Reworking of: I've died to many things and many things have died in me.

I've died to many things and many things have died in me. The dying tune of a canary placed in the coal mine. Not finding what was first pursued, just stumbling gracefully into the penrose... holy ascending/descending... wholly ascending/descending... ascending and descending... a perpetual cyclonic machine, the inseparable naivety to the inseparable ego. Perhaps lost or found in wonderful dis-illusionment or utter bliss.

The naive pursuit of better teachings, stronger learning, factual truths, and a wide-spread seduction. A seduction to others, a seduction to instill others in a love for another place. A new jerusalem, a higher knowledge, the end to cycles. The reincarnations, rebirths, new deaths, "stinketh" no more. To find the eternal upward moving staircase. Every time, just finding, it dies within me.

Not sure if my ferryman days will come, the life of saint Christopher reached. Nothing gained from teh flwoing power of the raging river. The perpetual oneness of everything reached, never holding despair and joy. Dissecting it all into two sects, sinners and non... I cannot gain wisdom as knowledge so easily.

The canary doesn't sing to me anymore, he sits silent, let loose or dead. Maybe even my ego speaks over its beautiful song... even the song could have never even existed, just a figment, an illusion of my own (and the world I have en-wrapped myself in's) creation. Created from my confusion during nights, the nights that create confusion on their own. Speak into your subconscious, playing games with the penrose of the insane ones mind. Cheap tricks and petty games, alluring to the senses, the want, the wanting and learning. As if such is gained and I've gained anything at all.