Collect all your thoughts
run forward and backwards through them
with a scroll bar
and see if you can find yourself
among the waves.

http://geocities.datacellar.net/gnostictom/GnosticTomPosts.html 

Collect all your photos
run forward and backwards through them
with a scroll bar
and see if you can remember
who you was.

Collect all the books you've read
and line them up on shelves
and see if you can step back and consider
what it all means.

What if all the skeletons
from all your past lives
joined hands and danced in a circle
around your head.

What if all the dreams
from all your past nights
appeared so that you could remember
your other reality.

Collect all your thoughts,
your dreams and ambitions,
your fears and phobias,
your prejudices and reactive modes
and which of this is you.

Collect all your stuff,
your car and television,
your bank card for the ATM
your house with a locking door
and which of this is you.

Gnostic Tom

Helen sat on top of the tower,
looking down at the chaos below,
the starving warriors and
hopeless blind faithers
lost in a reality that eludes her.

What is reality anyways, she pondered,
as the sun set in pools of blood
perhaps promising tomorrow's rain.

What did I run away from it all to see?
That Simon shaking in the wind,
blown by his internal daemons
and his detailed and yet unexplainable
visionary dreams of who we all are.

The lepers' spots dance with the
delusional bliss of having been healed
by something better than the harsh fates
of this cruel and heartless planet.

Was he really dead now?
She could feel his heart beating
across the blowing night sands
and thus she knew he was still alive.

Go to the top of our mountain
and there you will see me again,
he had promised her before the event.

How could he?  How could you be betrayed
by your own flesh and blood child?
He was trusted with the bag of money,
and that was all he was taught to value.

A morning walk up the mountain,
at first following the trail by memory,
knowing each turn, each trip, each marker.

It is a cold wind that blows nobody
a bit of absolute truth, even if the
truth is subjective.

Seven times he had touched her
with that magic feeling of dispelling
all of the baggage she was carrying
from a repressed childhood combined
with an exploratory having fallen
off the edge of the world phase.

She had poured massage oil
onto his glowing hot body and
tickled him with her long flowing hair.

Why this waste, the evil son shreaked,
knowing the cost of the oil
and how much he could get for it
by bartering in the marketplace.

Judas, son of Simon!
The mother's voice echoed in the
dim unlit dark dank home.
You tell him, Martha, Helen thought.

Judas had other plans.
He was disillusioned by his father's
self proclaimed divinity and
wanted nothing more really for him
than a nice home with padded walls
and crayons for his toes
to record his prophectic ramblings.

Now the sun was rising,
just as promised in the ancient
texts where Samson's hair grows back
in spite of the Delilah of the night air
having other fiendish plans and all.

There he stood by some wild flowers
along the narrow path that leads to life.
It couldn't be HIM, but it looked like him.

"Jesus Christ!  You startled me",
Helen said to the shadow on the ground.
Simon turned to her with the great
compassion that he was known for
and she ran to embrace him in
a stalking sort of way.

Touch me and you will have to ascend
with him, for I have cross over
into another form of being.

Simon glowed with the light of
a million little things that happen to glow
and she could glimpse and see
into that other dimension that
he was talking about.

A great ceremonial table was set,
and Simon was seated in this velvet
vision of a feast, but in a weird sort
of way, since everyone was seated on
the one side of the table.

He passed this cup around and
everyone who drank from this cup
took on the same million little things glow
that Simon had.

Helen sat down beside Simon,
leaning her head on his chest
like the beloved disciple she was,
hopelessly in love and in awe
of the man who had changed her life.

The cup was passed to her
and she drank, as if partaking
of the ambrosa of Olympus,
she felt warm all over
and quite buzzed.

When she woke up, she was back in the tower,
she looked down at the soldiers
trying to invade her bliss,
nothing's going to change my world, she sung.

Jumping off the top of the tower
learning to fly, but failing as anticipated,
she managed to land on a soldier
that had been praying for inspiration from above.

when she woke up again, there was Simon,
it was a different world,
a world of peace and harmony,
dogs and cats getting along,
and she knew Simon had been right all along.

And that is the story of Helen.
Some thought she was a little off in the head.
Some thought she was really a forest nymph
who had tripped over the portal to humanity,
but those have been mostly discredited.

To see what Helen saw, to get the perspective
of her life in the tower, of her obsession
with a reed shaken by the wind, may lead one
to the narrow path that leads up the mountain.



in the groove, in synch, on that narrow path, or however it is thought of, there are no accidents, opportunities jump out, intuitions know the options that others don't see, synchronicities make events fall into place, assurances jump out as insider signs and accomplishments are made that are impossible, mountains are moved into the sea, trees blossom out of season, and we walk on water and through walls Christ was hinting at the magick of this state, state of mind, state of being, state of intending beyond all of the labels and blind faiths of relgions, this "groove" is the one thing i have gnosis of, direct experience with.
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