The luminous blue streak of the celestial spirits collaboration with the cross of matter stirs feelings of reverence and awe in the village of Verump-mershine. For this sign in the heavens was foretold in many eons past. It would return, the legend assured, from the depths of the great beyond as a sign of the alternation to the next face. The gyrating motion of the galactic being has reached a new phase in its emergence, causing great change in the lower worlds of the tree, likewise the higher.

The entire community was silent, encircled in mutual prayer. Many of the villagers where out in the street, some where standing, others were sitting and kneeling, but all where exalting the perpetual motion of the swirling stars. A deep feeling at a fundamental level conveyed to them the oneness of their collective experience. As the light of the crescent moon and the glow of the celestial body shone down upon the valleys, mountains, and fields, one man knew what was to come. He had seen it before, and this night, he shall see it again.

Sitting in his chair of contemplation on the roof of Mershine temple, Endo-gog-Shine finishes the last of his zacatechichi tea as a foreboding gust of icy wind pierces his bones. He sits back and looks upward into the embracing Space.
I can understand how our callow minds become so bedazzled.
He relaxes his body and closes his eyes as his senses begin to dissolve.

lol wut??

A dark red mask covered her face, with a slit under her nose connected again on her upper lip and curving down the side of her jaw. The opening for her mouth was covered by a luminous yellow sheet, as was the top of her head down to her shoulders, exposing only her shining brown eyes. As she sang, the vivid overlay was waving with her vocal waves, higher and lower in rapid succession. Her entire body vibrating created a signature compatible with the beating drums of the man’s hands in their radiant fluctuations. His face contorted, and his body was quivering, vibrantly dancing behind her to the frequency of this moment growing upon the moments before.

Looking into her eyes, the scenery began to transform into a flat disk, the colors and patterns slowly begin to spin, resonating notes distancing from him. The viewpoint is twisting in a downward spiral, separating from the spinning disk and back into the withdrawing void. As he falls a disk of his own begins to emerge, flowing concurrently to hers. The shrouded and twirling face reaches out from the diametric plane as he simultaneously extends toward her attraction in a similar spinning fashion. They are slowed by the inward sucking towards their relative surfaces but they are not stopped from attaining the enticing bond. Both are now swirling threads reaching for each other from their subjective disks’. They touch, together in an aggregative euphoria.

There is such a thing as TOO descriptive. While it is nice to have good language skills, your piece is so convoluted I don't know what the hell you’re talking about.

That and I dislike fantasy, which I think is what your piece is, although that’s my bias.

I can't help it, it is the way I write. Hopefully the future sections of the story will help in finding a meaning. Also, depending on how you read it, there will be multiple ways in which it can be interpreted.
I am creating a new genre, one which transcends fantasy, sword & sorcery, space opera, etc. . .
Haven't figured out what to call it yet, probably because it has yet to be created.

Goobery?

SPINNING . . .

SPINNING . . .

Spinning . . .

The water has now arrived, subtle and shallow to the level where very few will notice, but these words you must heed, for the nyctiperiod is now ending and the hemeroperiod has begun. The new face feeds the layers of ab ante information, adding to the underlying landscape, preparing the soil for what is to come.

Spinning . . .

spinning . . .

. . . spinning . . .

He opens his eyes and everything is completely white, the luminous being sings the rapid notes whilst fading from his perspective. Two sides of feeling dissented within him, one of urgency and the other of calmness. As the brilliant light of the sun shone in through the open window, he began to balance his auric energy signal, and a gentle breeze blew the lightweight fabric of the curtains.
What could be the meaning of this?
I must hike up to the temple immediately.
But first I should let this settle in.
I must write down my experience.
Meister Endo will listen, maybe he will know something.
He smoothes down the erratic spikes of his field, as he recites the incantation that is linked to his intention. He then writes down what he can of the vision, when finished he thanks the Absolute and walks down the hallway into the family kitchen.

In his underwear he says, “Hello mother.”
“Good morning dear, would you like some breakfast, I’m making eggs and toast?”
“Well. . . I do like eggs and toast quite a bit, sure, I’ll have some breakfast.” He says while descending into the chair.

I get the modernism. I get the PoMo touches. I do. I really do. But this is shit.

None Other was spot on. I have no fucking clue what is going on. And not in the good, mind-expanding and imagination-provoking way that PoMo literature can be or the way brutally modernist works can challenge your conception of even how the literary narrative is supposed to work. This just makes me think you have no god damned clue what you are writing. Trying to free write, stream of consciousness, get in the moment, that stuff. It's great stuff. Sometimes. This could be refined into something tight and punchy, that cuts through perception and pushes the reader into something new on threat of punishment. But as of now, this is wankery. This is like virtuosity without songwriting; shredding instead of prog.

I appreciate your insight.

Could you expand on what you mean here?
Anymore advice is also appreciated.

Imo every clause is sickeningly over poetic.
It's like you're trying too hard to sound like a good writer instead of chilling and bit and telling a story.