These rays wash us clean like the spring rays wash off the crazy
clean pure outrageous energy of winter.
This is spring.
New Year. New Age.
Our numbers lie like apples.
We manage to hang on the tree all winter.
Rotten to the core.
We shelter the energy of the seed.
The Bardo--living vibratory.
It slams into this sun.
We twist into a new skin.
March into new dreams. New Waves.
Our magic is different.
The eye is quicker then the mind.
The dream is quicker that the materia.
But that is coming in too.

Our solo cuts across the stars.
Raging Mars music.
Saturn.
We all know this but I'll say it anyway.
Saturn doesn't limit or restrict, it pulls the wave into a curve.
A circle is eternal.

We jump up from dreams of Atlantis.
This is all new.
New robes. New rules.
Breath in with faith.
Bliss out and work harder.
Atlantis sits at the ocean's bottom sending out her message.
We remember, if only to forget again.
But we don't. This is still now.
No other time. Same dream. Same space.
The dream creates new angles.

Somewhere.
Poor Valley.
Clinch Mountain Range.
Mountain Valley/War Creek.
Copper Ridge.
Pumpkin Valley.
Lonesome Pine Trail.
Beech Hill.
Stanley Valley. Dry Valley.
The East Pumpkin Valley Light.
Dean Hollow. Flea Hollow.
The light washes us clean.
We dream raw sex.
Deva, the landscape artist.
Deva, the dreamer.
We're all the same.
We chant. We get cosmic. Space out.
Tongues speak. The gap is growing closed.
For once we are doing it right.
Pass the potatoes.
Music and money.
I feel like doing yoga. Hatha.
The rock position is my favorite.
Lie flat on my back and try to remember what it is I'm doing.
I get better.
I fall asleep.
I get better.
Now I dream.
The rock. The center.

Dreams.
I get stuck on them.
The lessons they give me.
I'm open to all the millennia that pours in.
Dreams and Birds rising.
Flown.
Breath deep. Music.
The Bardo stone.
The Tao rock.
I recall each dream like a lesson at my desk.
There are many lives. Many lessons.
(pause)
I give thanks to each teacher across the millennia.
Thank you.
I pray that I am deserving.
I find joy in it all.
Bliss. I am yours.
The rays pour in.
Immersed.
White Heat.
Blue Star Magic.
Red Ruby Dreams.
Golden Cards.
Green Coins.
Violet Magic.
Pink Silence.
Crystal past the roses.
I itch in the vision.
We pray to Saint Germain.
Shine the pure light on us.
This is the Tribe.
In the middle.
And Love.
Ho!
Oliver Loveday © 3/24/80/11:30pm EST