Impulse

by Alejandro Jodorowsky

Beautify 

Turn hatred into a rosebush in the garden of your silence.

Receive as offerings the arrows that shoot you.

Clean the dark adherences carried by each word:

When passing from mind to mind they cease to be

Translucent coffers and become opaque moons.

In mute lands grows the golden flower.

Impulse 

Nothing your own, you live on a loan.

You cannot lift the veil.

Cease to hold your name. Open your hand

And let it slip till you call yourself Silence.

Hunting is forbidden, fishing allowed.

Come into the net you cast in your inner sea.

Be yourself the prey.

Into instinct submerge your conscience.

Ceasing to ask, receive as if you may

Be a sacred vessel.

You thought the treasure was fleeing.

Understand your search took it away.

You will cease to be a name any more

Among other names, but a transparent 

Sphere that contains them.

Posterity 

Each instant with his pious oblivion, without becoming

Memory, dissolves into the fragrance of the void.

Though the world may nail its thousand axes in your mind,

There is within the depth of soul a sphere that does not spin.

Your held beliefs have crumbled, and reflect the same moon 

In your every leaf.

Receive the promised port's aroma after a voyage through

A thousand chasms dressed up as whores.

Feel the child burn in your chest, watch it fall into 

Millennial ashes,

Suffer the thrust of the wind with your eyes fixed on the sky

And your mind in rags.

Be now the reflection of what you have never been, so that the

Traces of your steps give dancing lessons.

Pockets full of eternal absence, in posterity's flesh sow

Lucid worms.

Let the world slip through your open hands, throw yourself at the precipice turned into an apple.

Translated by Tom Billsborough