate and love him for this
Probably I hate him more than love
but tomorrow I will love him more

I can’t be disgruntle and cynical like
or have the forgivable naiveté of Rimbaud’s age
to over simplify human attributes
in a way that is love
How Rimbaud makes everyone a teenager
no matter what age they are when
they read him

I hate him for this
If this were the 1st century
in Israel, he would be stoned to death
I see myself with a stone in my hand

I do something else when I write
Forgive me if I tell the whole truth

I know the only way to tell someone
a truth is to mix it with fiction

some call fiction a lie
I know its the only way to communicate
to mix fiction with truth

and sometimes
I am terrible at writing, at doing this
F Scott Fitzgerald!

Sometimes I say a whole truth without fiction
Sometimes I say a whole truth
and it becomes a silence

Silent, like an old person
at a retirement home
Who no one visits
No one really looks at
Lets call him Gord

Silence that is a ghost
that people pass on the street

Silence as homologous as the most boring looking person
No one looks at at all, all the time

I see boring people
that no one looks at
less than average looking
less than average clothes
less than average intelligence
less than average everything
and some who are like this know they are this
and are beyond despondent
They have grown to be invisible
Silence! Don’t be cross Fitzgerald

When truth is expressed without
fiction ( a lie) , this silence

How beauty is a fiction that grows old,
I will speak romantic for a moment again
Refer to you in third person
Eyes look at you in second person
Heart feels you in first person
This would be quaint if I were
not unshaven and sitting in my underwear
cross legged on the couch
without socks on

Segue to socks is my political agenda

Socks and feet are not very common in
I have noticed this for three months now
I have been waiting for someone
to bring up the topic of feet and socks in conversation
and it hasn’t yet happened

So, I will
this into conversation, now

Can out grown socks be recycled
socks with holes? What a stupid
question. To ask this is an insult
to intelligence
and I ask this

I cannot stand socks with holes
yet I forget to throw them out
and wash them
Put them on
and then feel hatred towards socks
“Dam you socks!”
I feel momentarily sad to think that
about socks, “Socks forgive me”
the mortality of socks, the elephant
in the room beneath feet
that keep feet warm
with thick elephant skin

Feet an often ignored sinew that binds
the affection of gravity, the love
which never says no
to hold me
against her chest
like eyes that say

“You will look at me
and never not look at me.
Even if you think you will not look at me,
you are still looking at me”

Gravity does this
it holds my feet against
the ground
when I cook
when I sit cross legged
comfortably on the couch
indirect causal gravity that
loves every atom regardless of
sociodemographic,  race, colour or creed
sometimes I forget this

Forgetfulness, an atom I remember
to think of as thought
This is sort of remembering
as only in forgetting does
the novelty of remembering
have meaning
this is how flowers smell

Extraterrestrials visited me last night
they were not interested so much
in my thoughts on gravity
though, they found it fulfilling
and wonderful for three seconds

the Extraterrestriala showed me how to use my
hands to travel through the universe
Christians call them angels
Mystics call them family
I call them the short dudes
who meditate like me

by thinking
by looking
by tasting
by breathing
by being

their feet have less toes
and hands have one less finger
Sometimes one extra

I look at them with my three eyes
the pineal unable to close
and because of this

I dream of fiction to express
to mix with truth
so that silence may occur–after I speak
not during




Quote 1. By F. Scott Fitzgerald

Picture  by Niagra Detroit ,   Niagra Detroit Twitter  C.C. 3.0


A Moment of Beastly Intropsection

Sound is measured with kindness
Forgetfulness, a reservation at a restaurant
Held up to a light bulb for consideration
A reciprocity of entitlement neatly preserved
Social etiquette humanism, napkins, and crystal glasses

Inflation experiences time dilation
Prices on the menu fluctuate and change
with every passing second
The waitress prefers to be referred to as waiter
blinks to communicate how she feels
The order is taken
with a bow and arrow
She tapes the  order to the arrow
and shoots the arrow with bow
into the kitchen on to a cork wall
The patron at the table next interferes and says
“Nice archery”

This faux pas of polite accord
forgiven with laughter by
everyone in sounds soft vicinity

When people do not know what to say
they often laugh
and terrible things said
are overlooked, this being the current
definition of forgiveness, overlooking

From kitchen, sounds permeate
What was once white noise now disquiet
Resolute unnumbness obsequious nodding smiling
Sadness and happiness make love
into a moment of silence
that passes between us

Outside on sidewalk, the cement
of an almost November is cooler than
June, much cooler
and shoes and socks
make pavement feel like it is not
the favorite child
That pavement is a second class citizen
Shoes and socks evidence of this
So common place–as anything so common place
Tantamount, it does not exist
Yet it might as the allure of inference
is amusing, delightful, in unprecedent silence
that has the gravity of a thousand moons

She my comrade in arms, demands attention before leaving the restaurant
before we walk over the second class citizen sidewalk pavement
The one I love commands me to look at her
and I do
She is beautiful

When I look at her
everything disappears
this is how I ignore the waiter I don’t like,
by looking at her

I tell her this after the waiter
leaves and she resents and loves me for
this, which is the way her feeling
says to me “I love you”

I tell her this too
she resents and loves me more
because of this

To speak further about this
would now be a sin

The bill is put on the table
Inflation has calmed down
and the dollar amount owing
seems to be settled on 53 dollars
and 45 cents
Economy of numbers has found accord
in appearing as stagnation
whilst expanding without measure, a magic
it to itself–both audience and performer
both sound and silence and has no name
like a caveman 8000 years ago

The memory of stuffed mushrooms horderves
visits palate and nasal cavity as we exit
stage left
Patrons ocular passing regard ‘I exist, you exist’
Audacity of humility with boastful eyes, she and I
the language of cats, the grandeur of success
needs at least validation
Validation the essence of success
Unvalidate the essence of oneness
I don’t want to be a failure

We will pray to oneness tonight with kisses
and release our feral gentry for
a moment of beastly introspection
which can be reframed as love later
the act of making children

cold and calculated with ineluctable kindness



Picture Connoisseur Gallery Designed by Studiotwist
from Wiki Commons C.C. 3.0


I could remember that the
last thing to do is to do the first thing I remember
So as not to forget the last thing
to do, I do it first I do
Sometimes and this makes
the journey from here to there
because I am there
yet I am walking
and I do not know what walking is
when I am there first
having done the last thing first




Picture Source

The Day Science Died

talking to no one, that something
that happens, this
that is moderate, that is suffice
that is undersuffice

the space between rocks is not jealous
of touch, or even envious, at the very least
they are mostly honest, the space between rocks

I would like to gain insight into what is not
listed on the side of a milk carton
To have the faith not to look at the ingredients
that make up the coalescing of Nabisco products

Fat, I imagine as a 5 dimensional shape
Slim, the subatomic hyperbole, a boastful son
a daughter, or enriched lovers melt on each other
cheese on toast
in the oven
in the future

This mornings breakfast is forgotten in conversation
digestion still happens when I forget what I eat

Pretend to be alarmed
the corner of eyes are sharp
speak with a fork shaped tongue
less than a stutter, more than a lisp
the future of quantitative men measure
the light that reflects off  Basilica ceiling
the imaginary ceiling of friendship, love

minutes are hours, and hours are years
on the horizon of a finger nail
mother is giving birth to
an index pointing moment, that wants
to reflect, or shoot a gun in a mirror

the rain is late, the sun is tongue tied
an introverted moon and tall milky way
casts a shadow with light
The worms wiggle without being
given parking permits, they occupy space
and contribute to the genial corpulent hydra

ding ding, the heart string is pulled
the fish nibbles, less than a devil more than a god,
a human

the wine is turned into water
It is called an unmirracle

Swimming,  unmiracle  of not walking on water

Anthropomorphism: a man does
not misattribute human characteristics to God, or to animals, but to humans
A treatise unprovable because it is too accurate
the absence of sound and absence of white noise called silence
as how Hindu Advaita, oneness cannot be proven
because it requires two or more to perceive oneness

and if there is two or more, it fails
before it begins


All that is left is the science of oneness
perceived by oneness, the day science died




Source of Picture: Picture C.C. 3.0




I Cannot Hold The Wind

for Laura, Paramahamsa Nithyananda


I cannot hold the wind
I can open this hand
and let it pass through

I cannot hold my name
I can open this mind
and let it pass through

I cannot hold your love
I can open this heart
and let it pass through

I cannot hold my life
I can open this mouth
and let it pass through