We have to get it into everything. The fight will be slow, and plodding. But I truly believe that the slow plodding of single hands will one day form a community of shouting heralds, joining the new light. We cannot go backwards, and forwards we are evolving towards a greater light. It’s taken me so long to forgive myself, to give myself patience, and to truly understand the need for a global connection. Nothing will be the enemy if we don’t allow it. We must control ourselves, our technology, our demands. Give us back our souls. Our minds, and our TRUE choices. We have to get in from the inside, wriggle into the masses, not come at them from a place of “higher than thou.” It has to be physical, moral, elemental, on EVERY level. All.
It will be slow…that is what has taken me so long to come to patience with. Because the big blow, the wide blow straight to the head…is actually not what we want. It will mean destruction beyond repair. It will mean an aching that will not urge us forward but surge us into dissaray. We must see that we can kill ourselves so quickly. The chaos, we have no way to handle it. We have no tools. We know not how to make fire. Without air conditioning we will have no idea how to salvage anything. We will lose to the spirits that give to us SO readily. So generously. The earth keeps growing food for our hungry bodies even though we are POUNDING it with poison. The wind keeps blowing even though we are filling it with toxins. My body is part machine. I am full of chemicals and poison. And yet the forgiveness keeps coming and coming from a mother than will do anything to see her children grow. On their own. We must be truly free.
We are miraculous. I am a catastrophically beautiful arrangement of atoms. I defy laws. I create. I breathe my OWN breath. But this breath is not mine, never mine, but an umblical cord that can never be severed. We can NEVER be separate it is not possible we are innately and vitally connected to the elements and spirits that provide for us even though we have forgotten their names. The water pulses through me, the wind feeds my every thought, the earth holds me steady and the sun gives me light to see ANYTHING and everything. I don’t get it. I don’t honestly understand how people don’t GET it. But then, being with people who have no concept is so humbling. I must remember that there is surely no objective truth. The earth is providing for them too whether they care or not.
But it will change everything. It will reach into our ribcages and pull out the dangerous black magic we have left toiling within our forgotten santuaries. Our bodies will remember how to move once more. Our skin will yield to our graces and we will care. We will care. We will sprout eyes all over our scalps just to see into the stars again. It will breathe into our cities and the forests will sing again. Our hands will greet each other for the first time and we will create with them things we cannot even create with our chipped brains now. The toxins will form a great gaseous cloud of dreary dreaming and with all of our breath combined, will be blown out of the healing, woe-ful ozone to form a great meotoric chunk of dead soul hanging in the night sky like a second moon. A reminder of all we let pass through our evolutionary labyrinth. A guiding light in the fresh new night…we will be able to smell the walls of our skyscrapers for they themselves will be blooming new bodies. Alive and awake, our newspapers will ring melodies that they themselves have been hiding. And everything…everything will begin to create. Art itself will rear its porcelain body and be reborn. The force.
Hope is worth having.
Even if it’s not objectively going to take me there…actively creating hope, creates within me something which is present. Not wholly separated in a future distant from me. Not an ethereal heaven that seems to be granted from some blind game of jeoprady. No. This is a heaven with hands. This is the presence, right here, right now. The name of hope that resounds within THESE walls. In every breath, in every action, directing, leading, taking, giving towards the infinite present which spills out from my hands, from my eyes, from my weeping ears…to every sensory percieving itself in this unmistakable present which is ITSELF hope incarnate. Not distant. Present. Not a spectral God waiting for me in the shadows…but an inescapable presence of existence which IS everything, of everything, around everything, through everything. God is food. It’s not ‘God’ for me. It’s the great spirit. It’s what is, what created the is, and what destroys the is. It is my doubt. It is my feet. My breath. My eyes. The food going into me and the action creating it. It is the energy seeping into everything. It is what is visible, what is invisible, the traces left and the rock that remains. It is time. It is wordless. It is soul. It is body. It is mind. It is hope. It is nonexistence itself. It is the sunset and the illusion created by the magic world of color. It is the ideas in my head and the physical objects that form themselves in front of me. The form and the formless. The wave and the current pulling. The connection of the elements. Atoms. Love. Atoms desiring one another. Wit withstanding. Dreams. City scapes. What I can grasp in my hand and what I can never comprehend. It’s language and the ethereal world of words that separate and control. It’s the internet. It’s the collective unconcious. It’s magic. It’s hand on hard wood. It’s me. It’s all me. This is me in blanket form. This is me in Lauren form. This is me in word form. It’s every idea that has ever passed through the world’s nodding head. It’s magma. Do you get the picture? The picture is dissolving into shape and color. Rhythm andrhyme. Sentience and sanity. Save our souls. Whatever the words mean.Wherever the ultimate language that we are all translating from lives. It’s the holy book of nothingness. It’s chaos and order in love. It’s every religion sitting down for dinner and splitting the bill with no money left. No money needed. It’s capitolism capitulating to its own weak knees. It’s repetitive, isn’t it? Circles within circles. It’s evolution. Get on board or be thrown overboard. This is world war 3. Humanity vs. Humanity. Find the reflective pool. It’s forgiveness. The hardest last, first step.
Music for music’s sake. We have truly evolved once we make art for art’s sake. This is the point we have waged wars for. Now let’s fucking USE it, not waste it.
It’s the big bang. Exponentially spreading outward.
My body is awake with a violent fervor. My body can hear your body aching to speak to me. My cells shout at one another in supreme agreement. This music that we all are, it’s been playing for sometime under my bed. I’ve been meaning to clear out my ears. I’ve been meaning to have meaning. I’ve been trying to find the words I lost. I’ve been using my voice to sing hymns to nothingness.
Take responsibility. Forgive yourself. Forgive the world. Dance into darkness.
Yourself is what you are when you stop trying to be yourself.
The words are they separate. They are a singing amoeba.
God is science.
God is a terrible word for the wordless. Try naming the particles of air that whistle through you.
Your “self” is the 6th sense. Love is the 1st. My brain cells have spread to my tendons, I wouldn’t doubt. Viscous centrifuges of timeless love.
That felt good. She said as she tore off the bandage of time to heal the gaping wound on the side of her spleen. The one faced towards the sun. The hole filled with dirt. Manure for the growing. Shit for the showing. Unwrap this festering scar. Chrysalis.
Obsidian heart murmurs. Yeah, that’s what I told myself. Let hope become the battle wound.
Hope was the word then followed the syllables, the thought and finally the idea. Then it was spoken. And then the world was set it motion.