This Will All Make More Sense Four Years Hence
By Scott Thomas Outlar Reishi and chaga and maitake mushrooms on an empty stomach help powder the path as I search for the keys to paradise on earth. The garden is absolution. The tree of life stripped here and juiced until the river overflows. Until there is more for all. Until the soil is soaked. Until the seeds are planted. Until the flames roar. Until the waters rage. Until the dirt comes clean.
But these are not the plants which eventually helped guide me through visions as I learned that even fear serves an important purpose. Crystals and diamonds and color and form. Numbers and shapes and sounds and prisms. Vibrations of light pulsing in shades of pink and blue, neon and transcendent, shift across a wall of white. Mandalas made electric. Languages born beyond time and space. Pierce the veil. Shatter the illusion. Expose the secrets of eternity. Manifest the esoteric miracles of grace and glory.
Royal jelly and ginseng buzz with the honey bees as tobacco stings its way through spring. Puffs of passion burn fervently in the fiery hive of healthy hallelujah. Drinking deep of potions, tonics, teas and elixirs gathered from fields of flowers and forests filled with magic. Ghosts with glowing ember eyes blink in and out of existence. Messages from graveyard bones rattle their way to the surface and dance. Sirens from across the sea laugh merrily. Spirits from unimaginable realms saturate the atmosphere, a moisture so thick it hangs in the air. A smog of enlightenment stained upon the scene. Grey. Heavy. A séance that sheds the skin of natural laws and weighs upon the mortal flesh. A spell of sacrifice and salvation. A candle flickering in the wind. A circle. A wheel. A cycle. A sphere. A gear in motion. A turning engine. A primal ignition. A spark of inspiration. A neuron bursting with intention. A point of progression. A dose of evolution. A grasp of intuition. A fountain of youth. An onslaught of ancient wisdom.
Chlorella and algae and green grasses grown where cows chew the cud caress the lining of an alkaline system. Bacteria smeared against tissue and absorbed into cells. Battery operated flashes of nutrition. Red blood swarm. Pure oxygen placed on alert. Spine fused and focused. Energy in motion. Kinetic movements of precision. Hot and cold showers of detoxification. Bathing in activated charcoal and essential oils. Perfumed symphonies sweetly perform as an orchestra from the stars aligns in the sky. Symmetry, balance, harmony, rhythm, cadence, and accord find perfect order and synchronize as the cosmic notes erupt in tones both high and low. Ecstatic tears from moon drop beams. A sun that weeps its rays upon the world. And then sleep. And then rest. And then dream. And then wake with a smile on your lips. And work until you're truly awakened. And then walk until you arrive at the gates. And be at peace. And know that unconditional love is a power that never ceases to shine its blessings from the source. Selah. Scott Thomas Outlar lives and writes in the suburbs outside of Atlanta, Georgia. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. He guest-edited the Hope Anthology of Poetry from CultureCult Press as well as the 2019, 2020, and 2021 Western Voices editions of Setu Mag. He has been a weekly contributor at Dissident Voice for the past seven years. Selections of his poetry have been translated into Afrikaans, Albanian, Azerbaijani, Bengali, Dutch, French, Hindi, Italian, Kurdish, Malayalam, Persian, Serbian, and Spanish. His seventh book, 'Evermore', was written along with coauthor Mihaela Melnic and released in 2021. More about Outlar's work can be found at 17Numa.com