A Strange Bus Ride with Quetzalcoatl: An Unknown World of Pre-Natal Blue Lights as Summons for Jim Morrison and Novalis

An American Prayer, Jim Morrison

An American Prayer, Jim Morrison

The Blue Flower

The Blue Flower: The Divine Mother Symbol

A Strange Bus Ride with Quetzalcoatl: An Unknown World of Pre-Natal Blue Lights as Summons for Jim Morrison and Novalis

“The blue bus is calling us

The blue bus is calling us

Driver, where are you taking us”. (The End, Jim Morrison, The Doors, 1967)

The finite image of the blue bus mentioned by Jim Morrison in his lyrics ‘The End’ opens up a lot of infinite possibilities within- it stands for the archetypal image of Novalis’ ‘blue flower’  (Nilkantha, the blue flower resembling the throat of Shiva after he drank the world-poison to save the cataclysm) ) which stands for the love for beauty in things – the reality that Einstein said was comprehensible. Though, locally it may stand for a pain killer that was often used by the 60’s aficionados, it was more a conscious search for the inner-nature in man – the ‘self’ that hides in the body, the self’ that is connected with ‘many selves’ in the cosmic world. This was an individual moment of self-realization, a movement that is subjective and non-local as well. The finite melts beyond a certain point of perception and if the doors are cleansed then it is a clear call (Light signal Flash) from the other side, into an infinite blue welding of matter in consciousness and consciousness in matter. The image of the bus is symbolic of a modern man’s journey into the infinite cities, the ‘psychedelic experiences’ that we seek to return us back into that state of pristine innocence which William Blake talked about in the Songs of Innocence. ‘Experience’ grants ‘innocence’- the lamb of god is same as the wrath of the tiger:

“In the juvenescence of the year / came Christ the tiger / … Us he devours”.

– T. S. Eliot (Gerontion)

Sri Aurobindo’s disciple Dilip Kumar Roy (dadaji) was once told by his friend Krishnaprem while talking about Sri Krishna that we should never miss ‘the last bus to cross the frontier’, metaphorically it’s the faith that we should never sacrifice in our lives; faith in ourselves, faith in our abilities because it is the only source of our power and thinking.

Novalis’ ‘blue flower’ and ‘Jim Morrison’s ‘blue bus’ have the same implications, they draw us into a different realm that is beyond our three-dimensional existence. We in our ‘natural yogic state’ have access to these worlds as long as we awake ourselves from ignorance and death.

– Joy Roy Choudhury

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The Absurd Superimposition of the Bose-Einstein Condensates: The Eternal Highway of The Doors

Jim Morrison and Ray Manzarek circa 1969

Jim Morrison and Ray Manzarek circa 1969

 

The Absurd Theatre

Quartz rhythm

Hypothetical geometric fibres

The circle with the thing in itself

Unknown to the territory

Walks on the edge gazing at the distant stars

Birds fly rocking the girdle

A movement of the hips enables  the plasma of the sun

Rested on the streams of the seven seas

A deserted highway is a door to eternity

It’s the burial ground of our collective memory

Here, cars don’t pull up and stop

Strangers walk not

Not even the tarantula

Spikes of frozen earth laps

The wind’s hairy roar

Screaming across the metal foliage of rusted lands

Rolling like a substance without a toil

In a unmistakable world of quiet absurdity

Not knowing, it crawls towards that significant nothing

That which is our moving frame of existence

Relative to simultaneous points

Many years later your old Word is very young

Innocent like the child of a polished stone

Absurd, forgotten or gone.

– Joy Roy Choudhury

The Psychedelic Mystery of Time’s Doors of Perception: RAY MANZAREK TO INSPIRE US IN DAYS TO COME

Ray-Manzarek and Jim Morrison circa 1968

Jim Morrison and Ray Manzarek circa 1968

RAY MANZAREK, KEYBOARD PLAYER & HISTORICAL FOUNDER MEMBER OF LEGENDARY BAND THE DOORS, PASSED AWAY IN GERMANY AT THE AGE OF 74.

WE OBSERVE SILENCE TO PRAY FOR HIS SOUL -MAY HE INSPIRE US IN DAYS TO COME

SHANTIH SHANTIH SHANTIH

194I

Playgrounds of ecstasy

Running round

Worshipped at time’s ethereal temple

Disseminating the wild apple seeds of Brihadaranka

The sea recedes, the storm chased the black alabaster

Curled within the three-folds of ancient sadness

Drank the horse’s milk to labour the ocean from the stars

Light years of wisdom in the shoal of crystal fishes

Swam like the darkness burning in the coal

Bright like diamond diffusion of nights

Under the tree that bore the fruit of the miracle birth.

II

Moon’s orb

Surfing the wild ocean’s monstrosity

Calm pale and languid on the beach

Lying like crab shells

Broken in patterns of artistic synchronicity

A hymn to find the locus of Horus.

– Joy Roy Choudhury

The Plasma of Creative Vortex within the Quantum Juke-Box and the Wonderland Toys of Syd Barrett’s Time-Machine

Syd Barrett (6th January 1946 – 7th July 2006)

Syd Barrett (6th January 1946 – 7th July 2006)

 

 

“A movement is accomplished in six stages 
And the seventh brings return. 
The seven is the number of the young light 
It forms when darkness is increased by one. 
Change returns success 
Going and coming without error. 
Action brings good fortune. 
Sunset”.

– Chapter 24, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn (1967, Barrett, Pink Floyd)

The Plasma of Creative Vortex within the Quantum Juke-Box and the Wonderland Toys of Syd Barrett’s Time-Machine

Consciousness-Analogue

The streets gazed for a lonely hour

Infinite in that  world of self-reflection

Cars pulled the daydream of the sun

Wheeling across empty surface of lands

There are forgotten highways to golden octopus

Tentacles crawled the mirror of memory

Deep within the substance of matter a game of  sorts is played; the grasshopper whirls

 

The green home becomes pale, indistinct

Extinguished are the sources of light

In the intrepid darkness

The path half known leads to dire questioning  of  the self

Sacred Rock

Sacred Rock, Photograph, Joy Roy Choudhury

 

Where are we going? Who am I?

What light years have we traveled in the lyre of music?

Dipping donuts in the musk tea, the strings are strummed by an invisible hand

We only recognize what we see; the rest is the secret of the Law

Our change changes over the time making us tools to our own machines

“What did you dream?

It’s alright we told you what to dream”.

As I walk and  feel, others as strangers are receding behind me

I think for a while; a puff of dust soon follows the trail of the candyman

Into that musical room where clocks work magnificently well

All shapes and sizes ticking every billionth of a second

In precise geometric configurations

Where time is finally lost  in a Wonderland

A merry-go-round – summer’s trapeziums are winter landscapes of a higher truth

I fell through that tunnel into the other side

Invoking rapidly the sign of my ancient birth

Buttercups dandelions and the mystic fragrance of the emerald shores

Resurrecting my own cause

From a blind nothing of the imperial Absolute

I stand within and cross over the bridge

To end where I began

The journey of the man in a ship of fools.

– Joy Roy Choudhury

Ref:

“What did you dream?

It’s alright we told you what to dream”.- Welcome to the Machine/Wish You were Here, Roger Waters, Pink Floyd, 1975

THE LAST RITE OF THE SACRED FIRE IN THE OVOVIVOUN: TRANSLATION MEMORY MATRIX AND QUANTUM TIME CONVERGENCE OF HISTORICAL POINTS (Non-local movie per vecta ionic acceleration of space-time frame-shifts)

THE LAST RITE OF THE SACRED FIRE IN THE OVOVIVOUN: TRANSLATION MEMORY MATRIX AND QUANTUM TIME CONVERGENCE  OF HISTORICAL POINTS (Non-local movie per vecta ionic acceleration of space-time frame-shifts)

Jim Morrison, An American Pastoral (1969)

Jim Morrison, An American Pastoral (1969)

An American Pastoral (1969)

An American Pastoral (1969)

We made a film about words and silence

We made a film about the sound

You and I, repeat what we are

Birth, life, seeing and hearing

To find the word lost in images

And images lost in the field of memory

Finding and failing, in the light, in the darkness

To seek, to recover the first scene

From the udder of a sun-vast recess

When born was Idea in the dawn of intuition

 

A red flame of the Heraclitean fire

Tonight we shall remake this film

A film that restores the emblem of peace

From nether shadows that engulfed the sun,

From the fear and trembling and the eclipse and death

Driving through New Mexico under the stars

In the night of the Hopi dance around the sacred fire

Long after Kierkegaard’s death

Long after Van Gogh’s and Bunuel’s

All are awakened in the still silence of the Himalayas

und das  Wasser fliesst     

You and I,

Let us go to remake the film.

The Mystic Mountains

The Mystic Mountains/Photograph Joy Roy Choudhury

– Joy Roy Choudhury (From collection of poetry” Rains Winds and Cycles, Kindle Edition Amazon)

http://www.amazon.com/Rains-Winds-And-Cycles-ebook/dp/B009HX1S2U


Refs:

[1] The ever-living fire; Heraclitus, the Greek philosopher conceived fire as the primordial element out of which matter evolved; “That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and the Comfort of Resurrection”, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Poems. 1918.

[2] An iconic philosophical book by Danish philosopher, Søren Kierkegaard

[3] Danish philosopher and theologian (1813-1855)

[4] Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890), Dutch Post-Impressionist painter who was famous for his paintings of sunflowers and landscapes.

[5] Luis Buñuel (1900-1983), Spanish-born filmmaker who moved to Paris and directed a series of path breaking surreal films, notably one with the artist Salvador Dali.

[6] And the water flows.

RABINDRANATH TAGORE’S 151st Birth Anniversary, 9th May, 2013: GITANJALI AS EXPRESSIONS OF UNIVERSAL CONSCIOUSNESS AND THE NUCLEAR SUBSTANCE OF SURRENDER TO THE PRIMA-MATRA OF CREATIONAL EXISTENCE

Tagore and Einstein, July 1930

Tagore and Einstein, July 1930

RABINDRANATH TAGORE’S 151st Birth Anniversary, 9th May, 2013: 

GITANJALI AS EXPRESSIONS OF UNIVERSAL CONSCIOUSNESS AND THE NUCLEAR SUBSTANCE OF SURRENDER TO THE PRIMA-MATRA OF CREATIONAL EXISTENCE

Consciousness-Analogue

Substance forms the soul, the soul is substance

It splits into object and subject

Floating in the naked veil of consciousness

Unwrapping its own continuity

It’s own sense of the magnificence of time and space

Captured like a needle-in-haystack moment of our history’s invariant ‘now’

Beauty resides in the sleep of  eternity’s wakefulness

Rabindranath Tagore and Divine Mother, Japan, circa 1917

Rabindranath Tagore and Divine Mother, Japan, circa 1917

Aboard the quantum magic of the self containing ‘I”

Arose the sweet sharp call of the nuthatches

Desiring the sun’s womb in the cold gesticulation of matter’s open converse with the spirit

Songs are qubits with a special geometric Fibonacci alignment of their internal data -structures

Rhythm is the mother of all verse

Dance is the metaphor of silence procreating the non-silent hymn of humanity (distinctly non-local!)

Creating masterpieces that become frieze in the collective memory of our race

Struggle of the entity can only show us the long road to the ‘hiranyagarbha’

together: our tomorrow is brighter than the childhood of the sun

An honest submission like a speaking tree worshipping the sacred fruit as its koan

Disseminated across miles of green yards and blue harvested seas

Like a possibility within the eternal frame

Watching all that passes by second after second

Dissecting every acts of consciousness

The field of the actor is the Higgs-Field

Lila is the quantum derivation of the self from multiple selves

One is two in every two of one

Nuclear submission of Git-Anjali to the creative vortex of fire

All planets and stars are gyrating round it – spinning in half

I give letters to your words, light to your eyes without being recognized

The unrecognizable point in the creation is hrahum velta-brazuip virtual

As the hammer drives the nail, the lightning strikes

Thunder wears the ragged clothes of the rain

Darker clouds collapse making streams flow like the unending music of the labour of our fruit

Visions appear that encapsulate the syllables of Savitri

Ya Etad Vidur Amritas Te Bhavanti

“Those who realize him, transcends the limits of mortality-

not in the duration of time, but in the perfection of truth.”

– Joy Roy Choudhury

 

Ref: ‘Those who realized him,…in the perfection of truth”. ( The Religion of Man, Rabindranath Tagore)

THE YUNGDRUNG REPTILE WROTE HER FIRST LETTER TO THE IMPERSONAL TERMINAL ETERNALLY GYRATING AT TREMENDOUS SPEED WITHIN THE BLACK VIGEFOX-PREDESTINY OF THE SACRED REALM (HOLY WORLD CONNECTED TO THE LAND OF HYRULE)

 

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

 

The Treasure of the World-Chintamani, Nicholas Roerich

The Treasure of the World-Chintamani, Nicholas Roerich

THE YUNGDRUNG REPTILE WROTE HER FIRST LETTER TO THE IMPERSONAL TERMINAL ETERNALLY GYRATING AT TREMENDOUS SPEED WITHIN THE BLACK VIGEFOX-PREDESTINY OF THE SACRED REALM (HOLY WORLD CONNECTED TO THE LAND OF HYRULE)

Consciousness-Analogue

The land of the imperial lights

Twilight kingdom with hidden doors

Sacred realm of mirrors connected to Hyrule

Dolma movren gesu nei tra oceanic rest mass meon of the triforces

 

Language orientation of the sound purifies the heart

To speak with the quantum self, deconstruct the world (The Logos)

Memories broken ring on the caravan across the cold desert

Ourobouros, Monalisa, 2012

Ourobouros, Monalisa, 2012

I have carried on my back the chaos and awakened consciousness

The supralingual automated typeface of the anointed world

Was my reptilian grammar born from cosmic supergiant star systems

Before the creation in a another realm without the imaginary functions

Indefinite was the cause resting on a virtual point oscillating in many dimensions

That very moment elliptical and sublime

Like the last touch on Michelangelo’s creation

Dawning the begging of mathematical possibilities

Eternal collapsed on the finite surface of zero prefiguring one as the space time inflation

Expanding and contracting, the riddle was the holy spirit of nirvana

On my back I have carried the race and its plaudits

The couriers of kings the golden goddess of the waters

Seven sages, spirits of the holy book and courtesans

My body moved with no beginning no end

Mountains saw rivers, birds the trees

I saw them all collapsing in the material world

Without mind there are no words

My letter is not an empty space filled with unconquered hieroglyphs

Light far travelling became the sound of ‘OM’

Triangularly activating the predestined heart of the occult worship of my signs

I only exist, rest all are drowning or living or dying in me.

– Joy Roy Choudhury

THE DYING SWAN MOVEMENTS OF THE CLOCK AND THE CLASSICAL EPIPHANY OF ALBERT EINSTEIN’S TIME DILATION: THERE IS NO MORE FIRMAMENT

 

THE DYING SWAN MOVEMENTS OF THE CLOCK AND THE CLASSICAL EPIPHANY OF ALBERT EINSTEIN’S TIME DILATION: THERE IS NO MORE FIRMAMENT 

The Dying Swan, ballet performed by Anna Pavlova circa 1910

The Dying Swan, ballet performed by Anna Pavlova circa 1910

 

Consciousness-Analogue

Colours are splashed by the sun’s primal meridian

Evoking the silence of silvery nights

Dim light’s ambrosiac reminiscer of the seas

Over a book of Hamlet, recollecting

Ancient coins, stamps, murals and seals

Time’s prolific mistress Ophelia is drowning

Drowning in the indistinguishable ether of memory

At the bottom of the floor the mosaic patterns mirror oblivion

Unoccupied by the birth of a star or a stream that flows by in

Words are radioactive decay of atoms causing collapse

Silence is the superposition

Thinking allows us to master the universe

In the holy Ajna, the sacred fire is the peacock’s wish to dance like the rain

Darker the clouds lighter the burden of the sinuous hills

And as the peaks coiled like serpent’s tail He Fathered the deep symmetry of the race

 

 

Events that become the ground reality of things self-collapsed into one possible nothingness frame

Rest all are mathematical projections of the hyperspace functions

Divine Mother, Mirra Alfassa

Divine Mother, Mirra Alfassa

The candle doesn’t mark the end of time but eternity

As long as we live as ‘one in many’, in the many fields of the Symbolist Movement

Crossing the frontier with Mallarme and Laforgue

Into the dead analogous world of parallel uncertainties

Paris transfigures

As Rome as Venice

The flowers in the garden

Bringing Her glory of the spring

Nestled in the relative harmonics of simultaneity

Sharp like the knife’s edge in the chill delirium

Voices ringing in the far-off shores

Felt the constant stillness of the soul.

The actor suffers to deliverance

The mob cracks; the walls, the fire

‘THERE IS NO MORE FIRMAMENT’

Far and beyond as near to nearness compelling thy light

To manifest itself in the synecdoche of universal bliss.

 

-Joy Roy Choudhury

Ref: ‘There is no more firmament’, one-act surrealist play by French playright Antonin Artaud, 1920s