From the Sorcerer’s Handbook

Do not explain music
Do not explain dreams
the elusive penetrates everything
You must know that everything rhymes


There is something deeply comforting about this, deeply reassuring. Everything rhymes. A universe of correspondences, of sequential richness, metaphysical jazz. It really is a world of poetry. Tuning in to the rhymes and melodies, and giving praise and honoring and playing. You’ve got to be playing. Participation is the key to mystery. To feeling into the mystery, allowing it to hum and hymn inside your bones, to gather inside you in tiny concentric whirlpools.
Everything rhymes. A never-ending stream. Now I know why the writers tried to catch waves in the stream-of-consciousness, why they chased after the shadows of darting minnows.
Sure there might be bigtime ego involved, but one thing doesn’t negate another, its ego plus the fact that there is a trust and belief in the ultimate rhythms and jazz and cosmic waves rolling ceaselessly.
The ocean. The bottomless qualities of the ocean. What if we ever made it to the bottom of the ocean, the very “bottom”, and we found that there is no stopping, there is no bottom to the ocean, no bottoming out, it just goes on and on and deeper into the mystery, or we are taken to another world, another dimension. The ocean, like space, may just go on and on.
At the heart of the deepest ocean, there might just be deeper mystery.
A wondrous endlessness to the whole thing.
Everything rhymes. Stacked layers of rhythms, a structural base of sound, vibrations, patterns, recursion.
Everything touches. There is no actual separation. Separation is an illusion, a con-job. The touching is the truth.
Everything rhymes, everything touches.
The creation of a new mythology. Rooted in most ancient, pagan mythologies.
The re-mythologization of art, return to a state of sacred devotion, the world re-sacralized, and we praising, honoring, playing, engaging.
A felt-sense of the world’s magic, or currents running without pause, a divine seething, a convent of pure feeling for the unseen, for the numinous. A re-spelling, through chants and incantations, to language as a vehicle of sorcery, and you create the world which simultaneously creates you.
Everything rhymes.
Nothing to worry about. No explanations needed.
No dry brittle logic or tortured rationale.
Everything rhymes. A letterless alphabet of sorcery. A hidden lexicon of numinous glyphs. To get there, you must not assemble or contrive or apply boxy logic to a sense of ordered architecture.
No, no, no. What you want to do: hallucinate deeply, and abandon yourself to a state of reverie. It is this state of reverie, this state of longing (for the elusive and inscrutable), this is the sovereign way of the sorcerer and the poet.
To get there, you must be in touch with the blue flame.
From the blue flame, within the blue flame, through the blue flame—sorcery!
Everything rhymes in this letterless alphabet of sorcery, in this bottomless soup of jazz.
the blue flame
a thin mesmeric
whip of a girl
dancing ever so slightly
inside the milky-opaque
slab of glacier.
the blue flame,
grow intimate with her,
and feel your world shift

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, performer, and playwright, John Biscello, has lived in the high-desert grunge-wonderland of Taos, New Mexico since 2001. He is the author of four novels, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, Nocturne Variations, and No Man’s Brooklyn; a collection of stories, Freeze Tag, two poetry collections, Arclight and Moonglow on Mercy Street; and a fable, The Jackdaw and the Doll, illustrated by Izumi Yokoyama. He also adapted classic fables, which were paired with the vintage illustrations of artist, Paul Bransom, for the collection: Once Upon a Time, Classic Fables Reimagined. His produced, full-length plays include: LOBSTERS ON ICE, ADAGIO FOR STRAYS, THE BEST MEDICINE, ZEITGEIST, U.S.A., and WEREWOLVES DON’T WALTZ.
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