This is what the Queen of Hearts looks like. Arriving after traveling ages in darkness. Standing tall, safely in the light, after entering the west gate at Kensho. Crown flickering dimly in the glow of a full moon. The paths I followed leaning on my rosewood and amethyst staff was marked only by shooting stars. Here now full of the wisdom of many lives. Overflowing with fruit and gifts imaginable only to children. The journey was a mystic experience. A trial by fire spewed by the dragon of yesterday defeated by phoenix rising Ending with a high frequency an epiphany at the gate The vibrating physical manifestation of sound The energy of it was like electrocution without pain An amplified buzzing of millions of bees, or The largest bell in existence being rung inside your head.
No, it was more like an entire thunderstorm fully charged compressed into seconds.
Simultaneously filling and obliterating all of existence the only, albeit insufficient, example to give is using sound and ears as a metaphor. For it was too loud and not painful to have been made by my ears. It occupied the space within my head between my ears It is difficult to describe a sound
That ears do not produce with out self sacrifice. And somehow I hear clear as day now.
Painting the picture is like trying to describe a physical 6th sense combining feeling and sound controlled and interacted with by mind. Only a fleeting thought completely finished it The experience only lasted seconds. I can’t be sure how many A timeless sound you don’t hear with mortal ears But can only hear when you’re soul is completely listening It was the sound of the soul listening and the feeling of the soul receiving that sound. A fitting welcome from the source for a queen at the gate of eternal bliss.
I have reached the top of the mountain on foot. Walked through the gate head held high. And people are flying around pointing at the top in helicopters. Seeking only a view and taking pictures for show and tell. I know it is because they are lost. The landmarks for the paths have worn away with age. The maps are torn and outdated. Cool groves once gathering places are overgrown with weeds and thorns becoming a den of thieves. Signs, though carved in stone, are in ancient sacred unintelligible languages. Their meaning lost in the depths. The surround sound system on the peak announces every tune that has reached it yet, no one listens for their discord. The cacophony filled me with sorrow over the plight of the travelers. It put me in a place where I was like a baby trying to make sense of the world in a whole new way. I thought am I the only one? Is there no other breathing person who is here at this place just past seconds of emptiness? Just seconds after being filled with the sound of creation? How did I find this place of solitude with only an internal compass? Who else is present and willing here? Am I alone with my cup? Must I return to sit across from the chaos and destruction at the table of existence seated in the thrones of the Kings of Diamonds and Clubs? Nevertheless neither doubt nor evil occupy space in the shade under the solitary tree rooted in the top of the mountain. At the gate past which truth reigns over the noble soul.
This is where I am now. After a personal spiritual journey through the gate of bliss And the fall afterward of knowing That the only way back down for me is a new path. The apple has been eaten I feel now like the blackness of the Queen of Spades Toiling planting seeds in cold hard earthen vessels.
It may be lunacy of itself to know so surely
That I ever was at a place so confident.
That the place I am at now does not exist.
But it does.
And I am