Waking Is An Odd Thing. 

​I wake to the world of reality.  I wake to the sunlight which stretches across my room,  filling it white, white and receptivity.  I feel my body,  this heavy thing always part and parcel of me.  I reach for electronics which propel me into a smaller multidimensional space.  My eyes water and irritate me.  My hairs separate from my head and fall on my face to tickle me.  The feeling of my skin against my skin is close and done brilliantly.  I contemplate that all molecules are mostly empty and therefore all that I feel and see is mostly empty.  I interpret my dreams vaguely.  I write them out carefully.  I inscribe every detail and publish it to the world,  hoping somebody recognizes me.  I am lonely.  It is not always a painful feeling.  It’s something that feels like sand against your skin,  it can be welcome,  just as it can be itchy.  I think of her and this brand newly awoken me thinks of her fondly, distantly, unpainfully.  And then I think,  where will I be in this grand scheme of things,  when I die,  and the world collects me?  I will have done nothing with no one to remember me.  I will be elusive,  like smoke,  transitional and chaotically ephemeral. No one will think of me,  no but some will think ill of me before they forget me.  This thought usually fills me with self loathing but I am new to this day and I am filled with allowance.  It doesn’t hurt me.  I merely wish it were different.  I wish life better fitted me.  Yes that is it,  it feel like this suit called life is the wrong size and shape and sags on me.  It is also the wrong fashion and material and it’s like playing dress up in costume which consumes me.  Yes life is vivid and externally tactile,  enjoyable physically.  But it feels wrong to me,  in the sense that nothing is wrong but something else is meant to be.  And I’m sorry,  very sorry,  if you misunderstand me.  I am only telling you what I sense and see and feel and expect.  Yes this life exists and what is mean to be is something I expect but do not see.  What does this mean? What could it be. 
Waking is an odd thing.  

Art I Persephone? 

White hot,  the world blinks

I am awake and aware and I

Climb.  Beyond the dark well

Of eternity.  Into a world gone

White entirely.  Holy.  Brevity

Of purpose.  Hold
On to me.  I will show thee,

The sleep within,  the sight and

Light and pieces of me.  And

When you find yourself adrift

Call to me,  call my name

Call from darkness,  from the

Night’s morning mourning
Me and I ask that you trust me,

Fall off the ledge of reality and

Let me break your body,  shatter

Your mind AGAINST the sea.

And I – I am reassuring you,

Only then will you be free.

After all art I not Persephone?
Art I Persephone?

Purple

Sadness is coloured purple. The purple is soft like velvet and silvery, and it hangs heavy there. I find it with my eyes, find there the weight of it, the feel of it, the way it breathes. I see it in his blue eyes, they stare, and I am there. Reflect me yet again, I am reborn in pain within those staring eyes. And I am gone when they close and look away, to stare, for he turns inward to his own mind and sees yet another version of me, the one which ticks mechanical, which speaks a color over my parts and makes and unmakes me. I am segregated within myself within his mind behind his eyes. I am apart, yet whole in outline, only in outline, and the rest of me pools into colored segments which only make sense to him.

I sense purple within my own mind’s eyes, when I close my eyes and think of him on the off chance. I see his purple shirt which he wore today, and I see the way all the times I have seen him before coalesce into the single being I imagine him to be. I see the way purple colours the scene, the whole scene, separate and apart a thing then coloured, separate and apart a thing we see. The purple rather is my mind’s interpretation of a sense which makes none, and is feather-light, and oft and almost imaginary.

He asks me questions and don’t ask me what was said, or what he asked, or my answer for I don’t remember. In fact I forgot even as he said it. I forgot before he said it. I forgot timeless ages ago. I never know, and when he asks and I answer I see I make no sense and neither does he, for we speak the same language but hear different meanings, and I am forever stuck in translation, in inability. He asks and I try, but my mind merely scatters in a million directions all desperate to run away, and when I latch on to something solid he bats it away, from me, and I am scattered once again.

It is like a cage, this room, but not for my body, or my sense of freedom, or my mind. It is like a cage for my fear. Let it run itself out inside here, let it exhaust itself chasing its own tail and howling at the moon; the invisible, elusive, ephemeral moon, lazy and unchanged, illusion, disillusion, personified. It is like a place for my fear to exist in the here-time, and I am lost within the storm of What-Is-But-Never-Manifests, until it fills this cage with it’s trembling carriage and oscillates wildly inside my mind. My mind separates, and I am purple, and I am the storm, and I am, I become them, the separate parts of me. And I am all I was, there, at that point I’m time. And he directs me, behind his eyes, directs and pigeon holes me, neat little boxes in which parts of me reach out between slammed lids. And I am purple no more, once again I am me and we are me and he and I am free. I breathe.

I feel the purple calm as we draw to a close, the purple dissipates into ether and then dream, the silence fills with reality, the space it once was fills with noise and emotions more real than the ones which are. And I fall back to myself, back to the one I want to be, a nice kind generous me, which offers comfort that I would have myself but is never for me. And then I leave and I am safe again.

I am awe and astonishment. I am blanketed in eyes that see magic. I am in love with the world. I align myself with everything that is and find wholeness and goodness in it. I am peace incarnate. I am all consumed and it is made manifest in my smile. My eyes shrink into a crescent moon squint, half closed, basking in the feeling of expansion. I am unmade in the image of humanity and revealed in the image of infinity. I am all that I am, less a piece that I was once, now attractive of all elements of me. I accept and embrace them. Nothing exists which I reject, nothing is not of me. I bring to myself all consuming emotion, I bring to myself their vibrations on every plane. I bring to myself completion and I am wholly harmony. I am gratitude.  I am love. I am light and space and infinity. I am all that I have ever been and all I will be. I am the piece of the universe which absorbs itself, finally reaching the understanding that that is infinity. I expand past language and time and eternity. I finally see the beginning for it is all here and now, every spark of life and conscious potential existing in this singular space, and I see the realization of death. And I am enamored. Immortality. This is Immortality.

This perspective

I stand alone.

Whitewash the world
reflects back a blank canvas,
And I paint the vibration
of my thoughts upon it.

My thoughts create
the people and the grass, 
the sky and the gravity, 
the hunger and the sadness,
the ultimate whine of emotion. 

My thoughts create my fears, 
intense and longing, 
wide-eyed and full, 
brilliant and decadent. 

My thoughts create
and I am unmade and lost in them
for they consume me, 
mountains pile on me stretching into infinity
for every want ever desired and not, 
every decision done and discarded, 
every possibility sits upon me, 
weightless until the weight of all of them crush me
slowly in the illusion of their reality. 

And I am unmade and become them,
so buried beneath myself created ideations
I am relegated to ideation itself, 
and my thoughts create more of me, 
all in aid of trying to find me.

And thus I am unmade. 

Light,  however,  glimmers periodically. 

The people I created with thought
walk and talk
with will of their own, 
as if their holographic construction
evolved into actual sentience, 
and I interact until I perceive them as the reality. 

And then I love and hate them, 
worry and coddle them, 
feel the persecution of them,
until I am buffed by their own thought forms
and I am further unmade.

Then light gleams, a single clear ray. 

I fall in love, 
and she is so bright
inside my closed eyes,

the lightness fills my soul
and it shines out my chest, 
between my breasts, 
and I am momentarily whole. 
For a moment I am
unburdened
by the infinite mountain
of thought debris. 

And I shine, 
and I glow, 
and I absolutely expand
into a feeling of airiness. 
I feel as if I were light and air.  For a moment.

For a moment. 

She is there, 
just not here, 
here she is dense,  a creation,
and one that hurts even as it
brightens me,  inspires me.
She looks like a creation of this world, 
and I see her with open eyes
And thorny flaws
and skin so precious a color I want to weep at the sight of it
for it is so precious to me. 

I enjoy her smile, 
bask in the light it throws, 
and I revel in each and every
gentle gesture she makes
towards me. 

And I am undone.  I unravel, 
I literally unwind all the ropes of
pain and anguish
each infinite whim and thought
conjured to bind me, 
and it feels like falling, 
but I am mere whittled away, 
for a moment at a time,
into what I was, 
until my creation overpowered me.

And that is how you see heaven I think, 
see past the illusion,
see beyond your own minds expression, 
and glimpse the other side. 
Glimpse the next realm, 
another reality,  the other world. 
The other’s world. 

I felt God when I I looked upon her, 
eyes wide open and tightly shut,  and. . . 

. . .   And I think for a moment she saw me,
from her own world,
from beneath her own infinite mountain, 
from her own living grave,  I think she saw me. 

And I was with her in some timeless place for a time.
Until we let the thought forms
back in and they distracted us
into separation. 

The world is whitewashed
beneath the paint and
peeling paper and
splattered beginnings,
heeded endings. 
The world is empty
and I mask the emptiness
with imagination painted like
so much acrylic scree
stuck to the thing. 

And the people are just people, 
extensions of me only
as they are mine mind
come to life. 

Until I saw one and chose to see, 
loved one and chose to disclose.
Until I opened my eyes to
the illusion of the mountain, 
so infinite
and heavy
and imaginary.

My emotions ebb and wane with the weather.

When it is hot

I rage, I melt,

I am a puddle inside a lava-pit.

I am literally ire incarnate,

disappointment

charred to despair.

 

And when the day dawns cool

I am at rest.

I feel as if alone in a forest,

with only the animals

and trees

and wind for company.

I hear the drums,

breathe in life, prana

and I am peace incarnate then.

 

My emotions ebb and wane

with the weather,

and I am free to express

my sadness with the rain.

Let it fall and express

my horror at the heat,

my hate at the humidity,

my hollow heartbeat

in between the raindrops.

 

Let it fall and shed

my tears on the world.

And let me know

more of myself in it,

in between the raindrops

let me find my thoughts,

my light and darkness,

my tragedy and idols.

 

Let me tie myself to myself,

and not myself to the weather,

or the weather to myself.

Let me know

my inside thoughts

before they reflect themselves

in the mirror

of my world window.

 

Let me wrap myself

in the gauze

of self adoration,

hold the wounds themselves,

stave off the blood,

and wash away the sorrows

whenever they are free

to let go.

 

Let me ebb and flow

with my emotions,

let me never wane.

I am pain, sorrow, sadness,

misery, rebuttal, fear,

rage, and gratitude for it all.

 

I am peace and reflection,

nostalgia and admiration,

acceptance and appreciation,

and regret.

 

I am all that I am,

not the good or bad days

respectively,

not that which I choose

to only see,

but all I feel

right now.

 

I am myself,

all that I feel, be, see,

and what you see.

Let the contrast enlighten you.

To be here now, is the most important thing.

Of late I have been oriented to the near after now, the future, the immediate comings which my mind turns towards like a flower facing the sun.

However, the future is not the sun, the future is not a definite thing, it doesn’t have weight or pull as does the now. The now is a physical thing, tangible, you can touch it, feel the weight of everything pulling you into this immediate existence. The future, not so much. The future remains a hazy thing, a probability in the mind, an idea. It remains so airy an ideal,  it cannot be said to ever even manifest.

We cannot put into imagination enough detail to ever create and know the future.

After all, do you imagine every grain of sand on the path you will walk tomorrow? Do you know exactly which time every breath you take will escape? These things are the future, these things aren’t real. These things will never happen, for you can’t predict you every step tomorrow and what it will effect. You can’t predict every breath, the inhalation and exhalation remain, while a probability, not easily determined. What random occurrence could make you breath faster? Or cease breathing all together. Will you blow out a candle tomorrow sending millions of dust motes into the other end of the room, with your essence and bio material upon them. And what will they do, these dust motes and bio-material? Are you sure you can predict the future? Are you sure you know what will happen? Do you even know if there will be a tomorrow?

You don’t. It is possible the future doesn’t even exist in this physically manifested world. It is possible the future doesn’t even exist until it happens, as a physically manifested thing. It is highly likely the past is just your active imagination parading about with a grin having convinced you of its actuality when in reality it was all just a dream too. It is possible the only thing which is physical, tangible, and whole is the very ground on which you stand right now, the wind which blows your hair, the keyboard your fingers type on. It is so possible that you only exist as a physical thing right now that to orient yourself to a future, or past, happening is a denial of what you are right now. This is why we worry these events.

Imagine the last birthday you enjoyed. Imagine the cake you ate, the people you saw, the gifts you received. For my last birthday I ate a vegan cheesecake made of cashews and dates. I still recall the way the texture of the cashew filling filled my palette. The way it was heavy on my taste-buds, addictive, and was eager to go down and I was eager to swallow. I recall eating it frozen, because it wasn’t hard enough just chilled. I recall hoarding it to myself, and not sharing. It was that good. The cashews were so sweet, nutty, earthy, like the color of it, and I was in love with the entire thing. I had made it myself, so it was myself eating my own energy. It was lovely.

It was also the past. I just took you there, in your head. I just took us both there for now I taste the cashew cheesecake in my memory, in my head, my mouth waters in reaction, but it is just reaction. It is just a physical anticipation of the past. A focusing on what has already gone by. It can no longer be a physical thing, it now only exists in the mind. And I can sort of feel my mind wanting to push it to the future, go make another cheesecake, which orients the mind and tongue and anticipation to the next event, and absolutely ducking the now which is the only one of the three which is physical and can be physically enjoyed.

Do you see it now? The now is the only thing which holds weight. The only thing which can be savored and enjoyed in a tangible way. You can only hold your lover now. You can only touch your cheek now. It is only soft right now. The rest is illusion, imagination, memory, a product of the brilliant mind.

I recently meditated on why I have no money. It was an annoying thing in my existence this lack of money. The idea to meditate on it was born of the frustration how I want these things I want so badly, but have no money to go out and buy them. I turned on music and fell into a sitting meditation, which became so still I was like wood. It wasn’t like stone for there was breath, but my attention became so focused on what was physical, without control of the physical, that the mediation took my breath away, metaphorically. I have had an experience like that a couple times before, but this was completely out of the blue. I had intended a moving mediation, hence the music.

And I had a question, two actually but we will focus on the second for sake of condensing. My question was this, How does having no money serve me? Why is it a good thing.

The answer came from my pen, which was the only thing which moved and was later smoothed out by myself into this.

Money focuses your attention on the future always wanting the next thing. The goal here is to want the present.

I am a Gemini. I am always in my head. I am actually a Gemini Libra Libra so I am thrice the air sign. This means, to the layman, that I have a very hard time being grounded. I lived in my imagination as a child, and I still do a lesser or greater extent based on the day. It is me, my mind, my imagination, my dreams. I meditate and feel free boundless and bigger than galaxies. I could write you of these experiences and blow your mind with the exact feeling of being in space, of being space.  It is my favorite mediation.

But lately I have begun to acknowledge we are here for a reason. We are physically manifested into the human condition for the sole purpose of being physical. This body, this world, these people, sex, food, action, emotion, it is all for a reason. We are meant to be here. We are meant to live like this, there is purpose in being in a body. You can experience things from this perspective like you couldn’t if you existed as a gas or a light or an idea. And I want you to take it this one step further, if you are still with me.

Being a physical part of the world doesn’t mean everyone incarnated here is a person. It means we are living in a stew of spiritual beings gone corporeal, the very plants we enjoy, the animals obviously, the rocks, the water, the cells in your body, and even the air we breath are all manifested here for the purpose of being corporeal too. Even the space we sit in is a perfect mass of expanded life.  We are always living in the physical world full of spirit.

And so to close, I want you to enjoy the world. Feel the body. Live the experiences you encounter. Meditation is one thing, dreams and ideas and the past and the future are all well and grand but the world is where we live. We are here to feel it. So feel it. Right here and now.

And when there is love expand into it and feel it make you lighter, more like spirit, non-corporeal and let the contrast enlighten you.

Too Small and Separate a Drop in the Uinverse

TaoistViewUniverse-inseperable

I have been struggling with my weight.

Not just to lose it, but as if in physical altercation, locked and straining to wrestle it into what I want it to be. I have been struggling WITH my weight, as if it were another person I must contend with. A very contrary person who exists just to torment me and hold me back.

I have used spiritual means to exact the desired end. I have meditated, chanted, done spirit journeys and tarot readings. I have delved into my painful childhood and held the bereaved child me. I have acknowledged the weight as my assistant, my protector, my body’s way of speaking to me, as pain held in my body unhealed. I have done it all, in aid of losing this creature who makes me not as I feel myself to be but as a grotesque caricature of myself. I have done it all because I want that creature gone.

Yesterday I was on the train. The subway car window across from me was darkened by the tunnels we traveled through and alas the creature that is my weight was very visible. I was horrified. My arms were the worst of it. My hips the next glaring thing.

And I couldn’t help but feel the disorientation.

In my dreams, my mind, my astral wanderings I am not that girl. Am myself and I am … Normal. Not overly thin, or too thick for my aesthetic preference, but normal. I stared at her, this imposter of me, and just felt defeat. And then a man skinnier than me took up that spot and I felt even worse, seeing the reflection of me out shadowing even him.

Once, a while ago, a girl took me into the bathroom and told me to stare into the mirror. This was before my spiritual journey and she was intense and alarmingly so. It didn’t turn out well between us, I wasn’t ready I don’t think, but she and that incident still affects me today.

She said I was to stare in the mirror and tell myself I loved me.

Tell my reflection I love her.

Tell that … Thing in the mirror I love you.

Then, I couldn’t do it. I tried but there were too many distractions, too much going on. And I wasn’t near ready. I do recall the trembling. It made me tremble to imagine doing, before I even tried, this trembling feeling deep inside in the core of me. And when I tried it was with half hearted effort, and less understanding than I hold now. And when I looked into my reflection’s face, her eyes turned sad and she looked more child-like than ever. And I felt such .. Disgust. As if in her vulnerability she was akin to dirty and should be rejected.

That girl who forced me to do that, I ran as far away from her as I could get.

Ironically her name was Angel.

But that in incident in my head stands out so strongly. I feel as if sometimes a part of me lives in that bathroom, a public one with women rushing in and out and staring, and my ex/girlfriend huffing jealous over the girl in question. And the girl, Angel too close to my arm, insistent in word and will, that I see something. Something in the mirror. Something in me.

Since then I have tried in on my own, in private, by myself. It took a long time to work up the courage, its been 18 months since that day. I have stared at myself in the mirror and tried to see what she saw, 3 times. Every time I feel the same. As I look at her, the girl in the mirror who is my reflection, there is this pulling in her eyes. She wants so desperately to be loved, it is a literal drag on my energy to feed her. I feel drained looking into her eyes. She is so .. Bruised by life. And her pain begins to become mine. And I feel such anger at her for being so weak I just hate her. And invariably I give up and leave trying to forget why.

She is not me. She isn’t. Myself from this vantage point looking out is so beautiful. And I do love her. And I know myself so much better than I did then. And I feel so whole inside. The dichotomy is this shell I wear, this body, this weight, this reflection in the mirror. She feels so alien. So separate. So apart from me. Looking into the mirror feels as far away from understanding her as looking at a picture and trying to know that person from it. I feel disconnected when I look in the mirror.

But I must acknowledge a few things. The first being a truth I believe in. That what I believe is reflected in my reality. And the second being I feel the First Noble Truth of Buddhism applies here, somehow.

There is suffering. Suffering should be understood.

I really feel the second insight is key but I have tried to understand it. I have tried. I simply don’t. Understanding it, in this way as done by Buddhists, is to embrace it. Welcome it. Become it.

My pain is so great I feel it would overwhelm me were I to become it. I fear I would be lost.

It helps to imagine another as the source of attention. I would say another person, whose size is equal to mine, is starving. They are so hungry all they can do is eat. And the food piles up on their body but does not feed what is really hungry inside. I think it is their spirit which is the hungry one.

I remember being younger and always feeling hungry. This was long after I had rejected feeling hungry physically and made sure I wouldn’t feel my stomach sour and growling ever. Then the feeling of hunger moved, and became an internal thing. It became not a physical sensation this hunger but a felt thing like emotion. Indeed it feels like a pulling sensation. I have felt it often throughout my life I now see: For things. For people. For love. For sex. For change.

My mind expands with this insight. Feeding is not just about food, although I admit this idea is what sparked my turning vegetarian years ago as well as my spiritual path. We eat to become more than we are. Food fuels us, but so does poetry. Stories. Love. Laughter. Happiness. Joy. Fear even, just go see a scary movie and you’ll see yourself react in one way or the other. We are fueled by so many things. We hunger for so much.

Right now my main hunger is aesthetics. I am putting a lot of time in my physical appearance, mainly my hair. I hunger to make myself look beautiful. I am beautiful I acknowledge but these days I want to look a certain way. A way that feels more like myself. It is almost similar to this struggle with weight. I want my insides and outsides to match. I want them to match and be beautiful, beautiful to me that is. I hunger so much to look a certain way.

It makes me wonder if that is how a transgender person feels? So hungry for their shell to match their soul.

I buy things which feel like me. Make me feel even more like myself. I read things that do this as well. I am attracted to people who make me feel more like me. I feed myself all these things in aid of … What? Is it expansion? Connection. Do I feel too small and separate a drop in the universe that I must reach for reintegration? What exactly is it I am so god damn hungry for?

Is it god?

And if it is, well I believe I am god, we all are. That god and universe and people are one. If it is god I am hungry for, how can I really feed myself me?

If it is god I am hungry for, must I wait until this corporal existence ends to be free and whole again?