I am possessed by the stars. I look up at them and see ourselves floating in space. They intoxicate me with wild wonder and shake out my soggy mind from its tiny fragmented hiding place. And the scope of it all…the utter grandeur and vastness of the universe…is devouring me. And it becomes so apparent that we are living in delusional worlds that we have created. Small and stumbling we’re just making living art to dwell in but it’s all just shards of stardust floating out in space. And then I become so aware of how silly it all is. And I feel like I’m going insane because I feel like a brain in a vat and all of this is surely just projections and reflections. And people keep asking me why I’m always looking up at the sky and I think why do you pummel your eyes into the cement? My imagination needs to breathe. Because we keep forcing our brains down to the pavement…stressing about assignments that don’t matter…dwelling on moments that dissolve…fixating on the unceasing stream of pixelated numbness…placing ourselves in boxes and confining our brains to tiny matters. We LITERALLY place ourself in box after box. I move from one square stuffy room to the next. We move down straight streets and gridded cities into box after box after box. We speak of life in linear terms…and so we think that life is linear. We invent answers and begin to trick ourselves into thinking that there are simple answers we can find. We create the kind of world that has edges and then get frustrated when the walls don’t actually give us any truth. We are obsessed with productivity…and we make ourselves into ROBOTS. Then I move outside and I see a whole world of color and shape and contours of the trees that echo and move and grow all on their own. My mind needs to splinter out of the box you keep slamming on it. 

We need to abstract ourselves. 

And yet…in order to exist…in the way that we exist…we must be confined. In order to care and love and have any sort of scope of meaning to this life…we must be embodied. We need lines and shapes to construct our reality…we need languages and words to create meaning and we need traditions and religions to bond us. We are the bonding of the world. The eyes of the universe. We are an experiment in purpose. We are meaning making machines. Maybe God designated earth as the experiment to see if anything could matter. And the only way to make things matter would be to tie them down and force them into small objects…only give pieces of the puzzle and leave the rest a mystery so we would claw like children at small blocks to try to tie them together. And it is the WAYS in which we tie the pieces together that is our magic. The meanings that we are able to procure and the Gods that we allow to exist. Our ability to conceive god is God itself. God is a metaphor. The earth wanted to see what it was like to feel itself walking so we burst from its shaggy feet and grew like trees into bones and breaths. 

And all we have is feelings. Sensorial experiences and beliefs. Our ENTIRE existence is based on belief. We believe in our own existence and we believe that the empirical data that is presented to us is fact. Not that I’m saying it’s not…but we are fundamental believers and our ability to believe is our ability to exist. To create meaning. It is INHERENTLY subjective. And it is only because of that that we are able to exist. 

Are we evolving? And when we evolve to the next stage will we still be human? Or something else? Are we a stepping stone and when will we ever see the whole story? We can’t…the only way to create wonder is to take away the answer. Surely something is toying with us. The limitations of my mind are the only things that keep me from going insane. Something is keeping us here. It’s gravity. There is no lid on the earth even though it sometimes appears that way. And if we knew the whole story we would cease to be human.

And this illusion of night and day is so mind boggling. I mean REALLY clever magic. By day we are cast into light and we can SEE our world in that light…and YET the light is blinding and somehow deludes us into thinking that we are in some painting…some world onto its own…and the blueness of the sky that is projected and the clouds that dance around us is this incredible piece of scrim that sets the stage for believing we are in our own world. And the poetry of the sunset is so wildly misleading. For when the darkness comes…it is only then that we can fully grasp where we really are. How we are floating in space. Like we suddenly dash the curtains from our eyes and the veils from our visions and then we are alone again. The illusion drops and while we cannot see in front of our own faces…we CAN see up into the high and infinitely expansive realm of the truth. The truth of the stars can only be seen in the darkness. The poetry that was set in motion is gorgeous. And the art that is lying around every corner is sheer brilliance. And the performances that we put on for each other every day are the most convincing. And the music in the air is utterly transcendent. That’s what gives way to this idea of a creator…the most brilliant artist. Or magician. Because I have no connective tissue between the brilliant masterpiece of this work of chaos art and the seemingly systematic streets laid out before me.

I am skeptical of anyone who thinks they have any real truth. I must learn to be skeptical of myself whenever I think I have truth. For truth…in a world as complex and mysterious as this one…can only give way to delusion. If I say I have truth…it is only a metaphor. Just metaphors within metaphors within words whose real meanings vibrate more like music, less like math. But then…music is mathematical so it all feeds back on itself again.

I am a withering opiate of this illusory world.

And you only see this tiny piece of me. The piece that performs. I move around the cerebral, divine world of my being and then I am squished into a tiny room with you and I turn into a child again. And I’m sure I only see the littlest piece of you as well.

My mind is dissolving.

And everything…EVERYTHING I hear is heralding the call of something new. I don’t know why or how or what it means but I can feel it coming at me from every direction. I don’t mean for just me…I mean for all of humanity. Jesus was a shaman. We need a healer. I don’t know what is bubbling under our feet but I can hear the murmurings of a new hope. 


How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes
I struggle to find any truth in your lies
And now my heart stumbles on things I don’t know
This weakness I feel I must finally show

Lend me your hand and we’ll conquer them all
Lend me your eyes I can change what you see
But your soul you must keep, totally free
Har har, har har, har har, har har

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life

Awake my soul, awake my soul
Awake my soul
You were made to meet your maker


This is not the end
Live unbruised we are friends
And I’m sorry
I’m sorry

Sigh no more, no more
One foot in sea one on shore
My heart was never pure
And you know me
You know me

And man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing
Love it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you,
It will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be.
There is a design,
An alignment to cry,
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love 
as it was made to be


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