Pissin' away another day in paradise. What ever happened to growing up? It is surly expected of me, and yet I feel like I'm going backwards. Summer sickness. Coming chill creeping over me, will I notice the falling? Will the cold snap snap me out of this cruse? I hope so. We have some time. All I can talk about is the cold and its still scorched earth outside; roasted emerald days.
Now the pain starts and still it doesn't stop. The oil burns lower, drip drop. Drip drop.
And yet, and yet... Complacency is just a word. There is something here, a quietness in the mind, a stillness in the heart. Paradise, sans beaches and paper drink accoutrements. Waiting, again and always and forever. A sleepy time, a time for quiet and selfishness. Soon the sun will lift from the horizon, and it will be a time of activity. But a wise man can find himself in either. I just wonder if I am wise.
Waking driftings, nothing holding me down. Just a blur, just a passing frown. Green dreams of my children’s eyes. An imagine that makes me want to drop to my knees. Some thoughts are so big you cant think them. Some dreams are so crisp overcast glow, then burn your eyes. Then shine like ravens in battlefield skies. Dead ends are so mystifying to us, aren’t they? We always love to see that cliff or wall. But sometimes all I want to see is what lies behind it. What is it in me that drives such flagellation of other lives when all I have is now. Maybe it is in such that I allow myself to see what I hid from myself in my heart.
Pan en, then… Is that enough? Do we need more? Pan en pain, pan en tears, pan en silver light’s caresses. Theos en pan.
How can I turn wrong in such purity? Then why still fear my maturity? I guess that’s the lesson in these green dreams. Fear is not in my heart. The skies are overcast but wrap around us like angels wings. How can any of this be real when it feels so easy, so right. Just like in dreams when nothing seems to connect, and no one seems to notice, least of all the dreamer. What is the lesson if not that its very disconnected flow is a sacred Chao. What level do we perceive from? The Chao is a unique snowflake in Chaos blizzards dance. And oh how it dances and flows to its own beautiful music. Some can see past Chao and its twins, with grids of majesty and tearful power. Sometimes I can see the fragments spinning in my life and just accept them as they are. They still glint from the light source, for all fragments shine. Lost nows. It is these that we hold on to so tightly that we cut ourselves. Nows that can never be lost but in our hearts. When we despair of the break from now, and the pattern it follows. Will its edges be jagged or smooth? Will they be sharp or course? Gentle or hard?
But what, then, is this but window dressing? Would we scoff at The Three Graces if placed in the window of a Burger King? Would Monet’s fire be any less if placed in a rough hewn frame? Why do we dance so in the frames of our lives… All still shines from the soft sweet light at its center…
All I wonder about now… am I falling into it, or away from it? Do fragments spin away? Or past?
Time will tell… Time will tell.
I should be working, but there really isn't much to do. I guess that means I'm waiting, thats something I was never very good at. I am waiting on many tiers today, but some have fallen. Its an odd thing looking back on the last few months and seeing all the shifting, dancing lights. They say change is the only thing that stays the same. What nonsense.
But somehow still I feel my moving, its like my heart is a dancing amorphous mass. I've learned so much about myself.
I've been,.. hesitant. There is past that creeps in on my mind and speaks caution. But there is present that argues valor. Twisted like fine soft serve ice cream. And while it melts, fighting each other for winters kiss, I notice myself wondering off. I'll not get involved. I don't want to be. Better to just let it melt, and be true.
I'm watching way to closely. I know. But I feel like a man lost in a cold dark cell, with just a single ray creeping in the bars to comfort me. How can I help but watch so closely? Under such radiance, the rest of the world seems to fade to a dull gray. I yield and yield to it. What ever it takes.
I'm trying not to get involved in these little plays.
I'm getting better at it.
Sometimes I can see it. Uncounted lights, floating in black space. Each light is different, some dance and caper, joyous and uncontained. Others are slow and quiet, winking to deep rhythms of the ancients. The colors are all gold, and all perfectly the same. But you can tell ones glow apart from another, like different memories of the same place. I claim to see it.
That's my first lie.
I can only imagine one or two, maybe ten or even a hundred. But they stretch on forever. Absolutely endless, and forever. Moving in 4 dimensions, there is no end to the Clouds. They reach out to each other with filaments of the finest silk thread. Even the thickest strands look like they would blow away on the breeze, but they stand so strong. So strong some can never be broken, strong as the lights themselves. Strong enough to circumvent time. Each plus is rebounded. Each flash is answered, but never the same way. Energy moves around the Clouds, building and releasing. Each Starsoul touches these pulses and changes it, makes it it's own.
That's my second lie.
Its all one thing, Light, putting on a show. Each can change the plus of life, but they are all the same thing. Memories of memories. Their cores are one. Trace each nexus back to its beginning. It is shared by all. But the Dance of Souls is oh so beautiful to watch. Slowly at first, I can see some of it. Faster and faster I comprehend the shifts, the flickers and the pulses. Soon its like a buzzing sound, but in pictures. Sometimes I even see this little me. I watch myself reach out and touch other Lights. I feel myself in the cloud.
That's my third lie.
I can feel the cloud. All of it, every last photon. But not myself in it. There is nothing to feel. I can only see myself from elsewhere in the Cloud. Then its not me feeling anymore. Seeing is one thing, watching the connections, sighing and singing. Its another thing to feel the pixel that is me. I've yet to find myself in the Cloud, but I'm not actually looking. I'm just this little bulb, abandoned and trapped among countless others.
That's my forth lie.
I am not the pixel on the giant TV screen. I am the electricity that runs through it. I am that which makes it glow every so brightly. Just as every charged electron has its moment of radiance, we get to express our move in the Dance of Souls. Just as every charged electron has to return to the power station, we all get to go home. But the power remains on. And the show must go on.
Low grey Clouds on a rainy Sunday afternoon, watched from warm in bed out a frosted window. That is maybe all there is, Clouds.
The things that come out of my mouth. My god, if only I would listen to myself. Does it make me a hypocrite to preach the things that I can't practice? To tell someone that its easy to overcome things that I myself shy away from? No, that's not fair... I sometimes am filled with fear and doubt, but rarely do I let it cripple me like it used to. Do I just show a path that I too am on? I'm moving slowly, but I'm on my way home. You may beat me there, my dear, you may. But its no race, we all move at our own pace.
No, its okay. Words are easy, actions are hard. That's why actions speak so much louder, they have such power. Words are not but wind. But think of all that the winds can do. It may push my little dream boat to Elysium. Is that the destination? I just don't know. But I can tell you this, my dear, it's our destiny. All the currents push toward the tower, but we'll never know until we hall anchor and sail. Why do we fear the reefs and whirlpools? Its written in the stars, my dear, it is. If only we would raise our eyes from the horizon, and look to the stars.
I live in a world of fantasies, how terribly normal they are. Nothing holds me back besides my own thoughts. Always battling with my thoughts, my expectations, my wishes. Who am I fighting? I'm fighting on both sides, its a civil war, with Artillery. Just tossing mindless bombs, uncaring where they land, knowing that it doesn't really matter, in the end I will hit something important and cause yet another halt. It was once said, all wars are civil. At once it is the greatest truth and worst sick joke the world has ever seen, depeneding on the meaning. All wars are civil because all wars are with oneself, projected outward, or worse still, focused inward. But no war is civil. All wars are horrible things, with no true winner, and oh so many losers... Losers without number, mothers weeping alone in dark places, fathers with dead eyes, brothers with heavy hearts, sisters with warm silent tears, and yourself. Inside we are all of these things. So imagine the destruction of a war turned inward. Imagine being on both sides of a war, imagine every blow to be one to your soul.
I'm done standing in my own way. I'm done with these wars of our fathers. There is in this world such a thing as nonlinear shift in any system. We see it all the time, where logic and structure brake down. Sometimes its at the ends and beginnings, sometimes just at random places. The moment before change, great change, feels much like any other, normal, boring, unimportant. The second before the spark ignites a twig, sets off a branch, lights a tree, burns a forest. Such a small place in time and space, such a small thing, and even before it is a small thing, even before it is, it was nothing. Just another peaceful moment in a forest, the birds singing, the flowers embracing the sun with out a care. Just another moment like so many others.
There needs to be no progression; that is a system I look for in nature. Its what I seek so that's what I find. What else would I see if I got out of the way? What else would I see if "I" got out of the way? Where does fantasy end and reality begin? Can you point to a place and say "Here, this is it."? I can't, just as I see the world I see past the world, because I am in my perception of the world. My perception is the world. So why do I perceive a world of linier expansion? Easy, because I expect to see it, so the better question is why do I perceive a world of liner expansion? Its a long and boring answer, and maybe its not worth going into. Why give it all more energy then it already steals, quick and silent and so seductive. The best question of all is why not stop?
Secrets are best when shared. This is not a contradiction.
The war is done. This moment needs no deflection, no conflict. It can be that easy.
I could have been upset that I was back in
In-between here and there reside six or seven mammoth oil rigs. They remind me of bugs, twisted, hard things, walking on spindly legs. They rest under the suns harsh glare, folded up and dark. They seem so close in the daylight. So peaceful, restful. At night they glow with a yellow light, a perfect pride of walkers. I could just imagine them skittering a few hundred yards every now and then, when no one was watching all that hard. When everyone on the road has something better on their minds, when they look without seeing... The giant bugs scoot down to a new place, ready to drop their long mouths to uncharted depths. Always in search of something, hungry and relentless. But they are kind in my mind, intense and intent. Single-minded.
But for now they are sleeping, and the sun is shinning. The sky was so blue, so bright. The whole sky its self was pulsing with light. Reflecting it all was the grand mirror, so claim I could see the sky in it. The sky and the water one and the same, the lost horizon. It was just bright blue along the edges of my sight. It reminded me of a picture I only ever read about, which makes its impact somehow the larger. I wonder what it may look like, making it so easily remembered. Would the image its self be unnoticed or forgotten?
It was a picture of the sky and the ocean, made like a map. It displayed the world as a column of fluid, at varying pressures. It showed how you could start on the bottom of the ocean and just keep swimming to the sky. There is no real difference, its mostly the same stuff, just not so close together up in the sky. There is a place at the edge of our atmosphere that is almost space, but still has some air in it. Its a boarder that I never thought about, and I don't think many people do. The edge of space as a place. A real place that you could go and feel the edge, and say, "This is it, the end of life. Out there is cold space, but right here is earth". It was always just a thought concept, but now I could imagine going there and thinking of the enormity of that spot. It should be no different then the other side, where the water meets rock, but it is. Some how its so final.
But is there really a other side? The cold water meets solid rock, again its the same thing. Its all about the same thing, under the same pressure, just one shifts a bit and the other doesn't. But without a disturbing presence, most of that boundary is just as still as the other, dead still. The water lies stagnate, barely moving, while the rock lies more still. But even the rocks are moving a little bit. Its all the same stuff thing, under different pressure. Just like life.
My life is like that chart, and I'm somewhere in the middle. It could have been easy to be upset at being stuck here for hours, but its a nice place to be. Its not what I wanted to do today, but there's no sense if fighting it. Its a perfectly fine place to be, and I'm happy here. Its good to just go with the flow of things, to really just be okay with what's going on. Someone once wrote, "How do you know this is a experience that you should be having? Because your having it." There's always something to see, if we only open our eyes. There's always something to hear, if we only listen. There's always something to say, if only we'd try. It amazes me how much of my suffering is in my own head, my little story.
My little bullshit story. Every now and then I catch myself thinking of how wrong, because I was so sure I knew what the I was talking about. Or how unfair something was, how I was wronged. My sad little me story. But then I really think about it, and I see that the facts were simple. They just were, what ever it is, in anything, facts are neutral. Then I added my little judgments on it all, "This is that, that is this, and this is what should be." What am I upset about, the facts or the story? Just the story. So why not tell a new one?
I would rather be right then happy sometimes, its scary... Like I would rather be at home right now, and its wrong that I'm here so I will be pissy. What if I am here because its a beautiful day for a drive, and that was that?
It could be...
My thoughts are a bit scattered. So tired. Sitting here under the false breeze, its so warm and peaceful. I can feel it leaking into me, slowly working its little magic trick. Its so nice to be warm. Inside my glass box I see the world outside washing away a years worth of dust. Clouds, so low I could almost reach out and touch them. So massive they don’t even fit in the imagination. Complex shapes that slowly past float overhead, silent and comforting. How vast the skies are. Oddly its all the mountains that help define the skies. They aren’t wide and endless, stretching on and on like some I’ve seen. But how tall they feel. The mountains dwarfed by the heights. Most of the year the clouds pass miles and miles overhead, a whisper of a wisp. But their time has come again, time to descend, like a fleet of crop dusters. I can see the order in this chaos. While elsewhere is buried under snow and ice,
Spring.
A return to life.
In the face of such a transformation, resistance melts away. Everywhere I look resides hope. Every obstacle looks small and petty today. There is so much enthusiasm surrounding me, I can’t help but get caught up in it. Now I just am waiting for the focus for all this energy. It will be along soon. I can almost feel it already, its not far now. I have my eyes fixed to the horizon. I follow my guiding star. You follow yours. Were all heading somewhere, and I think it will be somewhere warm.
Oh so warm.
Sometimes I lurk a bit. The shadows and fringes can be comforting, a place where I can watch all the people so busy. Family gatherings are something akin to hurricanes, if maybe more chaotic. But they are also easy to get lost in. Its so nice to listen sometimes. I like to listen, even when people are talking of things they expect me not to care about, I always pay attention. Its all interesting to me. And then I get drawn into it, because I just have to ask a question, make a comment, dig deeper and deeper. I can't seem to stay out of it for long. And then every now and then I am surprised by just how much of the conversation I am carrying. Its funny, I always thought of myself as a reserved and quiet person. I think I would be too, if I wasn't so inquisitive.
When a conversation starts moving quickly, when there are a lot of people involved, I sometimes just stop talking. When things are really moving, and everyone gets into it, sometimes I will leap in with some comment or correction. I think I surprise people, they probably thought I tuned out.
Its not like me at all to tune out. But lately, its been happening a lot. In the middle of something, anything, my eyes drift off to some far away or nonexistent spot, and I am lost to what's happening around me. My mind taken by thoughts of you. I can just see myself standing there, eyes adrift and turned inward, with that goofy half grin on my face. Time can seem a bit disjointed, and I wish it would just brake away and leave me and be done with it. It never listens. The day goes on.
I'm not sure what I sat down to start writing about... But I'm not at all surprised where I ended up.
