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.  

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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.

Even Source Would Suffice

This was a very clear message.

I’m in this mindset where I’ve focused myself back into fear. I am rather unsure how to break out of it. Apathy seems more comfortable than feeling good. Feeling good seems false and draining and forced. Like I am creating happiness simply to avoid the sad depths. I fear my subconscious. I fear myself going mad. These realizations make sense over and over and over again. I keep getting these bright spots of awakening and illuminations. Then I fall back into a darkness. I am tired of fear. And I’m tired of fighting and struggle. I am simply tired. Feeling good seems like so much effort. Fear is exhausting too. So I exhaust myself trying to deal with everything. And the real world sit outside all these thoughts knowing nothing of what I deal with. And I feel, almost a contempt, but more certainly a desire to escape.

I thought the purpose of being here was love. But repetitive meditations have shown, beyond everything even love disappears. It becomes completely unnecessary. And having to convince myself what I’ve held onto this whole time, that love is the reason we exist, seems false now too. A belief system.

I don’t want this, the idea that truth is whatever I make of it. That love and all emotions are just …. Tools. I don’t want to know how alone I really am. Like there isn’t anyone else in the entire world after all. I feel very alone. I fear that I don’t exist. I feel no one else does. I worry these realizations will end me. I am very afraid of existing without form. And love, seems like a child’s story. Pretty, but untrue. Funny, as not two days ago I publicly extolled the merit of that very emotion above all else. Funny, as love is the singular thing I have wanted for all of my conscious life here on earth. Have I been wanting a ghost? A mirage? Illusion? If what we believe exists I think I just solved why I haven’t I found love yet.

I didn’t believe it exists.

I like the story of love. It is nice. Inclusive. But … People often define fear as … An illusion. If fear doesn’t exist doesn’t it follow that its opposite doesn’t either? And as I have felt both … Are these things, these emotions just product of a dreaming mind? Or am I just consciousness being conscious and nothing really exits at all?

So what is the point? If we dont exist at all? Why are we here. Why are we there? (Here being alive and human and there being non physical energy or dead if you must be specific.) What is the reason we exist?

If we exist just because we do I think that would be incredibly boring. When I was a child heaven sounded dreadfully boring as singing and milk and honey forever didn’t seem worth all the things I had to do today to get there. And now the idea of just existing to exist, quoting Thich Nhat Hahn,”Your purpose is to just be.”

I feel the truth in that. It feels right. And my mind is quiet right now. Nothing spare and floaty comes in. I am in a meditative state. But I am awake and in this world, eyes open for the first time while in this deep. And I feel … Clear. Like breath, breathing, air is being drawn in from the far corners of the galaxy, like on some horizon where I can see for thousands upon billions of light years away. And I breath in from there. From all corners of there.

What is the purpose of love if love isn’t our purpose? What is the purpose of fear? And if we exist just to be why … Why isn’t there a purpose? What god would create us just to leave us with nothing to do? Was he just mad happy in the kitchen creating something to make himself happy in the creation of it? Not even planning on consuming his creation afterwords, which would be a purpose in the end after all. Isvara was said to have begun the world in one extended session of masturbation. We, of duality, were born of nothing. Are we just the unplanned pregnancy of the cosmos?

Why. The age old question. Why do we exist? Why am I alive? Why do I want to be? Why would I want to be otherwise? Why am I here? Why haven’t I killed myself yet? Is it fear? Or hope? It has to be hope, when in the heart of suicidal feeling I have always had this pure glow of hope from my center which … Got in the way. It gave me the feeling I have what I want waiting just around the corner. And that I can’t leave without it.

So what is waiting? What is the reason I am still here? I am happy with my realizations. I could die happy now. Today. There is nothing left to do. That I know of.

So why am I here still?

I thought it was love. I thought it was some grand scheme which said I have destiny to reach for the pinnacle of this feeling.

And if we exist to create our own purpose ….

Where is she?

She being the love I want. My reason for existence. My soulmate. My twin flame. Or whatever label you can subscribe to.

Heh. Even I can’t create that image in the heart of this place anymore. I am open to the realization love and fear don’t matter. And soul mates don’t exist. I want them to, I want one so very badly, but they don’t exist. And we don’t exist so is it any wonder that’s just a pretty fairy tale imagined.

All I have wanted since the beginning of my incarnation into this place is to be loved, and if emotions are just tools, like suits to put on, it stands to reason if I want love I could have it … if I just put on the love suit.

I don’t want to. I want love to come to me. I don’t want to create it. I want … Someone, anyone, to love me, see me. Enjoy me. So I can enjoy them. Even source would suffice.

But no one else exists. We are alone. We are source. I am source. I am alone. I am.

Perhaps that is the reason we are here. So we can pretend we aren’t alone.

What came first the chicken or the egg? Does it matter? The other isn’t real anyway.

And love isn’t real. And neither is fear. And you and I, we both don’t exist. Awareness, consciousness, source, god exists. And that is all. I is designation. Noun defined as person, place, or thing.

And words really don’t matter either.

In the last meditation I did I was a book, full of white empty pages. And you could write on them, tear them out, try and understand but run water over then and they were clean and white again. And I could read them, without the words. Words got in the way. Each page was too full to hold words on it.

I spoke unkindly to you, last we spoke. I feel that I was too harsh and my conscience has been giving me grief over it. I must apologize. Please understand, I am on the verge of being who I want to be and balanced on the fence of who I was. I understand and see, and often feel both sides. I know how I feel when lost in the hurt of the past. I know how I feel when it is all forgiven. I prefer that place but … To feel your hurt over the past come creeping into your life and health .. I felt it in like kind. I love you. I don’t say it so you can be reminded, Laura. I say it because it expresses the very depth of what you mean to me. And it expresses it not. Because I feel so much more. I feel hope and light and harmony. I feel softness and love and comfort. I feel tears, they move beneath the subject and I can’t tell if they make me sad or glad, if they are an upwelling of good or grief. I just know, my life feels blurred without you. Like I am at the bottom of the sea seeing through it. And happiness clears up that view. And still the weight of emotions, now crystal clear, sit upon me oceans deep.

 

I have given up the hurt, Laura. Forgiveness you might call it. Now I just crave peace. But I don’t know where to look for it, when you are in my thoughts, and only there. I feel at peace with my actions. I don’t feel at peace without you. I cannot move on. Or rather, I have not. And what I have done, perhaps to my detriment, is keep alive a small kernel of hope which says, ‘You are the love of my life. There must be a way.’ 

love needs the light.

its like I loved,

in a dark place.

she was my heart,

before her I didn’t know

I had one. she grew there,

in my chest, like a feathered

thing, a beating drum,

and she showed it to me.

she showed me what a heart

is. she showed me

and I learned

and I surpassed her.

 

she left me,

in a dark place.

when she left I

perceived

she took the light

with her, and I was alone.

and I still had my heart,

which was her

and it ached

in the absence of her.

and it beat sluggishly,

inconsistently,

intermittently.

I could feel it in my chest,

hear it in my skin,

the flutter of it’s magnanimity,

made me worry.

 

I forgave her,

and I blamed her,

and I bade her,

return to me.

but only silently,

and she,

she never did,

until I had become

happy,

and she sad

and I was moved on.

 

and then she wrote,

me claimed love

for me, spoke

love for me,

achingly,

wantingly,

and I was angry,

and I was pain,

and I was scared,

and I refused her.

 

and I left her

in a dark place.

get out, I said,

yourself.

I did.

 

and when she’d gone

silent I remembered

how I loved,

how my heart,

beat as her,

personified as her,

and that I loved her.

 

and how it just wasn’t

enough, to love

in the dark. love

needs light

to grow.

Happiness Made Manifest

I want to be happy. I want to feel the flush of it against my cheeks. I want to see the light of it reflected in another’s eyes. I want it made manifest in the brilliance of the world around me, let the sunlight glitter upon my path forward, like lightening bugs, to hover then and show the way. Only the way is happiness, and I know that miles down that path I am as happy as I am today. I want to feel the happiness in the walls of my home, in the foodstuffs I eat, in the art I make. Let my hands wander over clay, upon wood, smooth over glass, and let them bring happiness into form there. Let the happiness meet my spouse, let it bask on her skin as reflective surface. I want to be this happy, everyday, let life create itself before me, reflective of myself, and this vibration I hold so naturally. I want to find the shadows terribly amusing, let the happiness ride so high it picks me up should I fall, into the depths of them. I want to find that nothing can cage me, not place nor person nor fear. I want to know this life is simple fun, and joy, and live that. I want to find the earthly pleasures, partake, and leave them unattached for I know I can always do so again. I am so thrilled by this vision, I know this is possible, I can and do create this. I am this. This is me. Happiness, at the very height of me. I am pleased to see it reflected in the words I allow to flow through me. I am so thrilled to feel this laid upon other people, by my very spirit. I am so glad to know I am all happiness, all freedom, all light, all glory and gorgeousness. I want my fears to seem highlights of happiness as opportunity. I want to know nothing in my life is ugly, for it is my eyes which choose to perceive it glorious beauty. I want beauty in my everyday. I want this life. Give me a home made of laughter and peace. Give me friends who reflect me and become me and move me. Give me love everlasting, romance of the ages, commitment devoted and deep. I want happy. Give me happy. I am happy. Let it be.