Tag Archives: epochlypse the sage

Forgiveness

Forgiveness

Many times we struggle with forgiveness and walk around with the poison chalice of bitterness within our very flesh, it poisons from within. Yet, at the same time we hold the cure. Whether it is forgiveness we seek or forgiveness that is sought from us, withholding it from ourselves or its seeker can be detrimental to our own emotional and spiritual well being. The longer we resist this and withhold someone from accessing their birth right of free living with no emotional bondage, the further we shall allow this poison to plunge our hearts into darkness. It was during my own journey to the light when I was in need of forgiveness when I realised that it was not mine to give from the start and that all I had to do was embrace what was already available to me. Open myself up to receiving what I had already been given by virtue of my existence and the basic laws that rule my time on earth. In the darkness, The Supreme Self spoke to me.

It is not given, it exists
we resist and thus
the largest myth
whose shroud we seek to lift
seeking forgiveness
in the desert as its sands shift
seeking the will o’ the whisp
off the path
in the hidden marsh
Yet like oft is its task
the pain we walk with
is made to melt the mask
So we beseech you learn the art
Turn poisonous hesitance
To heart relief medicines
Alchemical
Truths
for eternal spirit youth
You are not searching
but for that which has already found you.
It will never be given
that which can’t be received
neither hidden
nor deceived
but by self
where the sea meets the mighty mountain
between what was and what will be
we find the fountain.

May you all find forgiveness where it has already met you and may you meet it with an open hand to drink from its fountain.

One
The Sage

Forgiveness

Open Hands, Receive Your Blessings

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Pain by Epochlypse the Sage

Pain and Love
NO DUALITY

I feel every word has been written
and that pains me
every word has been said
and that pains me
my vocal chords are now just a means to an end
and that pains me
my soul is screaming to speak to yours
and that pains me
yearning for more beyond this limited spore
trapped inside the core
I Love You All
But you could never know.
My words are no more.
My name is no more.
I’m already dead.
Tomorrow I shall resurrect.
And live the pain again.
Rejoice in it.
It lets me know love
and that heals me.
Every words has been written
and that heals me
Every word has been said
and that heals me
my vocal chords are now truthful
and that heals me
my soul is singing and it heals me
knowing there is more
and it is within me
I Love You All
Today the tears will fall,
the smiles will light and turn all
my tears to rain

Peace
One
The Sage in the Rain

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Ego Death

The Hidden Enemy

The Warrior in the Shadow of the Leaves in,

Ego Death

Roaming Ronin

The leaves whistled and tree tops bristled at the mysterious silhouette floating through its branches, brushing them for no longer than a few sacred moments, fading in and out of time and this dimension. It was as if these trees were haunted by their very shadows. A flickering illusion, sounded out, only by the pale moonlight, even then, seeming otherworldly, an elusive visitor from another place.  What was this foreign being and why was it here? It’s clandestine approach belying its intention. Was it friend or foe? With darkness as its ally one could only assume the worst; it hugged the night like the faceless creatures of our nightmares. Now aware of its presence, its movements became more apparent, I had become smarter and more adept at tracking this whisper between the branches, it moved like a rumour, and as each out reached branch whispered its unknown story to the next, the intrigue increased, so too did the irregularity of its existence. I started to question what I was seeing, could this be real? Am I painting mystery where there is none? It could only be a mystery if I conceded to never discovering the truth, a question with no answer. No, this was either my imagination, the workings of my psyche or I was indeed witnessing this silent assailant traversing the landscapes of my mind as a haunting shadow lingering only in the periphery of what I could perceive. I honed my skills. Set up my vantage points and at each intersection I could possibly remember seeing it, I placed my observers. They were all programmed to detect any sign of this intruder.

The Perpetual Wanderer

You know, the power of the unknown is in the fact that it is unknown, the imagination is a powerful ally and an effective foe, what we do not know can cripple us. It sends our minds into frenzy, a blank canvas to project our paranoia upon. My paranoia was at fever pitch, at every turn questioning my sanity, was this phantom real, haunting me then mocking me, every time I thought I caught a glimpse of it, I was only met with the sight of vacant spaces filled with mist and smoke.

Then steadily I became immersed in the smoke, the scent of burning embers, always smouldering somewhere in the distance. I was covered in this haze of war, myself now a forsaken wanderer, an accidental spy, in this forest of lies and deception. All I was seeking was the truth to this illusion. I was certain I was being stalked now, by this phantasm, this spectre, this maleficent spirit of my delusional mind. It seemed to mirror me, as I got smarter it did. It moved as a shadow in my shadow. When I walked in the light it moved in the shadows of everything around me and as I walked in the darkness, it enveloped me. My feet weary of trekking this forsaken land in search of a ghost; I had accepted the mystery as a mystery now and sought to find my peace. This world became my world and as my madness drove me to the edge of a cliff. I scream. “Show me your face. Why are you here? What do you want from me?” I bawled into the great void. A silent moment, the void and I shared seemed to last somewhere near an eternity. And then.

Backstabber

The Backstabber

I was met with a sharp pain right behind my heart and the sound of my flesh being pierced open, warmth scurried down my back before I felt my legs give in as I dropped to my knees, I realised it was blood rushing down my back, and as the cold metal drew out from my back it was now gushing like the stream that turns into a river in winter. I drop again crawling to drag myself over the edge of the cliff, where gravity would embrace me and draw me to my end. My blood drenched body, surrounded by a carousel of mirrors all holding the reflection of the wanderer that I had become. Meeting my death with a smile, no longer seeking to unravel the mystery that had consumed me for all my waking days, I turn to face my cowardly assailant, the deepest depths of me hoping for the face of a stranger. I see the strangest thing.

I look upon my own face, blackened by shadow, paled by lack of light. The colour of coals and ash mixed on this dark consumed version of me. I was chasing nothing but myself and at the moment I embraced what I could never know, it was revealed to me. I scream and this scream echoes through my entire life, it transcends time and it is heard by me in the past and the future now lost. My ego had defeated me. And as I turn again in agony, dragging my life’s procession over the edge of the cliff, slowly swallowed by gravity, awaiting the thud of the ground, quietly lusting that tiniest moment before my death, where pain would free me, the darkened version of me starts laughing in ecstasy. Joy. The type that could not be confused, it is not evil. It is pain leaving his form. It is pure benevolence. He is liberated. My ego is dead. I have departed.

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Mental Evolution


No Airplay for the Revolution

Thomas Sangkara, liberator and revolutionary of Burkina Faso


Ahem, the revolution will not be televised
I repeat, the revolution will not be televised.
For centuries, humanity has swapped despots for the hallowed revolutionary, just in the 20th century, the world was truly changed by the likes of Atatürk, Thomas Sankara, Qaddafi and even Nelson Mandela. What these men have in common is that they were once enemies of their respective states and then rose to power by liberating their people from the shackles of oppressive regimes. Their methods varied, but the word that echoed was revolution. The powers that be, tried all they could to suppress knowledge of the sweeping epidemic that was the movements of liberation. The Oppressor used covert means, infiltration, executions, massacres and sabotage. All of this to no avail as the people had tolerated enough under the boots of their leaders.

“Time is a mind trip so be mindful of it ‘cos your minds full of it.”
– Influ(h)ence Ill

Qadaffi, in his more useful days


You Either Die a Hero or Live Long Enough To See Yourself Become the Villain

Indeed time is a funny thing, one step along the time-line inching along with the passing days and seasons change and rearrange the earth we once knew. Tides sweep in and mountains give way, these once mountainous men have had varied success in achieving their ideals, Qaddafi is a perfect case study. Once revered as a hero of the people and for the people, he met his death on the streets of his home town at the hands of a blood thirsty mob, ironically spurred on, as the media would have us believe, by the peaceful ideals of democracy. You see, Qaddafi, had way too much of a good thing and finally, a tumultuous relationship with the global super powers and international authorities had reached its gut wrenching conclusion. He was a liability and had to be removed. This despite achieving a revolution, removing a colonial power and using oil resources to fund free education for his people, just one of his many successes. My point is not to argue the merits of the Qaddafi regime or the decision by NATO to proceed with bombing and the implementation of a no fly zone, but rather to illustrate how a revolutionary can over time become a villain. Qaddafi is perhaps evidence, from a certain viewpoint, that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

“Revolutions, never losing, in the struggle of life.”
– Sam I Am the Maximan

What about our craniums? Filled with the Toxic Past.


Revolutions have almost always eventually gone rotten as the leadership transitions from one generation to the next, the dirty seed of power corrupting from within, then comes the inevitable power grab and the slow decay from the bastion of hope, rising from the charred earth like fynbos, to the virulent Port Jackson, whose sole purpose is, to spread its filth. Change then, for the sake of change, is far from what we need. In South Africa, we had averted a civil war to attain our democracy. The so-called bloodless revolution, RIP Hector Peterson, Ashley Kriel, Steve Biko and all the forgotten dead, ushered in democracy yet nothing has really changed in terms of economic power, the same wealthy elite, now sprinkled with the obedient porch monkey, still rule and neo-colonial economics are still the order of the day. While we bicker in parliament, the men in suits play with money on a computer and decide, literally, who gets to eat and who must live in the lower part of human existence, that dark hallway where morality is in direct conflict with survival.

“Wake the fuck up, because you not a fuck up.”
– The Sage

Change, I. Synonyms.

Evolving DNA


If we break it all down, it would seem that we are doomed to repeat this cycle, indeed, revolution means rotation. Rotation, in turn implies a cyclical movement. Aluta Continua. The struggle continues, as long as we believe it will. Again, in our words we find our blockages.
Word. Sound. Power.
Indeed, life is a cycle, the cycle of life is continual creation. Life begetting life. My friends, we have mistaken ourselves into believing that life is something other than this beautiful abundance that lives off itself. A perversion of the truth. A perversion that has taught us to seek struggle. To seek trials. Attracting problems to first, ourselves, thus as a result, our communities and in turn the entire planet. We stand on the edge of a crisis. Ironically, the revolution is proof that good will prevail. The cycle is not completed and we will come full circle once again, like everything in the universe, to balance and wholeness. Martin Luther King Jnr. said, “When our days become dreary with low-hovering clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of no way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows. Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.” The change and the self are locked together. The next stage of our cycle is our evolution. The evolution of our being. We became conscious of our individuality and communicated it, now we will become conscious of our oneness and communicate it. This means everyone will return to balance, all that means in a practical sense is for you, the reader, to return to yourself.

“At least, I have one up on the beast, sounds and words are fun. You can’t take all my stuff from me, kak funny. Curse these days do not become a serpent slave, you followers who become hollow ones, those who are first to graze on dirty blades.”
– Allink impassing

You are who you want to be all of the time, when you required to be inspired just draw on your mind.


The Return

Again, I offer no solutions, there are many paths back to ourselves and you know which one is yours to walk. You will face resistance and it will all be your own. It will come disguised as people. Just remember it is your own. The alternative is turning your back on the truth and continuing living in struggle. It is certainly a rabbit hole of a journey and you may meet a few Alices on the road to your center. Just remember, you are who you want to be all of the time. You are not the construct of some obscure randomness, you are what you choose to be, despite all of that.

“Either way dead is what you bound to be, so it’s pointless saying your apostle’s creed, embracing greed, your riches you won’t need, ‘cos when the spirit leaves the vessel the body will be covered by dirt like seeds.”
– Son of the 021

End Game

We shall evolve, beyond this current quagmire. We believe it. We are already there. We are aligned with all.
The ego is as dead as the body.
We burn its corpse, so it may give life to more life.

Peace and Humility
The Sage

A-Om, The Cypher Divine, 360 degrees, we return

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A War of Words

The Curious World of Words and Strange People Who Create Them as Stranger Than Themselves to Become Strangers to Themselves

Accuracy and Words

These two things are so tightly bound in effective communication that the nature of their relationship is that of S&M fuck buddies.
They should be so interwoven in our mental space that we see them as inseparable, for what sets us apart from animals is the ability to communicate in an advanced manner, constructed with the collective knowledge of generations of humanity since the beginning of time, I like to think it started with a smile.
This advanced manner has seemingly lost its effectiveness and we have led ourselves astray in semantics, connotations, plain stupidity and inability to say what we mean.
Inability, stemming from a lack of human intellect or balls, usually.

Lack Of Human Intellect

Human intellect takes into account all sides of perception, it is in essence neutrality and singularity, the belief that all is ONE.
No separation of self from self, you as my reflection and I as your mirror.
Allowing others to be and recognizing them for what they are in our perceptual minds
OUR OWN CREATION
And so when we see everyone as opponents and enemies we should consider, why this constant view?

Faced with the truth, that we are at war with ourselves.

Human Intellect is the ability to break through our perceptions and see the truth. Take opinion and facts and throw them away for the truth of our existence.
I need not share what the truth is because we all know it.
We are born with it, human intellect is the ability to experience this truth.
It is understanding what it means to be a human.
It is the understanding of self.
It is world peace.

Lack of Balls

YOU ARE A POES.
Male and Female
No discrimination for any box of us humans.
Live your own hell and live a life of consequence and not choice.

Accuracy

Communication is the fundamental for understanding each other, we communicate so very little through our words yet we talk so much KAK.
It is because our words are so limited that we should take care and love that we are always accurate with the words we use.
Leave no room for alternate interpretations most importantly no room for VALID assumptions.
Your word will become meaningless thus your thoughts and thus your existence.
To none but your SELF.

Words

If silence be golden then a word from the silent must be invaluable.
Words and its power are seen in the realm of human thought.
One word may incite a man to violence.
One word may defeat a man through tears.
Consider that One Word is all it takes in any situation.

Who gives a Fuck

So who really gives a fuck and why should I?
If one has any interest in understanding this world
we must understand our selves and what we are.
For what other reference point do we have besides our thoughts?
So read and explore mother fucker because our words are slowly losing value
Texting and emails
Rapid communications
Saying fuck all when all we really want to say is one thing always.
All this noise in the information revolution has pissed me off.
Time for some silence.
Who gives a fuck?
Nobody really does. We all pretending on various levels.
I am turning everything off.

Peace
The Sage

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The Return by Epochlypse the Sage

 We Return.

A return, requires a leaving.
My return dawned with the sunrise that I have not left
could not leave and shall not leave as long as I exist.
A walk to the gallows is but a stroll through a gate.
Self induced fate, the marionette walks unknowing of the truth, it is its own master,
it is the puppet and the string
and the hand that leads.
These strings that can connect or bind but with the slight of the hand and a trick to your eyes and from your own mind.
We perceive only what we would like to belie.
And that is the TRUTH.
My perceptions were guided mostly, not by what I want, but by what I knew I did not want.
I was not connected but bound in fate
aware of its illusion but not aware of the truth behind it.
I was the mirror my thoughts the smoke.
A marionette walking to the gallows
Hung on my own strings, by my own hands.

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