Love will take your bruised fingers and bash them to the ground. Chaos will set your heart a blaze. Rage will churn your insides to a devilish puss, drinkable and fire for the soul. Your ashen, swollen sorrow pages will tear themselves apart and tie themselves together with bits of bandages. Love will grind you into a fine powder and slice through your petty seams to reach the courdorouy filling. Love will touch between your eyes and through your skull and around the tip of your nose. Love will erase your fingernails and replace them with claws for scratching. Dislocate your backbone and affix wings. Apples in your kneecaps and violin strings for sinewy tissue. You will be held together with twine and twists and the battering ram will never cease to devour the thoughts you keep in a box labeled ‘mine.’ Love will let your skin drip with ruby blood and plunge your cells into aching, restless desire. Love will throw you towards the moon, gravity released, all vestiges of sense spinning outward in a gently exploding firework.

I feel like I’m standing at the top of a great mountain. I feel victorious. I feel like I’m about just about to leap off the top and slide all the way down. I feel blue and itchy with wonder. I think of all the moments that brought me here and I just can’t seem to lace it together…it’s lumpy and perfect and sliding. 

So I’m disconnecting again. From the world, from myself, from my home. But actually more than a disconnect, it’s more of a connection with a deep blue unknown. 

Experience all the beings that are integral to the experience of existing within time. 

Hope itself does not require or imply fruition or result. It is merely the very pumping blood that drives action forward. That tosses birds out of their nest. The fulfillment of desire- that’s not what it’s about- its the rip and pull of connective tissue away and towards each other that creates tension within the universe. It’s bouncing atoms and whatever makes electrons spin. Hope grows WITH loss. The two are necessary counterparts. Satisfaction only opens doors to deeper desire. Why would Buddhists want to get rid of desire? It is the basic pull of the universe. It is gravity. It is the pull of the sun. A great ball on fire pulling everything into its orbit. Everything is in love with each other- trying to reconnect what was lost in the big bang. The big bang of human separation- cutting the umblical cord from the safe womb of God into a universe exponentially spinning outwards- in love. Love merely a product of this deep desire. This rabid hope. The push and pull and the entropy of love. And full satiation- full, compete comfort- that is something I’d like to stay away from. Stars are not stable, they are collapsing gaseous love machines. On the side of chaos. 

Scientifically, the universe responds to perception. 

And the memories of where I was this time last year, they are such gifts into who I am, who I was, and what kind of person I want to be. Nothing REALLY takes you back- everything springs forward. 

Somehow I feel like I’m getting the chance to do it right.

And sometimes being hyper aware of what you think a situation is takes away from the truth splendour of discovering it. 

And my faith and my concept of the world has been a thousand times over with this unending wave of chaos and then there are these moments of absolute absurdity…where the universe assembles itself within this absolute chaos and the nonsense is the only sense I can find. I accept the absurdity of a full life. 

I can’t really believe I’m doing this again. This is absurd. But so wonderful.  

This moment is solid and stingig and somehow touched with a motion back and forth. A luggage that is calling me to pick it up. The blankest walls ever conceived. The greatest joy my soul has ever dipped it calico hands into. I’ll pay direct attention to the stickers on the plastic waterbottles that tell me I’m here. This America is real for a moment.

Beginnings are unbelievable. You can’t hold on to them just like you can’t hold on to endings. You can feel something cracking open in your skin though, it’s incredible. I want to live in this place of eternal beginning. It is so exhilarating. 

Everything in my life has conspired to bring me to this moment. 

I really feel as if I’m in the future now. I feel the passage of time.

You are the moment. And change is a necessary part of you. Not of or around but part and parcel. I am the change. I am my path. I am the motion of my story. Things exist within temporal frames of moments but sounds are created by the patterns of the waves being moved. There is no objective…it is the essence of the motion itself that gives rise to a feeling of a creation. I don’t mean to lessen the essence- It is just much more free. Leap the tropopause and reach the great belt of fresh air. Threshold of revelation. 

And I seem so often to be consumed with this need to change. A gutteral desire to transform- to move towards something better. I’m not really sure what this need means or where it comes from but I think it is just part of the human experience. Evolution is a deep part of us. 

People don’t really leave you. Places. This concept seems illogical to me in this moment in time. I am just a carrier of all things within the scope of my universe. And my universe is about to be blown wide open. It’s not so much about leaving things…I’m not even sure if it’s really possible to leave anything…but more so just expand, explode, open, become more. 

Australia was an awakening. A ratcheting out, a cleaning and a shedding and an awakening. Maybe this will be a becoming. An enriching. Enlivening. Of course an awakening to…but I don’t know what the next step is. And there it is again, this desire for it to be more- somehow exponentially increasing- maybe this is an honest impulse, however, since the universe itself is in fact exponentially expanding. And even in this act of trying to define what it is I’m after or what I’;m moving towards there is some loss in that….the definition makes it lose some of its own perfect power for movement- so I will attempt to find meaning and assign words and yet I will not let them define,merely wash over me like poetry. But that’s all any of it ever is isn’t it? It’s all just poetic attempts at meaning. From the theory of relativity to the Bible to a reciept- it’s all just poetry AT what we attempt to see in this world. What we want to create.

I want to create. I want to discover and I want to direct my magic towads creation. I want to learn. I want to soak it up. I do not want to preoccupy myself with NEEDING to change or needing to be MORE than myself. That will happen all on its own, I do not fear that. There was some fear in me that my experience had to somehow measure up to some level of the world given to me and yet even in defy that I was only defying yet another box placed on this magic. This time I want to move from an honest place into the absolute terror of subjective reality. Experience whatever I experience however I do.  

Bring me to the sacred place and let me find my magic. I’m ready to see. Fearless. You have power over yourself. 

I can’t wait to see the stars again. I’m ready to soar. Unlatch myself and release the spirit. Magic maker. 

The presence of this coming moment- this coming country…is too much to process. I’m floating in this huge sea of white. White cloudy beginning with the most peculiar shapes welcoming me in begging me to know my new self. A whole new world. A whole new life to discover. What lies before me is the most incredible thing I could imagine. ITALY. ROME. SICILY. How did I get here again? I don’t think I will ever understand this confusing joy of being alive. The wide, wide atlantic and all the depth it holds. The surface of the earth and what it means. The horizon and how time just hangs in the air. And every step away from home is a step closer to this wide mystery awaiting. A wide sea of white welcomes you. Where am I going? To the end of the earth and back.

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