Transcendental Stepping-Stones

by Andy Spring

Quantum Wave of Soup, a dream

A dream of life, as hot and steamy,

As a soup.

My thoughts in food free-


down cascading water

f a l l s and dark-pink flower-petal-lotus-walls.

And then I always return,

Back to where I started.

Pacific Avenue –

Sometimes questionable smells;

Electricity in the air;

An atmosphere rarified by flavor;

The noodle house;

Smells of rich aromatics;

A flavor in flight,

a delight of my soul,

every night,

when I shuffle off the mortal coil.

I keep returning, to the noodle house.

To daily daydream light and buoyant as a bubble;

Dancing dizzy and giddy across architecture, a grid matrix of sacred geometry;

Probing the concrete edifice, I ascend into the astral realms;

Observing with child eyes, streets teeming like a bowl of broth, a simmering spirit:

Chili pepper sauce, udon noodles, assorted vegetables, like bok choy, floating in the soup.

The soup, singing songs of flavor flight, as I feel the aura glow from my body electric soul fire;

I regard my reflection in the bowl, seeing myself, apart from my self, across time and space;

My soul, as it, revolves on, as my mind, encircles, the globe, an orb, that holy and infinite space,

now as

A shifting grid

A pyramid

A hypersphere vortex portal—the orbic sphere, now a torus,

A Quantum Wave Polarity

This inner sight is a soul-soup, singing us songs, back, into, the enlightened mortal body

Life and Transitory-Death

fog stays in late.

i linger.

i enjoy sparrows, titmice,

and scrub jays for company.

i could die, it’d be okay,

watching all of my

hate, anger, and ego,

slip away.

in-habiting viscous

foreign body(z)

dripping wet

from amniotic

thoughts, we emerge,

a changeling – elf-selves of his former self.

we co-habit multi-tiered


we have hearts for eyes,

and a fondness,

for periwinkle skies.

his cone cells,

once two, now four –

the i of he, becoming tetrachromacy –

see what [ I ] can see.

look upon, up on, little one, to this pond,

stagnant, still, still stagnant,

see beneath ripples

and surface, and wake.

look up[on]



tracts of time,

and skies of blue,

that peek on thro.

this is what it means to die, to pass on, because

consciousness, always levitates, multitudinously moving, upward