In the place where all things grow and glow, at the time when all things race and relapse. At the end of the beginning. Of the time for restless tides to reel back, whisper forward and retain and restrain every last ounce of weightless time that has slithered through the skin of your days. Through the days lost embers glowing on the mountainsides, the riptides, the wheeling sighs of fortune, fate and fumbling chance. There is a great mother that speaks in my ear, that ticks through the timeless, that breathes me into the dreaming and says run. Run and play and race and when the world is brand new again, look freshly upon dawn with your fearless fingers, grab a fistful of dirt in your radiating hands and thrust your skin towards the next window in time and space. Through the jarring doors of the forest, back onto the journey wheel of what is leading you, feeding you, twisting your arm around your spine and transforming your youth into the ageless wind of the beyond.
I believe in the beyond and this great whistling force in the breeze. I believe in the trees and that whatever their roots are dug into, it is a deep and ancient story more complex than we can know, more divinely simple than we could wish to hold in our hands. I believe in the sound of everything, the creaking music that ties me to this world in every voice, ever whisper, every silent reverie. I believe in memory and all the mystical tricks it holds in its gently unfolding hills and chasms, how the rocky terrain of our mind folds and unfolds around the riddling twirls the wind breathes over our paths. I believe in love as the force beyond all other forces. As the great magnet holding the universe in silent, sentient nonsense. I believe in nonsense and what magical constellations of words may drum out of the deeply buried souls we have hidden from what we have deemed the king of humanity- that gummy, resilient sense maker named mind. I believe the mind is documenting the chaos and creation of my mystical, magical soul.
Everything seems to be a symbol. Nothing truly exists in the hard and concrete way people seem to want to cling to. Everything moves, shatters, wings and transforms. When I begin to attune my ears to the
I believe in the multiple dimensions of space and time…and though I cannot prove it…I can say with every puzzling fiber of my being that I have hacked, cracked and walked onto the fresh, fervent shores of these other dimensions. But even that is just a word, a way of describing what is absolutely unsayable. Even this body of mine is just a symbol- a form shaped to the whimsical wind of my soul- and it holds quite stiffly, I am amazed. Every time I go flying out of my body, high up or deep below or sliding through the sides I am always so amazingly surprised to find my body still intact, sitting in the same place I left it. I’m not afraid to say these things out loud anymore. In fact, it might be more insane to not say them at all. To pretend as if the plane I live on is even remotely close to the plane those around me seem to be so comfortable on. I cannot quite remember anymore what it was like before.
I have no explanation. No words. No sounds. No visceral clapping shapes or an arrangement of colors to express the why. The how. The why I was chosen for this strange and miraculous journey through time, space, mind, matter and soul. No idea why I can feel these things and others cannot. I know I feel them. Regardless of any empirical, measure-able “fact”…what I can say is that I without a doubt experience these things. And if it is in the mind, what makes it any less real? What is NOT a projection of the mind? What is so solid that you can hold in your hand and say anything that is not a word that we ourselves have not crafted of our own meek minds? We are namers, labelers, foragers of the wind’s rhythm. We are not so precious and chaotic enough to be the creation path of the wind, we merely contort the wind in our mouths to our own secret shape of meaningful sounds we have endowed with artificial language. Nothing is true. Untrue. Everything is a rhythm of the ocean manipulated just finely enough that we can transmorph it into something else that we can make sense of. We are translators of the great chaos. The great beyond. The creation is creating us. And we get the wonderful pleasure of believing we can do or know anything at all. What a spectacular illusion.
No. I have no idea why or how, I can only begin to feel the currents, the waves, the rhythm and how it taps at my skin like a pattering drum. How I sometimes misread, lose the sound, the rapture, and how it always find me. Always. I know that the minute I begin to let go of my own ego and give into the rhyme of the universe, I can hear my own footing again…but when I contort the sounds, attempt to control the forces, crush my mind into a fine powder, when I think I know where I’m going…I find myself running in place in the dark. I must let myself let go back into the “we.” Get to the beyond. And beyond that. And beyond that. The exhilerating infinity of this universe is all I’ll ever need.
All I can say, all I can ever need to say…is trust. Trust deeply…more than you thought was possible. Trust yourself, trust the universe, trust the sweet music that sounds above your skin saying ‘more, more.’ Trust everything you have ever done, will ever do, every illusory path, every silent whisper…for they are ALL me, you, us. We are all the we and we are always singing in the place beyond right at wrong. We are the synchronous hum of the hymnals singing the universe into being. As long as there is love, there will be universe. As long as there is universe, there is breath. And this breath can sing the most musical fragments of our chaos into what we might believe, for a miraculous second is music.
Awaken your deep, radiating intuition.