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.

Abstract yourself.

I can’t say the validity of ANY of what is happening to me…but then, how can I say the validity of everything. I feel finally homeless and free only within my own skin. Home seems to have spread infinitely out into a thousand places and all of them are visible and accessible and each with their own presence and power…yet nothing is holding me. This is a place of dreaming for me. Of seeing. The in between place where all seems quite visible. Almost an objective plateau with which to see the whole of my being and to discover the truth of where I want to rest my head in the world. The wires are unplugged and I am just suspended in the air. 

And when I am scared, when I am terrified of my own feet, when I am hungry and impatient…I go to the sea…and everything seems born again. Everything rolls back. And I become that vital source of breath again. 

I must be living in a dream. 

So live a dream for 3 months. 

The scope is vital. But the present is the only power. Some balance between them is where we live. 

A thousand different angles touching each other and playing on top of each other to say hello to me to open my skin and touch through every bone. And everything I learn leads in to every other tiny fracture of the fissures of my life opening and closing and shaking awake…gliding into knowledge realm. 

Love is a terrifying force. Volcanic ash and tectonic ruble.
The times when we look for answers because logic is not enough. 

My small, scrappy fraction of the earth’s love is so magnificently convoluted with love and pure passion. To love and to be loved is the only thing I live for. Higher and deeper and richer than all else is this love that is breath.

Let it be exhausting.

To trust you again…that is a truly beautiful thing.

I can feel some motion. Tectonic plate motion.

I’d take being a human over anything. Wonder and this gaping hole in my chest over answers. I am human and I am so grateful.

Pound the ground and let its soggy whispers seep satifaction out of your bottomless pit of sanity. I am sane here only because you ask me to be. Only because I know nothing more than my own name and the place you set me down to claim as home. And all I will speak from here to nevermore is yes yes I have the stars now.

Hear your life. 

I want to write poetry not to create poetry but just to get the words out. And I said no, its just for love. Can I separate my heart from my selfish mind. Sigh me out and sliver my sentience back together in the pieces that peace together.

The holy is kept here, right in this box. I remember this perfection. Our arrogance is a nonsense gift.

sweet sapling fire dust rabbit ear sacrificiial heart fuck it up this time this is my time the time for time has no time but other than this fire feet fearless wonder at the stars the stars know me and I am them and we are all together in this onenness that does not become me but surrounds me in its furry grasp its outstretched arms its forceful jab towards the something of everything this robust piece of a dog scratching a sctraching at the center of the universe that spills coffee drops on the firs of barks of leaves the trees they cry out for me and I speak not with tongues but with bodies, with shapes and subtle copies of my sacred soul. My soul is of the dust of earth. The sounds the sounds where do they take me my soul is within this sound.

this creation I believe in it, the actuality of the fermentation of something that is created

but you have nothing more than a little bit of my soul and my soul is everything my soul is present, eternal, memory, thought, wish, dream, creation

the place where divinity gets into me and we conceive of the divine and the divine touches us through our ozone layer of love

and its love its got to lie there in the dust with love and love will hold me in her rapid fire arms and just caress me. Just reach my tender bits and they are all it and this it is in the is.

I am a temporal slice of a continuum of me. Apply the momentary fragments together in cohesion.

At the end of my life I want to say I was an infinite number of things…and they were all love.

Maybe it isn’t even soul. Maybe that isn’t even word enough. There is bottomless me at the end of me. Of you. Of us. I am always here with everything I experience. I can’t get away from my own presence.

I once wanted everything held in my shriveled hand.

And it’s not just my heart. It’s my whole body. Everything is my whole body. This is my whole being and this isn’t even it. It is placeholder and it is all. And it is piece. Part and parcel.

I am a part of the collection of star dust that is Lauren. I am part and parcel of someone infinite. But I am her all in all. I am infinite. But no…what I really am, is a mystery stuck inside a mystery. Moving around, my skin screaming for reunion with another piece of me. Everything’s got a little bit of me because we are all a little bit of the universe.

So what does all this connective tissue…what does that create and what does that mean? Does it have to “do” anything or is it just to create more wonder…more curiosity…and yet do not get locked in any answer. There is no objective truth. This is my freedom. Anything that binds me to an answer I must be skeptical of. Keep breaking open the bandaid over and over and over. Trust what you think you know and what you know you can never know. Let go and let go and let go and hold on just so that you can let go again. Get hurt just so you can forgive. It’s all about a creation of energy and forces. Be wary when your concept of God begins to bind you.

You have never lost yourself. You just have remember. And then you’re there.

I love trailing spice walls of layers of magic dipped around the sugary coating of lacy buildings. Buildings that speak for themselves, that find you within them…their tiny structures capitulating you through yourself, around the corner, abundant with decadent love. Your soul was made for this fire.

I don’t care if God exists in any objective way, or if I could ever know that. All I care about is what Love does to me. What Love rips open, how deeply and honestly I can give love, receive love and shed magic eyes onto everything and every person I see. Something in the universe is working beautiful poetry but I don’t know how and I don’t know why and I respect the mystery enough to let it be. Let it be. Dwindle in magic eyes. Find yourself in love. I look for what I keep coming back to over and over and over no matter where I am, what I have lost, what I am desperate for…and the thing I cannot get rid of with any amount of thought or feeling is Love. Love is the only constant in my life.

I could never fully lose myself. Why is this an absolute goal of enlightenment? Self is such a beautiful gift. Do not cling to it- but cherish it. Do not be afraid of the small part of the universe you have been endowed with. But use this to be humble, gracious and giving.

Here’s to love.

I must be absolutely dripping with diamonds by now, I am almost sure of it. Nothing could quench this icing love that smothers its way in from the stars, I’d like to swear on that. I’d like to believe many lofty things that touch on my shoulders and carry me past myself. Give me your tiny teardrop fears and your carved bowl freedoms and I will slander them.

“What is, is uncreated and indestructible; for it is complete, immovable, and without end. Nor was it ever, nor will it be; for now it is, all at once, a continuous one. For what kind of origin for it wilt thou look for? In what way and from what source could it have drawn its increase? I shall not let thee say nor think that it came from what is not; for it can neither be thought nor uttered that anything is not. And, if it came from nothing, what need could have made it arise later rather than sooner? Therefore must it either be altogether or be not at all.”

-Parmenides, who lived right around here…a few thousand years ago…

I call to the wind from my secret spot within the rain. I pitter patter down the longing roads of dissipating desperation that holds me to the stones. Without air, without breath, I move constantly towards a castle in the sky that is pouring sweetness onto my windpipe feather heart.

We sit together in silence. Guitar string strums wanders over the mind that I am in, within…the presence that is captivating my shoulder beams and is resting gently on my rain drenched curls. I am learning how to learn. 

I love with a heart full of air. More permeable than a solid, more infinite in every breath. Pervasive without liquid. Smothering in its gaseous explication. I am the experience of being something resembling me. Spotting in and out in a blinking sensation of life force. Your atoms are within me. Visible to the invisible seeing eye. The eye within the rain. The rain that sees me and I know nothing but the clouds that I can see and the fog that wants me to know its shape.

You, me and all the wind in the sea. 

I rest in the imperfect tense. You flutter on my bone structure, aching to be a part of my atomic chemistry. I make contact with the electromagnetic force of love and it cures my battered brains from their own cyclical churning. Give me the atomic lining of soul. I want to react. 

Teach me how to live. I want to breathe.