After having descended from the peak of the Great Black Mountain I found myself looking back at the promising vernal morning glow of the Eastern desert horizon, as far as my eyes were able to see, I could behold little else but a narrow path of camel tracks alveolated deeply into the Siberian Desert sand. A sudden break in concentration caused me to gently tug upon the reigns of the ghost white albino dromedary atop which I had been riding. The two of us came to a complete stand still after having traversed over incomprehensible distances for inconceivably vast cycles of time. Following a moment’s pause, I slid down from the saddle of the naaqa when she kneeled. My cracked bare feet sunk several inches into the desert sand as sweat poured over my cheeks and into my long wiry beard from underneath my pearl white keffiyeh, which was secured by a shiny golden akal as my jellaba waved subtly over a tightly fitted royal purple brussa amidst the gently stirring whispers of long forgotten ancient looming samskaras.

I have wandered for ages wondering about the imagination and the roll it plays in the creation of the inner temple as an expression of those areas of consciousness far outside the city limits of rational thought. Throughout the aeons I have become acquainted with myriad realities and my mind is now an aquarium of rare and exotic textures of thought. Still she sits perfectly still at the epicenter of a dark sphere amidst a chaotic riot of noise and rainbow lights. Turning her eyes in my direction without warning she sends me deep into a center-less and circumference-less everlasting swoon. Helplessly I spiral through the whirlpool of shooting stars above, below, and between her mesmerizing oceans of boundless depth finding myself lost inside a dream within a dream within a dream.

I fantasize and philosophize about shaping the elements of nature into a language with structure and syntax through which I could evoke from the occult seas of others the bliss and ecstasy that I have come to know to be the divine true Self. These ideas are in possession of an essence which has the magnetic effect of attracting a sanctuary of strange and beautiful hidden magical birds toward the circle and into the triangle of art. The mind-numbing drones and serpent-like hissing begins to bend and twist the well defined parameters of understanding into a form unrecognizable to the proponents of age old paradigms of universal law without sacrificing the balance, harmony, and equilibrium at the very heart of it all.

Alone I inhale and exhale through the various apertures of my body’s own effigy until my soul begins to sing and dance vehemently, spiraling in ever expanding and contracting concentric circles as its shadow gracefully waltzes across the sea green illusions of a weather-worn sundial. This ageless dance initiates an alchemical process that mysteriously transmutes the inner kingdom of my spellbound audience into a space-less, time-less, being-less trance. I grab a handful of clouds, shake them vigorously within the whispering walls of a hermit crab’s home, and spill out a vortex of magical incantations. Each performance is a ritual metamorphosing the living and the dead into elaborately adorned psychic synagogues, churches, and mosques within which seven sacred saperas charm an audience of seven saucer-eyed snakes upon the peaks of seven towering tantric toadstools.

My experiments with the Self have become an endless expedition reflecting limitless reflections within a vast iridescent garden of moist labial blood red Turkish roses. Within the inner mirror stands a tall and slender old stranger who has a gleam in his spotless mirrored eyes within which are reflected a tall and slender old stranger who has a gleam in her spotless mirrored eyes. This hypnotic Turkish wizard slips a string of one hundred eight intricately painted glass eggs through his fingers as he ceaselessly repeats a secret hypersonic mantra to release the strange and beautiful hidden magical birds.

Up ahead in the distance, directly upon the path of my hyperbolic trajectory, a partially concealed object protruding out from the many shifting layers of multicolored light and shadowy sand had suddenly captured my previously enraptured attention causing the temporary disruption of my unbroken stream of pure dhyanic awareness. Slowly I trudged over toward the buried object and, once having arrived at it, bent over and lowered my hands down in order to lift it up and out from the united veil of countless diversified granules of rock and mineral. Now, resting in the palms of my hands, was a radiating clear crystal Merkaba Star Tetrahedron, two intersecting tetrahedrons with a connecting inner octahedron. Transfixed, it was as though the past and the future had intersected and were connected by an inner here and now. As I gazed into the Merkaba, I witnessed what appeared to be a Black Sage descending from the peak of a Great White Mountain.