The Master Poem is a text compiled of the writing of all the people who submitted work to the KAIROS project. It was painted onto the KAIROS wheel and Stefanie’s body during the live performance over the course of 3.5hrs by Loren.

KAIROS

I offer my words and my wits and my worth,

Reclined amongst ruins before the Abyss

A token of life, this stoic vibration

The key to the Revelation that we resist.

Brace yourself child, the centre you witness,

Imperfect creation with mind still sleek.

Memory pours ink in a secret location,

Each rupture a map, the arrow we seek.

Icy winds are looming, the land is not growing,

The monotone drone starts to lengthen each hour

Hurtling through space in a broken down kingdom,

Ripped free on a giant rock scorched by our power.

Tethered and tilting each contour calls

Four walls collapse, its a conscious choice.

Time all at once as the energy flows,

Moving in cycles, defining your voice.

The Great Eye of Ice, bedeviling the blind,

And the bound looked up at the sky and saw black.

With Seven veils for Seven heavens,

Beckoning the bold as the ghosts retreat back.

I wonder which way I would like to face

Hands grasp, wings beat, my breathing slows.

All my knowledge is that of a moth

On the edge of wakefulness, the memory grows.

Forceful in its stride, the blushing of nature,

‘Come’ she said, ‘We have work to do’.

Great power flows through her, hidden within me,

‘Magician be quick or you will die too’.

Viciously circular are the echoes of the future,

Resist frozen moments, the suffocating cycles,

Dreaming of magic is the truth of human nature,

Ascending and descending, all riding time’s spiral.

Channels appear and spheres surge through years,

Light floods the cells as a wild dance spins,

Through root and branch we swim in silver

Endless seas now under our skin.

Facing the sun between snow topped goliaths,

Clan Chief stands on the speaking stone.

‘Summon the Goddess, your gods grow tired

Of fighting the knowledge with knives of bone.

Worship her slowly, with the dance, the drum,

The writing in her temple of shells and debris

The darkness is leaving, soon we’ll light the fires.

Do not wait for death to set you free.’

Written in red, shapes glimpsed through destruction

A lithe lupine creature of sun-spun gold.

She gleams once again when twilight dawns

A vision of the future, a sight to behold.

Tethered and Tilting

In the garden
honesty and fate dance.
A wild dance,
a dance of thieves.
Viciously circular
the pair spiral round a stolen heart,
dance to its beat.
Slave they are to it.

At the edge of the garden
beyond the gate,
sin watches.
Empty chest. Laboured breath.
Coveted
Tethered
Tilting
Towards the dance
Towards the circle

There are no angles of escape here.

And so

At the end of the garden,
inside a circle of blood danced footprints,
a stolen heart beats.

Slower.

Leaking. Loosing.
But at this time choosing.

What we accept gives us peace, but strips us of power. Life cycle, spiral the tunnel of time from nothing to everything and back again, moving forward stripped of all that is here and was there, but the cycle remains the same, those were close now are far, to come back again, or to remain. A faith betrayed seven by seven times over, but in this spiral moving forward to repeat the same, without remorse, we are who we are and in fighting it we only become that what we resist.

7 stripped of innocence as deemed that forever, Diagnosis disorder medicated to pacify the different into subdued normality. Stand on the step with the door closed, to fit in with those who do not. Surely this environment will shape this jigsaw to be a proud piece in the wall. There is no innocence in a sinful child, thus they may not contaminate those around them, a hidden truth of human nature, inconvenient to accept. A raging fire that must be extinguished, may it light not a flame in the eyes of the deserved.

14 to know the implications, the death that would not come, to many who tried to enter its depths, unsuccessful, or uncommitted. Return to the blackness for you are a wound in the eyes of the father, an imperfect creation, shamed, and cast out. You created the scar I carry, so shall you carry the same, for you created yourself imperfectly, said the father, now I shall sacrifice my blood, to punish you. Let these wounds speak for your sin and shall you remain unforgiven. Only the Shepard can save only the deserved.

21 to know the depths of depravity in this world you are condemned; extinguish the brightest light, for it is imperfect. May you see the darkness that surrounds you, the fire that lights you up is sin, condemned again, for you shall not return, this spiral is too wide to feel the centre again. This centre shall you witness as you orbit around never again in the same space and time. In the centre innocence you will never witness. Tainted and estranged this world you are condemned to, you chose by your imperfect creation. Suffer for forgiveness, a long wait for a train that never comes, treat unto those more deserved, for they deserve it. Intention is a matter for those deserved, but sin is of those who don’t.

28 a circle so wide offset from the deserved. Faith is for the condemned, for only they feel the cold. Wander the earth in isolation the only inclusion of this world; for many lost souls will pass by. For one with mother earth you should respect the deserved, their fear of the depths, and restrict themselves from sin. It takes the strong to do good and the strong to do evil. But the strong must suffer for they can handle the burden, but the deserved must not, for they are the flock and he is truly the Shepard, he is the farmer, for their products they are of value, but for their humanity they are of inconvenience. To keep the wolves from the door, you must be the deserved, but choose no flock, born a puppy dog, to become a wolf or a Shepard, and take the fruits of thy labour, for the flock are given grass, and create wool and meat, deserved victims of their own acceptance, what we accept gives us peace, but strips us of power.

TIME MILLIPEDE

Time. A meal you devour one bite at a time, a meal you devour one bite at a time, meal you devour one bite at a time, meal you devour one bite at a time…

If we experienced time all at once, if I lived my entire life in a single frozen moment. I would be like a millipede, each moment in time, segment, limbs one in front of the other, slithering my way around my own perceivable reality seeking the path but already having walked it. For all of eternity. Or until the path stops and the millipede is beheaded.

When an event occurs, a violent event, whether physical or emotional, energy is released as force, light, sound, heat, cold and others unperceivable to the human senses, perhaps it is when these energies travel along the millipede like an electric signal along the nervous system that allow the few to hear ghosts of the past or echoes of the future.

Of course, the millipede is not alone in his endevour, I will cross paths with others, intertwining with theirs. Often momentarily, sometimes intrinsically. The writhing colony of millipedes, walking with or over each other creates a network of connections like neurons in the brain.

Only through that connection can we even begin to see ourselves as a single consciousness, a single mind. And only then we learn to work as one, to dream as one, to move forward as one. Maybe even meet one other. And perhaps go for a coffee.