Steve Bennett

Home ]



- Heart of Stone

- Karma Storm

- Animations

- Flight of Angband

- November Song

- Godlet

- Matters of Grave Concern

- Pillers of Barad-Dur

- Escher's Fish


- Desert Mosque

- Starfish

- Dragons in Moonlight

- Daughter of the Djinn

- Gravity

- An Inky Little Place in My Mind

- Animating

- Relics of Childhood


Heart of Stone

Heart of Stone

All content & animations on this page by  Steve Bennett  from  KarmaStorm














































































































































































There is a rock wall situated among isolated tepuis and arroyos where I once clambered, peering as I thought into ages of misty past at the growth rings of the planet itself.

It was there I found the Heart of Stone, where it had dreamt for epoch upon epoch after falling into some Ordovician sea, a drop of blood perhaps from some long-vanquished Titan.

Perhaps even Solomon would tremble to see the rusting fetters that bind it... 

how weak they seem to a Being for which time has no meaning, for which tomb and womb are one.

The sea at last thrust up the burden of stone, and wind-blown sand began to erode its prison walls. It awoke then, struggling to free itself from the matrix and the heavy mantle of ages.

Heart of Stone

You and I will be dust when this labor is fulfilled, when Earth expels its forgotten silent secret, or perhaps we too will at last awaken.

For we also lie buried within the countless years and lives, struggling and unaware that we are thus embedded within Time.


by Steve Bennett from KarmaStorm

copyright 2001



There is something so intrinsically vapid about the web, and I felt I couldn't ever hope to fill that emptiness with my little animations, regardless of what care and consideration I took in their construction.

KarmaStorm was quite a web site for a time, but I don't regret its passing. I like to think of myself as someone who looked deeply into the possibilities of the Web, deep enough to see that there is nothing down there at the bottom other than pointless links that only serve to guide you further and further away from your Self.

All content Copyright 2001 Steve Bennett


Karma Storm Animations

I am trying to get some of the best of my animations back online. They are all in .gif format - you won't see any flash here. These animations were all generated with the POVRAY freeware ray tracer except for a few rare mesh objects. I hope they serve their purpose, which is to provoke thought, and perhaps on the rarest of occasions silence it.

Steve Bennett October 2001


All These Animations by Steve Bennett




The Flight from Angband



November Song

Sometimes I find myself yearning for the silence of winter, for the feeling that the world and I are inaccessible and remote from each other. There is a fleeting barrier on some snowy midnights when nothing can reach into me - the door is shut fast, and no one wishes to come in and no one wishes to go out. All of Creation sleeps, dreaming in drifts, drifting in and out of dreams. Even the sound of my own heartbeat is muffled, as if it too were listening to the quiet November Song.

I am living in the south now, with a magnolia right outside my window, and winter is just a memory of a memory. I guess I will try this life for a while, but someday I think I will look out this window again, on a landscape of eternal ice. And instead of putting more wood on the fire, I will open the door at last and enter that world, and I hope never to return.



There is another window where I sometimes go, and I look through it. Not often now. I became confused if I was looking in or looking out. That was bad enough. Then I broke through that to a deeper confusion ...I began to wonder if I was seeing or if I was being seen, pondering or being pondered on. I find this thought deeply disturbing. But if my intuition has not entirely failed me, these things we call doubt and confusion are the uttermost foundations of Faith. And even if you believe in nothing, then you believe in something, after all. Or maybe something believes in you.


Matters of Grave Concern


Our Master has forgotten his students and his affairs, walking down a fiery colonade preoccupied with some important matter. He has no time to spare for thoughts of small consequence, such as you and me. Even the spirits of fire that swirl around him cannot disturb his single-minded concentration, and I suddenly felt ashamed, as though I were spying on him, although I came here quite by accident. I had no way of knowing that I was the important matter he was weighing, and that nothing could have been of more concern to him. I slunk away like a thief, bitter and sundered from my Self. That was long, long ago, but I still await some decision, holding my breath along with the rest of mankind.


Down There

Down There

The Pillars of Barad-Dur

They are there, down there, the pillars of stony-iron that stretch endlessly in all directions. They support the endless intolerable weight of our desires and our fears, there, down there. They uphold the throne of the Dark Lord. Almost I was reduced to ash in my sojourn there, beneath the mountain of iron and the slag heaps, the molten pools and grottos, there. Down there I traveled, but I will bring no further news to darken the light of day. Only, do not ask me why my eyes are as cold as dead ashes, when my heart burns like fire. Down there.



  Escher's Fish

Escher's Fish

I used to stared glibly at this print, and in time I taught myself Escher's use of perspective. But I used to see these fish swimming into and out of Infinity long before I ever saw a computer. They always seemed bent on some purpose I thought, traveling in unimaginable formations towards some goal, some secret destiny. And I also sensed they were completely unconcerned with my life, they were part of something that moved beneath the surface of our day-to-day Life, appearing only briefly when viewed through some porthole or some special instrument. Into Depth.


Desert Mosque



I found it at fajr, the desert masjid on the cusp of the new moon. They took me within their walls and treated my wounds. There at last I  found the coldest water the deepest well, and I stayed for many years within that compound. I  married into an ancient family and came to love them as though they were my own. I knew from the beginning that I would have to leave one day, but my bride and I were happy, for many many years. I hope you don't think that I am just writing crazy things. These events truly transpired.

They taught me the suras like a child,  and I finally came to realize there was something of more importance in the universe than my self. I learned to worship Allah from their hands, and if in the years since then I have failed in that duty, there is no one to blame but myself.

They are ahsan nas, the excellent people.




When these celestial animals burst into view, I am awed by their beauty. But when they become so stongly evident (as they quickly do) that I can no longer dismiss them by an act of will, I begin to feel as frightened of them as I am of falling into that midnight abyss over which they writhe; yet this is not a simple physical and instinctive fear like the other, but rather a sort of philosophical horror at the thought of a cosmos in which rude pictures of beasts and monsters have been painted with flaming suns. (Wolfe)


Dragons in Moonlight


There's a kind of fear I know, instinctively and genetically and strangely, from experience. It's the fear that comes when your proximity to something very dangerous is such that only by becoming completely and absolutely still do you have any hope of survival. And even then this passing evil may sense you, as you sweat there in dripping bracken, shivering and breathing in short rasping gasps. It's bad enough when chance alone puts you near this danger, but when this ravening pack of wolves is hunting for you, you and you only, up and down the corridors of existence ...that's what fear is. And it stays with you long after you have heard the last banshee cry fade to the edge of that forest, the forest of the Night. There is a drum there, throbbing against your own ribs, cradled in this kind of fear our progenitors must have felt when some nightmare of horn and hide stalked Cretaceous midnights. I still hear it after all these years.

Be silent.
Be still.

I always write in obscure allegory, I have my reasons. My life is too strange, and now it has become too long to just lay it out in a line or two, I would have to be quite a story teller to do that. But there are some things I can tell you of ... Once upon a time.... I ....

Once I sat frozen in fear, watching battalions of dragons winging through a darkened forest in late October. This was around the year of odd one, maybe two. It was the time of the Preacher.


Daughter of the Djinn


The Dragons take flight at sunset, sworn to uphold a terrible vow. It is the face of my Love that has launched them, for I have stolen the Daughter of the Djinn, and they seek us still.

Maisoun was kind enough to pose for this vignette of a moment in time, when Time stopped... for a moment.






An Inky Little Place in My Mind

August 2, 2002

My words have all left me now, they stole away in the night taking anything of value with them.

[March 8, 2002]
I have to change this 'blurb' when I get around to it. Actually now I am intensely employed in a position that is above my station, but the pay is too good to retreat from it. It's a blustery day in March, with wonderful lowering clouds and the balcony shades are rattling with the wind through the open panels. It's Friday I should be at prayer, but this is my day off now and about the only chance I have to just chill for a bit.

Middleman died from acute kitty leukemia a few weeks ago, there's just an inky little place in my mind where he used to be.

Every time I come home I expect to see him angrily demanding to be fed, or sleeping in my chair. I must have sat on him a thousand times, and neither he or I ever got good at avoiding that. He had a viking funeral as I believe he would have wished, and he's buried here close to his old stompin' grounds.

Maisoun is gone now, too.




Dawn is here again I'm up early as usual, I usually can't wait to hop and get busy doing nothing. Maisoun is gliding through her many-grottoed dreams and I think I will go back to bed. I just went through and deleted everything not actually on this website and it all fits on a floppy. Guess I didn't really need that 160-gig hard drive after all. Listening to the usual dark soundtracks while my little space heater melts the headphone wire. Guess I should go back to bed. I'll be working nights now, happy to have work in these not-so-hot days, so this is the way you may find me if you came here without an invitation. And sorry about the mess! But you really should have called before you came, I could've had tea ready.



















































































































































































Relics of Childhood

by Steve Bennett



Home ]




Posted   12 October, 2004   E-MAIL ME!  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  You may NOT use any information from this site without expressed permission & AUTHORITAH. For educational and entertainment purposes only. Copyright Garry WW 2004  <|>   7