Welcome TarotBlogHoppers from Aislin’s blog!
Welcome to this Tarothoppin’ segment along your TarotBlogHop dance of “Christmas Present.”
Christmas Present Prescient Presence & Garlic
[[[ Devil ~ Lovers ~ Ugolin ~ Judgment ~ Priestess ]]]
La lepidus illecebra
A charming, witty, pleasant, and elegant enticement?
. . . such as a present opened from the mouth of a vampire?
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- Comfortabilty with your earthly desires. Mind that the omissions of inhibitions enslave as easily as the tantrums of excess.
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- patience, respect, renewal, resurrection, feeling unseen seeds cracking underground
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- (c) 2011 Jordan Hoggard Her fully grounded out-of-body experience flying as high as her roots go deep
There forever
they shall reside
under a small lake,
immeasurably deep,
lying high up in the mountains,
where is brewed the thunder,
and in fair weather the dragon sleeps.
Ours is not a lot to be feared.
The dragon is a necessary beast.
Whipcrack!
The older arrow flies broken,
til the hand’s firedance overrolls the lips
to lift the line.
Lifting the line
to further unwrap this cadeau,
the prescient presence of this present,
now, in the present . . .
There is Brahmana, your Priestess.
There is Brahmana, My Love
as she writhes as an empowering apocalypse,
as snow leopard sent as epiphany
to sleeping warrior.
You have your narcissists, though predatorial bliss is diff to a vampire,
is simply a pure life lived in each moment
forever resonant with ITS own way . . .
is sniffing the acrolid bodyair of this present writhing moment
opening another present across twilight,
through and into and across dusk re-awakening . . .
Predatorial bliss is knowing this small hourglass
knowing her own stopping power,
as She knows my dreaming life
better than I know my own eternity.
You see . . . I opened a moment centuries ago.
I’ll call the wrapping paper of this present in the present
a prescient cadeau of The Vampire’s Offspring . . . where . . .
The Vampire’s Offspring
juvenilis puerilis vanitas ostentatio jactatio
Feel your safety on your holy ground.
Suckle
on the myth of your goodness
in those places you hold sacred,
while I suckle
on the rest of humanity.
We do not follow you to those places
as we cannot
do those things which are conquerable,
and simply cannot bear those places where you sing.
Those places do not protect you.
Enslaved gargoyles,
traitors to us lest their unknowing feet
entrained in those prison-shoes of stone you fashioned,
and an occasional bellringer stroking them
as they drone high above your path,
where the wind is stronger than the scent of your life,
keep us circling above,
intent on your storied portals,
those lists of the best tasting among you.
Angels. You misname them.
They are simply prettier to you
than their gargoyle siblings
held down by those enslaving prisonshoes of stone
that you call cathedrals.
You should know,
there have been sly ones among you.
Those tricky Nassenes for instance,
knowing that in our vanity we will not touch our young,
as we, too, find them abominable,
stole away with nine of them,
worshipping them as they grew,
carrot-leading them:
You are perfect as you are . . .
Grow strong not beautiful . . .
Help keep us safe . . .
Up there you can see eternity. Live up there . . .
Turn to stone, it is strong . . .
Ignorant of their heritage,
of their eventual grace and stealth and eternity,
they were taught to perceive a strength and power
in your piles of stone conveniently shaped.
Behold Us!
We are strong and beautiful.
Can you resist us?
Gaze into our eyes and see inside your universe.
Touch our skin of winter,
and feel the heat of your passion
pulsing in the silence of our bodies.
Peeking through the wonder piquing,
can you resist us?,
knowing that all we want
is simply to open your entire life for just a moment?
Your silent guardians sometimes stir
inside their stony sleep
still unborn into a life
where they would eventually die into their own eternity.
They lie dormant far above you,
and nightly we circle.
Nightly the bellringer.
Nightly they stir far above you.
It is not fire or lightning
that occasionally rips the gargoyles from the towers of your cathedrals.
Keep eating your garlic.
We will help you stop sinning more quickly
if you are spiced up a bit.
Welcome to the opening of a new gift.
Welcome to your opening into a new epoch after solar system at orbital apogee with the Galactic Center.
The last glyph on the Mayan Calendar may actually translate as . . .
Time to re-order your Daytimer Baktunacus.
How do you open past this Grand & Epochal Apogee?
Presently, how will you open your own present of your Imagination Solar System across the magical twilight dusk-n-dawn at one and the same time both top and bottom of breath at one . . .
Exhaling, your shoulders dropping a bit to relax, the yin of breath.
Inhaling, the intake of life, the yang of breath.
Hmmm, can you Yin-hale? Can you Yanga-style-exhale?
Ahhh, nevermind that. Open this Grand & Epochal Apogee!
Nevermind recycling the paper.
Let the opening of your cadeau rip!
Open your prescient presence right now in the present as you open YOUR present of YOUR Imagination Solar System right now, presently!
Rip, J. blah blah Pritchard RIP!!
© 2012 Jordan Hoggard
All images © 2010 Jordan Hoggard
All similar, each unique.
Happy Mutha of all TGIFs today!!
Best to your Christmas Present!
Jordan Hoggard
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