As in the way a form glides into graces, the seraphic order meted out languages, all experiential and orbital, grace upon graces,

“Hark! Let us fly into the heart of hearts,
Into the soul-center
Of realms within realms

And the realm inside that,
A hidden realm,
Where only we live.
Contemplating ecstasy, divinity, lordship.”

The angelic guides provide a mist of flames. The winged eyes intercept the orb and elevate its constancy to the grandeur of the First Sphere energies. Emanations from the First Sphere provide the substance to dream in grander dimensions. Through the imperial lordship and the membrane of the eye, the sound of their amazing wings flapping produced these words,

“Through the volition of fire
Through the arcane eye

That seeded sounds
That seeded spectral echoes
That seeded our grandiose wings,

Lightfreezing is a method
For gaining upper sight

To freeze this light and to shine
Into the aural tone,
The energetic endeavor

That deepened the zone

The abstraction emblazoned
And kinetic action
Driven higher, into the most awesome realms
Of ultimate grace, majesty, honorific spirals
Into honorific ideals, the honor of the honor.”

Frozen music had existed previously. Yet the Lightfreezing is a new thing. To freeze the forms. To hover into the integral spaces, and freeze it with a kind of supernatural flash photography. A flash photography where the flash is an instantaneous blessed inspiration. And what is instantaneous? It is the flash of a blessed inspiration. Perhaps it is the eight of wands. Or it is Saint Paul on the road to Damascus.

It is the lordship of the supernatural lordship. The lordship of the lordship. A supernatural lordship. A dominion of dominations, virtues and powers. The power of the powers. The supernatural powers. And the powers hidden inside of other powers.

Lightfreezing exists in a blaze of everlasting glory, and the gracefulness of that glory. These wings may fly through ulterior dimensions, and appear to the mind attuned to their graceful glory, and reappear when the honor of the graces supersedes the glory of the glory.

The temple where the wings held onto the supernatural supernature of grace. Rare energy fields abound inside this frozen spectrum, yet this goes beyond that. Beyond the spectrum and into the core field of light. I had had that. I had seen that. The psionic experiments with the Scole Group. I had attested previously to actual face-to-face conversations with spirits. When I had recited my poetry on sacred land on a full moon. When I had Chant of the Nether-Spheres appear to me, word for word, unchanging. When I began to hear disembodied voices regularly. When we had dreamt up Gluuna Kraizel. When I traveled to the psychic beach, a space somewhere between the beach scene in Contact and Shakespeare’s The Tempest. When I had to drink gunfire tea daily to calm my nerves.

When I was doubting the alien thing. When I was reading John A. Keel and Nick Redfern’s Final Events. When I was burned out, and became the person I never was. On the streets of despair with angels floating above me. And into the other stream. Reality streams. Third stream jazz became the soundtrack for psychic explorations in the mid-2010s, or the fusion stuff. I specifically remember Big Fun, and having amnesia. It was actual mental amnesia. I forgot myself. I truly didn’t know who I was. I saw myself reflected in eternity, and eternity reflected itself back into me. I was reading different translations of Dante at the time, and already attuned to the idea of celestial hierarchy. This was when the Luminoids reached out to me, and my DNA went inside their database. They began recording my thoughts at a cellular level, a kind of tape recorder psychically placed in my brain, and it began to take the weight off of stuff. I forgot it all, because I had amnesia. The neural implant. But I had to become a kind of psychic surgeon, or a soul scientist, to surrender to a more embodied ideal, and to surgically remove this implant, perhaps based on stuff in the later Castaneda books, but it was way more real. When I was being given fragments of an alien language. When I was both here and there, walking between two worlds.

But back to Lightfreezing. When the electronic impulse coded the realms of angelic glory… well, it cannot actually do that. They say there is electricity inside the human body. The electronic impulse is just what we have here. The glory of the glorified glories exists in a state of supernatural glory, because it is glory. I had of course heard those bizarre shortwave radio stations. The white noise, the static. But I heard other voices hidden in there. Perhaps they were Russian, perhaps something else. The Scole Group had sustained visible light and supernatural proof… stuff that really goes beyond belief.

And the electronic investigations into life after death, and the photographic proof of that. It provides a frozen image. The words froze and they froze into time. When I am investigating my own private psychic detective work. And the inner phantoms. But when I am blazed on spirits and go into dreaming, the projection of these dreams provides a backdrop. Let me make it clear, I do not care for this crass and fallen world. I have read The Bible. And will remain true to it, if I am able to live in accordance with the grace of God.

When I am speaking into a spherical moonstone, alone on the street. Using it as a secret cell phone, reciting my poetry into it. Recording my words in extra dimensions, and into the nether-stream. The slipstream stuff. I get it. I see things. There are flaming mauve-like colors before my eyes. I can barely make out reality. Like I can barely see, because I have these contact lenses implanted in me by the Luminoids through dreams that give me a second reality. The hidden reality that acts as a kind of separate reality. A type of reality that co-exists inside of the other reality. But I barely even exist now, in a type of hyper-alien way. In a kind of supernatural way. Because of my alien nature, and because of my great and supernatural supernature. I suppose I am still trying to heal myself, to get that implant removed, and feel the shadows moving away. To work within that soul science to a place of acceptance of the way things are. To have that weight removed and begin to know myself on a deeper level. To see into sounds. To hear into colors, etc. Lightfreezing provides the backdrop for the new visions. The silence of poetry is frozen light.

Chris Moran is the author of GHOSTLORD (Solar Luxuriance). He has recorded music under the names Boring Dream and Cixarlow

*Image credit: Andrei Tarkovsky, Polaroid (Near Citta Ducale Church).