Tag: Gnosis

conspiracy to kill the creator

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Gnosis, Gnostic, Kenoma, liminal, liminality, limineen, Poem, poetryLeave a comment

she sips a glass
of wine
and admits, agrees
she too, doesn’t want to be

on this prison planet
under these archons,
guided and insulated by sadistic angels,
both, in servitude to the demiurge

no escaping it, Them

even in Bucolia

she’s still plagued by the 24-hour news cycle,
contemplation that often veers off into nihilism,

and, by bouts of suicidal ideation
— but to go back around, back to another false birth in this Samsara, to start over? — no thanks //

perhaps crying in the wilderness, then.

where is that, exactly?
the mountains, buttes and canyons also betray us — those ancient Watchers, the petroglyphs warned us of
— and of shapeshifters cloaked in feathers, fur and scales ///

she knows she can’t save her Self, preserve her Pneuma and reunite with her Daimon,
solely with an Earth-based practice of resistance

and, so begins the invocation, the genesis of her mission,

she supposes the element of surprise may be compromised by Their so-called omniscience

but who knows – what They actually know

even gods have blindspots
even gods sleep and fuck — or mindlessly scroll and binge

we, Their creation, create Their content, after all

yes.

she will go to Them

traversing the liminal terrain

to find and kill Them in their confident repose in the Kenoma

ai | crone collaboration 2.0

On By ©️K.T. 2025In AI, art, Arte Digitora, Assay, liminality, limineen, Ouroboros, Samsaric Ferris WheelLeave a comment

i entered the following directive and multiple variations of that general concept into the photo/art application that i subscribe to:

A carnival at night featuring a Ferris Wheel with a sign reading "Ouroboros" and a roller coaster with a sign reading “Life" - with fortune teller / psychic booth in foreground

ai has trouble with words, specific compositional and artistic directives – although its rogue mashups are sometimes weirdly gorgeous

i’ll need to commission an artist in order to get closer to the carnival scene i’ve experienced in my liminal imagination and that has been living and lodged there for more than a decade

Continue reading “ai | crone collaboration 2.0” →

le claire [street] in june

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Chicago, Gnosis, june, Narrative, Poem, poeme, poetry, summer, TreesLeave a comment

originally published june 17, 2016, revised june 11, 2023

* please visit the website/app Falling Fruit to add a fruiting tree that is located and accessible in the public way to the foraging database for others.

the author’s mulberry-stained fingers

A clear glimpse
A clear thought
on this clear June night

Of age,
and Alzheimer’s
the old-timer’s disease

A clear memory recorded and archived tonight
An acute awareness of myself
tonight, in time and place
a new track to play on loop for a listener in my future life

a husband, friend, or son
a caregiver, a kind one
a visitor, volunteer, or nurse,
a grandson, or maybe — no one

A reddish dog, eating mulberries
from the sidewalk in shadows
Mottled concrete in the dim light of a city street lamp
obscured by the canopy of that beautiful, June, fruit tree

Woody Guthrie, the mulberry forager

A woman, middle aged, seems so young, even a tad pretty, in her mind’s eye now
Stretching her still strong body upward for plump, dark berries
Reaching for branches trimmed too high by the urban foresters
or arborists or surgeons, I forget what they’re called

On her tippy toes
grabbing, pulling, picking
squeezing the dog’s leash between her thighs
don’t let him get loose in the dark, don’t let him get skunked in the dark

contorted mulberry tree at night

the same contorted mulberry in Sun’s light: wowowow

Some of the best ones are lost in the awkward tussle
before she can palm them, save them, taste them
She triggers a reverberative rain from boughs on high
That precise, delicate sweetness of the bounty in her mouth

The dog’s belly full of the ripe windfall
sustained by both gravity and this woman
His name was Woody, or Digby, I think
He used to climb into our sleep

Smashed and whole
The street, sidewalk and cars stained
by the impressive purple mess
the dark grass hiding perfect treasures for doves tomorrow morn

She and that dog,
They were urban foragers and gleaners in June.

All month long, her fingertips, feet and lips
tinted with their fuchsia dye, it didn’t even once occur to her to check his paws

A clear, recollection of acute melancholy:
this day — that day was also her son’s birthday //
The first birthday he ever spent away from home, away from her — in Nebraska, or was it Alaska?

That glorious tree, that good dog, that golden boy

an impressive purple mess-feast

2023 addendum:

Continue reading “le claire [street] in june” →

Remember thy Self to keep holy

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Crone, Crone Consciousness, Gnosis, Gnostic, Mary MagdaleneLeave a comment

“You was blind to Him as your footprints in the ashes, but He saw you.

Beneath every disguise; in every gesture false or true; every silent resentment – He saw you in those dark corners. He heard you. Oh my brothers, He heard those thoughts.

Now, I am here today to talk to you about reality. I’m here to tell you about what you already know.

This, all, — this, is not real. It is merely the limitation of our senses which are meager devices. Your angers, and your griefs and your separations, are a fevered hallucination, one suffered by us all, we prisoners of light and matter…

Our faces pressed to the bars, lookin’ out, lookin up, askin’ the question, beggin’ the question — “Are YOU there?” Would that we had ears to hear – because every moment, every now — is an answer; every beat of every heart, every second of every minute, every minute of every hour, every hour of every day — is an answer.

And the ANSWER is: “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

Your sorrows pin you to this place; they divide you from what your heart knows…

And we bandage our soft selves in hardness and anger.

You are a stranger to yourself, and yet He knows you… And when your hard heart made you like unto the stone and broke you from His Body — which is the stars and the wind between the stars — He knew you. He knew you – yet and forever. How could the Father forget His children; how could the world forget itself?

Doesn’t matter that the children do not understand what they are. Doesn’t matter that the world thinks that it’s many different things — rather than One – HIM. Doesn’t matter.

My sad and joyous, and frightened and courageous brothers and sisters,

I want you to close your eyes and let your chest swell as His lungs; I want you to feel His Portion in us – in each other.

Every single one of you, I want you to listen for that answer:

If ever your sorrow becomes such a burden that you forget yourself – forget this world, I want you to remember this truth, this is as indelible as the sun in the sky and the ground beneath your feet:

This world is a veil, and the face you wear is not your own.

The shape of our true face is not YET known to us.

And so I press my eyes to the bars, and I look out, and I look up — and I ask the question, no! I BEG the question: Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ! – Your arms open and close, and the echoes of my life could never contain a single truth about You. You move the feather and ash, You touch the leaf with His flame, You linked Your soul to an Infinity of atomic creation, and of It – I am less than a drop in the ocean. How then can I know sorrow, how then, can I know despair? – Does the rain know sorrow, does the grass and the mountains, those beautiful mountains, know despair?

Such is not His Province, and so not be our purpose.

Be in Him, of Him, and then KNOW peace; that is His gift to us — our birthright.

In the End, we will find ourselves at the Beginning. We will at last KNOW ourselves; and our True Faces will weep in His Light – and those tears will feel like a warm rain.

Amen.”

Continue reading “Remember thy Self to keep holy” →

limineen

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Alchemy, author, cosmos, Crone, Crone Consciousness, Derivate Works, exposition, Knowledge, Lexicon, liminal, liminality, limineen, liminine, threshold, velveteen, Word, WordsLeave a comment
the limineen
as imagined with
The Flammarion Engraving

Limineen : limin + een

noun: the time and space of the thresholds; attendance to or presence in, the in- betweens, the interregnum — of becoming and nonbecoming; of beingness and nothingness; of the material and ethereal; of sacredness and profanity; of love and hate; of calm and rage; of the authentic and the engineered; of inertia and energy.

limineen is both mood and State of this author, an Earthling, human, woman and entity, who finds her self present within and attendant to the thresholds of the corporeal, incorporeal and surreal.

from liminal / lim·i·nal
/ˈlimənəl/ adjective

  1. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.
  2. relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
Continue reading “limineen” →

4th sunday of lent : refreshment sunday

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Gnosis, Gnostic, Lent, QuoteLeave a comment

There is something we were never told, and this is that there is a tradition of no tradition.

A tradition of Wild Mystics or Wild Gnostics, that don’t fit into any theological or academic classification: A tradition of spiritual nomads that would not be shackled to any system or scripture; that would write their own myths and stories with the blood of their own experiences, which source can be found within their own entrails, within the marrow of their bones; within the dust of the grave, beyond what can be called experience, but that comes within their every breath.

These mystics recognize and borrow everything that speaks true to the reality of their bones without binding themselves to the rest of their traditions, but most of all, they speak with their own voice. Their voice cannot be classified or pegged to any known tradition.

tradition is violence

As soon as a scholar thinks he or she has found their source, another scholar finds that they were mistaken; for scholars, as St. John of the Cross said, argue long but never leave the ground.

Scholars speak of Gnosis and of dualism and try to explain Gnostic writings without ever having experienced gnosis, and therefore, gnosis remains unfamiliar to them and to their poor mislead readers.

Their arguments are filled only with words and a reasoning that can make a case, but that fails the source and has no substance. That is a tragedy, for they not only don’t know, they don’t even know what they don’t know, and that they don’t know.

— Tau +Rosamonde Ikshvàku Miller+,
Ecclesia Gnostica Mysteriorum, 2018
Continue reading “4th sunday of lent : refreshment sunday” →

3rd sunday of lent

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Gnosis, Gnostic, Spiritive, Spirrative, transformationLeave a comment

We don’t decide to become Gnostics, but we discover that’s what we were all along. We don’t adhere to beliefs or views imposed from the outside, but our worldview comes from our inner experience. Sometimes that experience comes with the sound of cannons. Most of the time it happens quietly and gently but nevertheless is life altering, even though most external observers won’t notice the difference. We are un-made and remade from the inside out rather than from the outside in.

~ Tau +Rosamonde Ikshvàku Miller+,
Bishop, Ecclesia Gnostica Mysteriorum, 2013

someone

On By ©️K.T. 2025In heartbreak, poetry, UncategorizedLeave a comment

i feel like someone
you last loved on a wednesday,
earlier this week

i feel like someone who was once your intense singular joy/ now and again, an invisible naturalist, poet, neologist and crone

i feel like someone you forgot to mention the Hilma Af Klint show to

i feel like someone losing our intimacy
exponentially, by the second, against a shot clock in an un-united center

i feel like someone whose forehead you won’t kiss; whose hollows you’ll never touch with hands, tongue or tip; like someone who’ll never truly climax again

i feel like someone who upset you with
Dream[ing] and that’s where it ended; someone who never listened to your diatribe about Waco, or heard of your plane rituals and four-part fruition

i feel like someone whose mystery you’ll let be; whose content was consumed without gnosis; like those cold “leftovers.”

i don’t feel like someone you will walk across a frozen Lake or Lake bed to get to anymore, during the apocalypse, Station Eleven style Continue reading “someone” →

Open

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Adam and Eve, baptism, baptize, Death, Eve, Exegesis, Feminine, Femmes, Gnosis, Her, Mother, Narrative, Poem, poeme, poetry, Rebirth, Sacred Feminine, Shes, Spiritive, spirits, Spirrative, Uncategorized, water, WomenfolkLeave a comment

I walk bare

out in the open

the Sun, Moon, Rain, Wind, Clouds, Sky and Stars
kiss me at all hours

did you see me open up
this Autumn?

after a Summer spent wailing,
wet, yet fruitless
after a Spring spent wading into lies instead of soft blossoms and new grass
Winter approaches, maybe the frost will kill this disease,
for good

I bathe

nearly naked in sunshine, cold rainstorms, in wetland pools and moonlight

unapologetically

|out in the open|

unabashedly

baptising
my face,
hair,
and eyes,
my breasts
vulva
and legs,
my lips,
throat,
spine,
and my wild heart

ceremonially, first
with wine, like Magdalene, anointing and anointed,
in the name of the Mother, Sun and holy ghosts

|a cabernet henna|

then, with rainwater from the willow’s edge, like Ophelia,
lying in the woodland and meadow, flooded
to cleanse or drown [to live, or not to live]
in the name of the Moon

|I ponder the stone cistern laden with glacial deposits and ruminant bones|

the woodland is abundant with new mushroom, new overnight growth

the hint of ancient circles supplants my judgment with instinct
and overrides decorum with new delights

|and old delights, revisited |

an aged grapevine is rooted deep, climbing, trailing, snaking
hidden in plain sight, everywhere
and I’ve intuited It as Ol’ Scratch,
I take a hatchet to quell Its influence, here

You,
Your windows are not true eyes
Your lamps are not enlightenment

So, bless the dark

of the night

of the country night sky

And the Moonset

of my moon

it’s been decades,
but
this place wants to birth or impregnate me,

and I want that too
i want it to

|I come here and open up|

 

 

Famêlée

On By ©️K.T. 2025In C.G. Jung, Carl Jung, Exegesis, Gnosis, Jung, Jungian, Knowledge, Life and Death, Mother, Ode, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Samsara, Spiritive, Transistion, Word, WordsLeave a comment

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This feels like an arrow
Made from a tree
That rose from
An acorn
That I gathered and stored
In another life

Scribed with a message continually
piercing my heart

I wasn’t only wounded though,
I was woke
into a clarity
that I was already sighting in my dreams,
writing with words
mortal and eternal

You once said, proclaimed or whispered
Every single thing
that I ever believed
My own truths embarrassed in the shadow of your confidence
My inner voice silenced in your animated persuasion
Believing you so completely – for the better of my years
Becoming like and unlike you because of it,
but not be-coming me,
Un-be-coming me every day

I ain’t even mad
You don’t know this – still,
You don’t want
to hear,
or listen;

Our time is running out
Even this admission
Is sure to haunt me one day,
and guilts me today

But I can’t call you confidant or crone
If you refuse to learn,
to evolve,
From this one archetype

The wide and long view
seems to escape you
You live in the moment in the least way, the worst way
And I don’t worship here or there, any more
The faith in your godliness is gone,
It is unfamiliar
For me to pity you
You, deaf and tone deaf

You had all the answers
In the morning shallows, perhaps
But evaporation revealed even those
Were anchor-less, yet stationary
An algae
Mucking up the colorless perfection of sunlit water

But in the deep, or dark, or quiet pools, you were always so lost
And in the ocean, at night
You drown even in its calm
You have ridden civil swells and storms,
I’ll give you that
But have you ever communed with waves
Allowing them to be part of you
Swallowing and absorbing the mystery
Becoming the colorless perfection of dark water

You seem to stay parched
Your belly’s hollow from impious fasting and pious thirst
You do know that’s where your heart sits?

But let’s agree to come around again, friend
We’ll swap places and next time
I’ll be the mother,
and the son,
and the husband,
and the elder,
and the babe,
and the foreign one,
I’ll become The Other One
because,
I want the chance to know
You

 

Her, me.

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Birth, C.G. Jung, Carl Jung, Eve, Gnosis, Gnostic, Her, Jung, Jungian, Knowledge, Quote, Rebirth, Tree of KnowledgeLeave a comment

Licensed under Creative Commons https://www.flickr.com/photos/curiouslee/11937802674
Created by Mike Lee. https://www.flickr.com/photos/curiouslee/ Licensed for use under Creative Commons

I learn so many new things each day, that I feel like Samantha, the AI operating system OS¹ in Spike Jonze’s film, “Her”.

It’s as if I am birthing myself out of my own ignorance each and every day.
– kimtnt ⊕

20141007_183235
Rooftop. photo by: kimtnt

The Bottom (RV)

On By ©️K.T. 2025In baptism, baptize, C.G. Jung, Carl Jung, Exegesis, Existence, Gnosis, Gnostic, Hylic, Jung, Jungian, metaphysical, Nag Hammadi, Nag Hammadi Library, Nothing, Nothingness, Pneumatic, poetry, Psychic, Rebirth, spirit, Transistion, waterLeave a comment

https://www.flickr.com/photos/isawnyu/5885591721/in/photostream/
The Well at Kom Ombo AWIB-ISAW: The Well at Kom Ombo A deep well at the Ptolemaic temple at Kom Ombo, which functioned as a nilometer. The well is also thought to have been used in the ritual worship of the crocodile. by Iris Fernandez (2009) copyright: 2009 Iris Fernandez (used with permission) photographed place: Omboi (Kom Ombo) [pleiades.stoa.org/places/606346]
 

 

Get to the bottom of this.

This, means You
Get to the bottom – of Your Self

Do you have to be thrown
down the well
through loss, by the grave, or near-grave

What if
instead,
we pulled the rug out from under ourselves
to reveal the formidable trap door

What if we climbed down into the dark cellar, willingly

to enter our infinite interior
to touch the well
the ancient aquifer within
where the gods reside and respite with our Twin Selves,
our other-halves waiting for discovery

This infinite, eternal presence
be-neath our weathered houses

What if we willingly descended
Into it
Unto it

And we learned to crave the Original Dark
and its companionship

Where we delve deep into our imaginations, dreams, nightmares,
That connect us primally
to the pool of imaginations, dreams and nightmares of every one,
Of every being that ever existed

Collective Unconscious
made Self Conscious

The dark, deep well
we may all draw from

Pour out your false light
reveal the truth:
the unbearable emptiness of being

Cup your hands
Or wade into the well
Deeper and deeper
submerge, swallow
you’ve been bone dry for so long
Do you see that now?

Baptize
The only way
To rebirth yourself
Into something worth birthing
Into something worth being
is by this sacrament, anticeremonially, un-ceremonially

Knowing now the bottom is
The only place where alchemy happens

Where wine is turned into eternal water,
instead of that story first told to you, by them Continue reading “The Bottom (RV)” →