A Lane to The Land of The Dead, Series II 1 "Crystal is ideal and as such a transcendental concretion. It is there when concentration approaches its spontaneous phase. One does not concentrate. Concentration takes possession. The world in its 'variegated splendor,' its transient beauties and monumental pertinacities, May flies and mountains, river flux, mind flux, soul flux, stone, arise, abide, and terminate as they will or as they must but the concentrated mind commutes with the timeless in a moment that is no moment merely but travels as if on the moment(um) of Being in the full but local enunciation of its apparencies." Wrench Boy would have inscribed this on a rock with crystal stylus if he'd had but momentary access to that which was transpiring in the being of Jaguar as the latter sat enthroned before Black Lake liberated utterly, the Chizzel of Liberation in his left shirt pocket, he observing the circle of ghosts as they ringed Black Lake, among them an image of Wrench Boy, the light of hidden crystal. Jaguar required no tunnel chizzeled in the mist to restore the Loop. Each of the Confederates would attain her own liberation. The others also to form a ring within or without -- each its own ghost when transposed across Black Lake or through a transitory tunnel. These three artifacts or coverings of Being itself: Black Lake, Tunnel, Crystal . . .  The Garden arranges each element, composes a scenario and a site where all determinate coverings might fade into their singular Liberation.  At the two foci of the elliptical enclosure-- monumental chizzel-- ontological cup-- whose being cloaked Being itself. Jaguar completed formal Liberation by libation and deliberate articulated sips, for his concentration was like crystal, his throne placed where two carpets crossed as quiet colors ascended, descended and fanned out from his vertical spine, no mask now.  These actions have no history. They coil about themselves. They fade as they arise, timelessly. Hammerhead arrived at Black Lake in time to witness the Liberation. There would be thus sequelae, both in time and timelessly.  Let us work to bring concentration to the state of Crystal, the azymuth of mind's history, we all shall take thrones on a carpet, ten-thousand Hammerheads settle down to an exacting silence mounted on Jaguar's mules. Crystal is a cloak of Being. She sparkles liberally on the surface of Black Lake. She flashes straight through every tunnel.  Everyone sat on thrones about Black Lake. In the lap of each a proper opal with an asterism of crystal to mesemerize Melee that she herself might underwrite their liberation. Hammerhead and Jaguar and Mule-- as if seated at the vertices of the crystal. These embodied the Elders-- one Mouth with messages to be read in the Opal-- a shining cup shrouded in mist . . .  The thought of the Elders-- what they think and what one thinks of them-- waxes and fades with the liberative intensity gathered in the minds of the Confederates. The Elders are mere ghosts; but the gorge above which the Eagle Serpent hovers is real enough in present time; and there are crystals in the eagle's eyes and mules that trudge the paths according to instructions from The Old Ones. If they fade from mind, their being is not in mind only, but like the principle of crystal or the sublimation of a path that is a carpet, and the energy of Melee frozen in the principle of crystal: It is the Elders that give the sign to roll out the carpet or to refrain from doing that. Violets spring from their shoulders. And if they vanish utterly, it is only to pass away into Black Lake. What is the Ornamental Chizzel if the Elders fade out of reach? Who or what is the person or persons that stand at the Apogee? Not Wrench Boy, surely, not some temporary sojourner through the transitory tunnel-- Who guards The Cup? Who heals the Crystal? The Cloak of Being, when it's time to take it off or change its colors-- is it but a thing for a Mole to inherit? The Elders abide in the concentration of the perfect Stone. A Lane to the Land of the Dead, Series II 2 Open your mouth and inherit a mouth. No cup for that. Leave all tunneling for the moles. Jaguars in general take moles for their antitypes. And mules? At the end of a long long tunnel-- an ample inheritance. Open your mouth and drain your cup? Melee. Jaguar is the same as he was save for an unlimited and continuous access to Black Lake. The mole takes a mule as his companion. Tunnel or channel or information path-way: Melee is noise. A tunnel has two mouths. Melee in, Melee out.  A mouth is a cup or a pot. Mole saw a ghost when Mole gazed in the opal he found while chizzeling a tunnel.  Melee got caught in a coil that had no mouth. How? She found a ghost in a closed pot and opened it. Out it came. In she went.  A carpet supercedes mouths as Wrench Boy has no interest in tunnels. His messages travel without conveyance for they are already elsewhere.  Hammerhead liberates all carpets from the inadvertence of the moles. That which travels upon it does so in plain sight.  It is not that a mole's mouth is a gorge. It's just that it is mindful of its tunnel. The Loop rejoined by Jaguar must consider its transform: the coil; its shadow; the tunnel.  Anxiety relaxes. Now the work begins to uncoil the tunnel and locate the Great Cup in the Garden where twelve mules walk in a ring-- twelve unequivocal worlds--one crystal-- visible now to Jaguar in the Gazing Opal.  Liberation summons the ageless Elders. They stir the pot from the distant end of the tunnel. Violet opens an herb shop. Her presence and sagacity liberates ghosts. They fade away as Jaguar tends the Garden. Put it this way: History is a Mouth.  If you close your mouth, what good is a cup? Useless ornament. The ghost of time retires to its tunnel. There, Moles rules. We seek some other use for precious Opal than to tell the time.  The Loop itself is a mouth. Straight spines unspell ghosts. The Elders offer cups all around the Loop. Interval I have returned from history. The patch-work geography of empires at war has ceased to occupy my vision of the sky. Open cerulean recovers and the whole dome fits over the circular horizon. My diadem shines of its own light. Being entire explodes from every stellar object. Behold The Sun. From the center of Black Lake. Needles of light break in radiant spicules across shimmering circles. Behind the evening trees. Apollo from the north recovers His splendor. Moles run in and out of their small holes. The Elders smile on the whole complexus. They sit on their benches outside of space and time, outside of the illusionary logos, the horses of logic return to their secret embryos. Each entity embraces its syzygy. What then? Hammerhead tapped his hammer against the rim of the void. Invisible Cities shine on their mountains. Do you feel the necessity of an orderly world? You do not. Events are free in their momentary arrival, their flash flash appearance and the happy release as they are gone. Beyond the map and its magnanimous boulevards breathes the ancient Bellows. A Lane to the Land of the Dead, Series II 3 The spine was the source of some thirty-two sparks. They filled the gorge of the body's interior. The spine shines when Wrench Boy makes love with Melee on some cosmic carpet. As a cup it fills and overflows with jumping scintillae. The Loop was formed for the circulation of the Light among the 3 confederates and the harmonization of the energies of the one world. Melee is the force of the gorge that juvenates the spine of Wrench Boy/Wrench Girl in the Garden and the other syzygetical doublets. The cup is full of light. The confederates take it into the tunnel-- the carpet spreads wherever they wander-- a loop animated by melee-- a garden made luminous by melee-- a melee of scintillae-- a spine that grows quite excellently luminous shining from the garden.  The crystal vehicle is pulled by the mole. Jaguar saw it. A crystal without dimension but poised above the cup, punctiform, ring-size, or cosmic, brimming with violets-- one's history is carried in a point-- even the mules can know that-- all time compacted in a single crystal.  Burrow through the metaphysical tunnel-- the gap between this thought and that-- or fly across the gorge-- a dark cup hosts the gap. Reality fades away to be replaced by violets.  Your hand covers your mouth. You exclude the Cup, stay out of the Garden, reject mere ornament. Do you think the Elders order that? They do not. It is only the rumor of reality that ever fades away.  A crystal hovers above a cup, liberates Melee from confinement to a coil.  Melee abjures work-- it has no place in her nature. She explores the interior of crystal, defining miniscule gorges between its inner edges.  Moles has no life in a zoo. He sets out to explore The Garden-- thus his affinity for Melee.  A puddle of opals scooped out by a cup and dumped in a pot whose walls are incised with chizzeled sigils.  Certain energies cross twixt mule and mole, tracked as a pattern in a carpet, transcending Melee.  The carpet maps out the coil that wraps about the spine. Crystal rills ride up it and ride down. The consciousness of Hammerhead is aroused, organizing Melee as the Spirit of The Garden.  A spine has a mouth down which ghosts traffic. The moles move in coils. Melee functions as a wind across Black Lake. If you pour a cup of its waters down a tubular coil-- Black Lake absorbs the melee. A Lane to the Land of The Dead, Series II 4 The Land of Opals was visited by a rejuvenant Hammerhead. He had inherited an opal from one of his avatars. Some opine the human body is a metaphysical garden. Certainly everything grows there, even virtual violets. But Wrench Boy thinks it takes more than violets. Black Lake must be there too, else that garden is not metaphysical. Hammerhead and his huge virtual opal was rapidly revamping his habits. He now had, in his spirit, an authentic intuition of the qualities of crystal, and this had done much to establish rapport with Wrench Boy. Melee is the wind-- twister, dust devil, hurricane, summer breeze. A wind full of violets blowing about Black Lake. There is definitely a spirit about the garden; but as the elders excellently have it the winds circulate in the body's tubes and runnels until they coagulate a crystal. Then is the body the garden, the secret water of the opal, the internal house of crystal.  You do not chizzel your way into The Garden or ride a mule on a carpet. A mole in a garden inherits the opal only if no one else is around to inherit it.  Violets appeal to Wrench Boy. He gathers them up and pots them while holding his mind on the opal that equally engages Hammerhead. Together they work the coil, Wrench Boy transforming the gorge into a garden.  Compare Black Lake to a carpet, a tunnel to a garden. In the garden, Jaguar lounges on his carpet gazing happily at the huge opal that Hammerhead had extracted from its land. This was the work of Hammerhead and his rejuvenant avatars.  You do not tunnel through an opal or treat it as an ornament, though the members of the rejuvenated Loop inherit a pass through the tunnel.  "The Garden will never fade," says Violet -- no chizzel break off the opal from the mouth-- bestrewn with violets-- of the Garden. Crystals are placed above the prone spine. You used a chizzel to give the garden form and place the opal and let the ghost liberate the Opal and let light chase around the metaphysic of the Coil. A Lane To The Land of The Dead, Series II 5 To ornament a ghost is to ornament a gorge. Crystal's antitype: a complex coil. Inheritability shows an affinity for coils and tunnels. Crystal receives its ghostly ornaments processing ectoplasm through miniscule gorges-- little mouths whose native habit it is to farm nocturnal gardens. Best retire to tunnels and coils and mute the quivering crystal mouth light, for crystal is no ornament like a mouth  to be fed in secret by ambient forces though in night light it waits downing a small cup full of violets. Her avatars do this, hovering not above Black Lake but over an intricately woven schematic carpet-- the pattern of the crystals depicted there.  Jaguar remains at Black Lake superintending its deep supporting gorge and the melee that roils in its darkness.  Princely spines of white fire jazz up the black habit of Hammerhead. Wrench Boy started, as if he had seen a ghost, his crystal instrument set off-- it liberated the mole so that a distant Jaguar always sensitive to changes in crystal leapt into the gorge, his spine glowed, his inner tunnel delivered signals to his opal in hopes of causing that magic habit to fade. This was a new disruption to the Loop-- an exaggeration of an ornament-- it would take some work to work the opal free from the ghostly ornaments and make the overly stimulated spine to once again behave like a strong and nonetheless obedient sluggish mule. A Lane to the Land of the Dead, Series II 6 Work itself is a mule. Work has its eye on Hammerhead. Open your mouth and out comes a chizzel. That the gorge was chizzel-fashioned is metaphysical. Melee--a mouth. The mule goes to work for Hammerhead to build a spine into the misty gorge. That Crystal was fine-chizzel-fashioned is metaphysical. Melee has a mouth. The spine-mouth works the spirit of the spine.  The garden that once was a gorge is organized by large pots. The garden is a mouth. It devours that it might speak.  Its word is an opal. Its horde of thought is stored in a pot. That is what liberated Jaguar. He found a chizzel to work out hitory and acquired a fleet of mules.  They worked the opal under the eye of Wrench Boy. Worked it clear and smooth. He made a coil a tunnel to transport the contents of a fulsome pot by word of mouth up and down the mist-ridden spine.  He spread a carpet across the gorge. He found a cup to link the metaphysical loop to a virtual opal. A grand inheritance.  Black Lake is a carpet's mouth: that exacerbates the fleet of mules-- a mouth where a mole had worked an opal-- a mouth that was its very cup.  If we put the proper ornament to work, the chizzel-mouth fashions an inverse of Jaguar-- a universe of crystal whose mother is a gorge that fills a cup and frames a maze.  Ghost work fades and shuts the mouth. Interval There is work and then there is work. Mules made out of black bones and red mud, Crystals--metaphysical. And the movement of suppositious histories across the indefinite globe contracts to a center that strongmen devour in embryo and force the moles to elaborate coiled tunnels till a loop ensouls misty gorges and gorgeous mountains horizon the inevitable. There is no Old Hotel in such a world. The thrones that ring Black Lake and their associated virtual mules and the laps that situate the opals-- restrain the tendencies of their own manifestation. Deep Storage. Black Lake. Recur in the metaphysical. Interval Though Hammerhead were liberated in himself-- the avatars of his various propensities and qualities wander in the Virtual and here and there break through the veil of the manifest. No more than fiduciary realities vanished with the demise of the Great Bank, did Machination and Power and the strongmen concerned to accumulate the latter for themselves or for their local clans and moieties cease to function with more or less ubiquity. Hammerhead was liberated in himself, but of course, qua liberation, he had no self; or that suppositious entity was indistinct from the ambient and all-pervading ontological sky coagulated time-wise as if he possessed an open and generally responsive nature, different than formerly.  All beings conspire with their inversions and vanish blithely. It is not easy to think this. Inversion is other than Syzygy but, like specter and emanation, in the elaborations of William Blake, require each other, by way of contrast, for their natures to be descried. The inversion of Jaguar turns inward; his intellect constructs him. His world turns away. The glory of his energy does not radiate but the energies of the outside reflect in the inward elements of his inner, dark accord. We do not meet him. But when entity and inverse interact like person and syzygy, since manifest apparency and worldliness take form for entities only, "it is not only they that disappear."