Where the Sol Has No Name

the sun has no name

Symbols may disappear in one place, buried for an untold time, only to reappear in another.

In resurrected form I can find these symbols, common property of humanity, wearing a new and more brilliant garment.

As I re-imagine, re-name, and re-awaken deeply mystical symbols and insights I see that the original direction of the meaning of these symbols has never changed.

Ever connected through many branches, back to the One Life…or Source of the All.

To penetrate the purity of a symbols undifferentiated form is to gain another key to the secret of the All’s creative power. In allowing the consciousness to explore the material world as phenomena, I also investigate the secrets of my soul.

Song is a clock, and the sun setting sings the calling of twilight, a formless form and nameless name. Breathing revelations in the symbolic art form of poetry and mystical currents of insight… awaken in me the infinite possible principles of the divine feminine.  It is in this land of the second horizon that my words bear a double meaning. In India, this symbolical language of the mystic is known in Sanskrit as Sandhyabhasa, or ‘twilight language’. It guards against profanity, the intellect of reason and doubt, and the misuse of psychic forces by the ignorant or uninitiated.

Language is incapable of expressing my highest spiritual experiences. The indescribable can only be understood by the initiate in their mystical sense.

As I play the game of life (which I often find so dearly challenging), my words and art forms hint at my experiences, and offer those that see more meaning, above and beyond one-sidedness, through subtle parables and descriptive situations. The psychic energies discovered through the unification and activation of living between worlds, and harnessing the elixirs of life.

Told is a message,

As it struck I,

Future looming and past forgotten.

Forged path to down laid symmetry

of time unfolding.

A secret lays, to cut the edge of beyond

All to magic give, and joy give to glimmer.

Intent the ride sings,

charms look as valued materials.

A secret placed in the stillness of motion,

the second wind,

in which a cloud is formed.

Trust this day, this release of resistance.

A notion clings to his past,

sleepy and restless.

the sun has no name2

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‘the rise of the sun’ May, 2011, Phoebe Surana

2 thoughts on “Where the Sol Has No Name”

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