Seeing Through

peace found.
peace found.

I’m wondering lately how one goes about honing their cosmic skills. I’ve noticed a few psychic abilities in myself, the like of which I don’t quite have the know-how to actively use. They use themselves and I realize it later. I almost want to say that if I knew how to use them they would no longer work. But I dont know the laws. If I could only be observant enough of my own inner-tells…of certain patterns which would enlighten me to the future-telling, or present energy feeling Truths that arise within me. I suppose it is the experience of life that allows for the layers to build so that your current present is wise enough to encompass every past present and future present. I’m not there yet. I’ll enjoy this time of mysticifation…it is an colorless, wearisome life the magician leads. Unless, of course, the magic is real.

Which, in this case, it so happens to be. Which is what excites me for the future of this beautiful, dying planet we have come to. Humankind has put itself through countless years of suffering to create the comforts we now can’t live without. The suffering of the physical realm has served to slowly tear us away from our true source. It has also served to dull our senses…the ones outside of the five we have now, which are also slowly fading. It is not any one of our faults. This movement away from Truth and what is Real has been collectively occuring for hundreds of years. But Now. Now we are near a precipice. As physical beings, we no longer need anything. In fact weare given way more than we need every day. We have fixed reality so that we can all sleep in a nice bed and eat genetically modified food (a direct result of a failing to keep up with this reality) and then throw away the other half. We have reached the pinnacle point where it is necessary to wake up from the comforts we’ve created and realize this reality isn’t as fixed as we had hoped. And at the same time, realize that our human potential is stronger than ever. We are in the best position we could ever have dreamed about being in 500 years ago. To do what is Right. and Good. To use the structures we’ve built as scaffolding for a better, fuller, richer life. One that we live harmoniously with pachamama and the resources she provides us to accurately express her beauty and represent her nature. One that love, creativity, beauty and abundance are the cornerstones of society. Where children grow in permittance of the Spirit to do what they have truly come to earth to do at full capacity  instead of living a life hindered by trauma and distortion…which they will spend ever-after acting out of or healing from.

Consciousness is on the rise despite it being hard to see. Now is the time to use our collective strength, human power and everything we’ve learned to turn in the right direction. May we all find a way, through the monotony of days and struggles that do exist in our comfortable world, to expand and express the infinite light that we are reflections of and manifest it for the Good.


The Whole

Wow, I don’t recognize any of this. Everything has changed…and so rapidly have they changed. I woke up in a strange holding tank…only just realized where I was today. Stuck in an interruption that ruined my whole mood. That made me want to scream and cry. I was going somewhere. Finally. I was feeling something. In the daytime. Now I have to start dreaming again. Maybe that’s why we are so inundated with them in the modern ages. Life just isn’t the dream it once was…the multi-sensed dream it should be. So we leave when we can. We open ourselves up in the unsafe safety of our unconscious. God it feels good to be vulnerable. Raw, and perfect.

Raw and Perfect

We are all cogs in something turning. I know now its all for the light. I can smile now. I know now that when I do, I tickle these little beings that live in my face into laughter.  I’ve received a multitude of unconditional love lessons since I was last here. Ones you can only learn when you let go, completely. Of everything you know, and everything you think you feel…of your own breath, of your own physical control to live, all the tiny instincts you never notice are keeping you alive. It’s hard to get there. So much evil to purge. So many energies harbored deep in our body. Energies we either ignore, or are unaware just stay stored where they shouldn’t be. So much that wasn’t even ours in the first place. It’s so hard to get there. But its so worth the hell. The purity of existing ethereally, one with the spirit, makes the death of shedding evil, so good. I wish that every human being living on pachamama could feel the things I felt, and see the things I saw. Especially the ones with little or no faith. Because it all makes sense now. All the people and the symbols, the words, the relics, the deities. Its all become so askew…and easy to lose faith in. But it all makes sense to me now. The oneness of it all. It was a gift, and shall so remain, like every day we wake strangely and uniquely to breath manifested light.

Jungle Pink
Jungle Pink

Getting There

One decision is not enough. Maybe it is. But around here, there is a thick entanglement of deep truth, fear and bright red tape which make my attempts to decipher the inner workings of fate nearly impossible. Cause and effect are muddled by human emotion and ignorance. But all the dominoes fall. I intentionally closed one door so I could see down the corridor. Another beckoned. But it wouldn’t open. So I stood there until I was suddenly ushered forward, further on, way beyond my small human ability to decide for myself. Moved toward some foreign yet familiar light.

It’s that time again. To see why we’ve done what we’ve done and been where we’ve been. The magic of that will be revealed shortly. It’s the magic I live for! It’s why I’m with the one I’m with. I’m still chasing after Christmas cause Christmas isn’t coming my way. Its not allowed in these hills. The redwoods are too tall for santa to make any sort of landing anywhere. It’s much more tiring when you have to chase after it, though. I’m winded but I’ve almost caught it. A couple days away from holding it in my lap while I sing I’ll Be Home For Christmas until it sleeps; sipping brandy and eggnog in front of a fire that burns nostalgia.

“Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it.” -Dickens


The other day i was gifted an experience. It was one that I would have never provided myself, or even thought to have. This concept is not new to me, and actually at one point became more of a “hold your breath and squint one eye” annoyance than a new opportunity. But with those days passed, it felt good to once again be given something I didn’t ordain…be a pon in some design of fate. It was similar to a dream. You don’t control them, but they say something for your spiritual destiny. I live for those dreamy days. I wonder how long it would have lasted if the gravitational pull of reality, habit, and a warm bed hadn’t brought me home. Probably would still be happening now. It was just a dream within a dream.

Angelique Kidjo is her name and world music is her game. I found the tickets in the parking lot of the grocery store. And just like that, I was invited into a world beat of feeling, hope, acceptance and global peace through music. And of course a brewery I’d never tasted the IPA of.

It didn’t really feel like thanksgiving. I donned my thickest socks so my feet might know how very thankful i am for them. And i hoped through means and methods that my family and friends, near and far, knew how very thankful i am for them. And i said here’s to our health. Our choice. Our being. But no. This year made me realize what constitutes the holiday and that I was missing every article…hm, not true…I was trypping on tryptophan. It was just missing those which bring some feeling, however bad, annoying, beautiful, happy, habitual or questionable. Its just a temporary amendment, anyway. And now it’s also become obvious that Christmas isn’t Christmas anymore. The mass production of unneeded goods which will just clutter and fill the earth with material that can’t break down gives me an ulcer. I was never even part of the time when getting one Christmas present was more than imaginable, but I miss it. It’s not just me getting older and seeing things I never saw. The media and advertising bombardment is at an all time high and it’s eating through the meaning like acid through flesh.

Oh what a world we live in.

Facing West from California’s shores
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,
I, a child, over waves, toward the house of maternity, the land of
migrations, look afar,
Look off the shores of my Western sea, the circle almost circled;
For starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere,
From Asia, from the north, from the God, the sage, and the hero,
From the south, from the flowery peninsulas and the spice islands,
Long having wandered since, round the earth having wandered
Now I face home again, very pleased and joyous,
(But where is what I started for so long ago?
And why is it yet unfound?)
-Walt Whitman

A real friend

And so, once again, we embark upon the humbling endeavor of expressing our minds. The most difficult creative task I’ve ever embarked on? Fiction. I can’t find my imagination for words. I’m hoping someday it just begins. Maybe one day I’ll wake up and remember everything. Fiction is everywhere. The books that humans read. Millions of books they read and give to their friends to read who give to their friends. We lose our days and lives in pages and pages of stories…that really aren’t stories at all. They are no less real than the air we breath or the food we eat. Even the most far-fetched of the best stories are undeniably real. Do I mean this as an overreaching metaphor for how to write, or to emphasize realism as the best avenue for writing a story? I don’t know. Fiction is still a mystery I am trying to solve. It doesn’t come natural. I still think too much. I shouldn’t have to talk myself through it. Slow down. People take time to think. Too much wit is unbelievable. Not particularly good jokes add realism? Bad jokes are boring. Pauses should be staggered in occurance and duration, both the result of internalized thought and external circumstance. NEVER drop character. Subtle alliteration a must.

This isn’t real. Fiction is real. As real (or more) as its counterpart non-fiction. Has it always been? What isn’t in some way designed to entrap you, enthrall you, entrance your mind?

Belief makes things real. For every sentence you write, ask yourself if you believe it. People like to think that the way they think the world should be are their beliefs. “I believe all illegals should be deported. I believe abortion is wrong. I believe the world needs more love.” These are not beliefs. Beliefs are the most intrinsic, most centered of human thoughts not worth dying for. They are not worth writing a letter to your elected officials nor voting for. A belief is the glue between you and the world. Without them the world inside and outside of our minds ceases to exist. There is a distinction here, vital and completely overlooked. Certain things are forced upon you. Others, up for grabs. But there is wisdom in knowing its nothing more than a choice you’ve made. If your mind vanished…what else would? Would anyone notice the supplemental absence of what you created?

and enjoy your stay

welcome to planet trash. where trees once grew freely to support the earth but now get cut down to destroy it. enjoy your stay!

Let’s begin where we left off. The notion being reduced to absurdity, its difficult to contend. I object, nonetheless. Freedom isn’t absurd, it is just no longer an option. It has been glorified for centuries and sought after in so many ways that now, nothing of it remains. If it stands that one feels free when they can do what they want, when they want; then freedom requires something more. Modern society makes it so. And even if you have succeeded to boldly demask the illusion and resolved genuinely to happiness in the most minimal and meager of senses, you are cursed by the age you live in. You are cursed by things you have no control over. There is no hope for the optimist anymore; even optimism has confused it’s priorities. Become victim to the misjudgements, moral confusion and illusory value systems; become slave. What’s worse, good deeds. Charitable acts, kindness and real love. These too, slave to no good.

And so it goes. Freedom has become what enslaves us. For this notion to be undone, and for me to outline how, I would risk all my privacy and be put on some list somewhere…which i’m probably already enlisted. So very briefly summarized, something huge. Something so utterly massive and tail spinning that it wipes our memories and sends us the opposite direction, must occur. Hurricanes clearly won’t do it. Nope…bigger. Drastic times call for drastic measures. I love that cliche.

Well the world kept spinning, even when New York City stopped. I feel so badly for those people and yet I can’t help this twinge of gratitude towards nature’s warning. Its more than a twinge actually, it surges through me. But then it stops because no one heeds such warnings. And they will rebuild their castle in the sand. With really no way out. Clausterphobia much? And if not to heed a greater warning from nature, you’d think we’d at least realize something of this election; like what really matters. People are so short-sighted. No, that would mean they could see a little bit. We are blind.

May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.

– Delmore Schwartz, “Summer Knowledge: New and Selected Poems (1959)”

Again Live Free

But as we’ve done so many times before we should ask ourselves again, what is it to be free? Is it simply to be unencumbered of burden responsibility and restraint? Or is it a peace that comes only with complete independence? And is this of mind or of spirit or of being? Is is possible for one to be imprisoned by their own freedom?

To this last question I answer no. The rest were loaded. The last question, though, this can be answered plainly. For although one may at times feel ushered to answer yes to it, the question begs you to rethink how you got here and why you came. Not only these things. But who accompanies you in your freedom? And, of course, where are you going? These are the main boundaries of your freedom. But the list of what binds you is so long, the word freedom isn’t even involved. Too long and so long that I can barely continue speaking of what I came here to speak. Its become moot. I hate that. Reductio ad absurdium. To have gotten that conversation in its entirety you wouldve had to be in my head but unfortunately I think faster than I can type and I argued the point of freedom to absurdity and then concluded that the opposite must therefore be true. That doesn’t help anyone. So much for that.

Well. I’ll find it, one way or another. I hope we all do. Most of us won’t, but some of us will. Just gotta be careful. Be wary. Then empty your heart of its mortal dream.

“And brood no more where the fire is bright”
-WB Yeats