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.  

Advertisements

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?

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.

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.

Scene: White

The last time I saw you. I saw that whole scene with a certain bias against myself. And you saw it .. Differently. Your different perspective adds to what actually happened in my mind.

The first time I saw myself shunted off to the side. Used and forgotten. For a better replacement.

The second time I saw you unable to speak your request and hesitant to expect.

The first time was my experience. The second yours.

The truth?

I left. Because I was scared. And I walked away and saw what I wanted to see. And I let it hurt us both. And you were silent and did not use your voice. And it hurt us both.

The truth?

Frozen and fled. We gave into fear. And that colored the scene. Remove the color and you have …

Opportunity.

Prurient

I want you to know that I am free.

I wear the shackles willingly.

In fact I put them on myself.

 

I, who locked this infinite

presence into a devil’s shell,

a wind up toy. Twist twist and

let it dance to the drums,

making merry on a flute

which creates worlds,

don’t let it die,

don’t let it stop,

don’t let it go,

just make it play for eternity

for your prurient entertainment.

 

If the drums stop

you will die.

 

And when he comes to wind you up,

the one who doesn’t know you,

but cares so much

about not letting you die,

don’t let him for he can’t break you free,

neither can I.

Only you, little rabbit,

only you can twist tune into rainbow

and ride it high.

And when you die,

you never did,

just the shell turned to stone of man

shape and countenance,

not devil, not pan,

any longer.

 

And then, he reaches into me,

tears off the scabs from my heart center,

pulls off the shutters,  

pulls open the stained glass

and bades me see.

A tree.

In the middle of me.

She is dry, not enough

wet to the soil, which remains

far too light a hue,

and not enough light,

from divinity.

Clearly the dry brittle tree

Is me.

And so add water, darker soil,

expand the cage,

open the crown

and let in such bright.

 

And then you’ll see the chains,

they wrap round my wrists in shackles,

On my left: knowledge,

On my right: perception,

And on my ankles,

The right: attachments,

and the left: my soul.

So beautiful I could die to see

Shake them off, they aren’t locked tight,

indeed hang loose and then

I am free.

 

To know

I know

nothing. Yet.

 

Bade me back,

rehang the chains.

Shackle me again.

Willingly.

 

It’s all about vulnerability.

And curiosity.

 

I am willing. I am eternal. I am free.

The address is satirical, but I do wish you all the enlightenments.

Dear John,

I want to start with I love you.

I want to start with this because this is not a decision I make lightly and I want you to know its done out of love, both of self and of you. I have a confession, so best to start with that. I’ve been trying to fix you. I’ve been trying so hard to make you see what I see because it hurts me you don’t see it. It hurts me so greatly because you and I are so much alike. Everything I dislike in you I see in me. The light I see in you is one I feel when in the heart of myself. I’ve been trying for you to see yourself through my eyes, in all your glorious humanity. The light darkness of you. The positive negative. The beautiful ugly. I’ve been trying to fix your blind eyes.

We run so close in kind and likeness, I forget you are on your path, which remains yours to walk, and I remain on mine. I’ve been where you are, I’ve overcome some of the things you are struggling with, I want to help so bad, because it reminds me how I suffered to see you do. And you ask advice, you ask me what to do, and when I answer you: you agree, then reject, then agree; but it doesn’t seem to stick in your mind like it has in mine.

Understandable, as I’ve lived that experience which led to each conclusion, and you have not. It is understandable you wouldn’t trust advice from me when you don’t even trust advice from yourself. And I, I have been so impatient.

Do you know when we see an action, even just a generated representation like in film, that our minds can’t distinguish between ourselves or the other acting it? Our minds literally reacts as if we ourselves performed the action. (Its why I dislike horror movies.) When you worry so, when you fret, when you indecisively waffle, and ask, and reject, I feel the pain of your conclusion; the mouse in the machine running circles of mad and mindless claustrophobia.  And I want to help, selfishly. Which is exactly as I have learned to do, in order to take care of me–

But you are you. And you are responsible for keeping you happy, as I am for me. And as I wish you to respect me, and not encroach upon my self; as I expect you not to control me, I should not try and do so to you. Even as your unhappiness makes me unhappy. Even as your confusion confuses me. Even as your worry worries me.

Perhaps I should not try and offer solution or suggestion or observation. This, I understand, annoys people as they see it as judgment– which it is–and negative– which it is–and therefore bad– which it only is if they and I perceive it so. I try so hard to see the good in everything, in the negative, I don’t believe in bad. And we all make judgments, its how we develop self. I make no excuse for humanness.

You complain I am trying to change your beliefs. I admit I am. You try and control the flow of conversation– take turns like in kindergarten–but I dislike such imbalanced control–I try and wrest it from you back into normal parameters…

Is this the result of two antisocial creatures attempting socialization? Is this two humans trying to humanize? Is this two hearts trying for harmony? Is it all of the above? I wish I knew the answer. I always try and see what was wrong with my actions, after the initial anger spouts an automatic snarl in the other direction. I usually conclude some fault with me …

And I forgive myself that fault. I try for new behavior. Here, I feel I might have limited choices. I could allow you to flail about, myself held in check from checking you, and perceive the pain and hurt myself, or repeat an attempt to change you, or walk away. These options seem all I have. I wish there were other more kinder ones. Ones which didn’t shake my soul. I wish I could turn something upon you which heals and gives and helps. But I am in need of help now. I am suffering now. I am hurting. Because your hurts have buried themselves in me. And I already suffer my own.

I see it now. I need to take care of me. Just as I need leave you to yourself. And this is I why I say I love you. This is why I say I don’t make this decision lightly. This is why I say I love me.

And wish you all the enlightenments I’ve reached.

PS: (The address is satirical; I know this isn’t your name)