Motion and Permenance

The idea of the fixed location is an illusion of perception. We are ever in motion, from the tiniest particle of our atoms to the largest wave of gravity making its way across spacetime. Standing in the Holy Land, you are not walking in the footsteps of prophets. Resting under a Bodhi tree, you are seeking enlightenment in the same place as the Buddha. Returning home is in your mind. Your soul, even.

Those places no longer exist. They are miles, kilometers, light-years away. Lost to the motion that is life. Life is not static. The universe, as we currently understand it, is expanding. Our galaxy is moving with the local cluster. Our star orbits the galactic core: our planet, the star. Our bodies are forever dying and rebuilding. Once that process has reached its inevitable end, our component elements return to the motion of succoring other lives.

The limitations we place on ourselves very often manifest as our desire to anchor in a fixed point. We allow our curiosity to calcify and become brittle. This is anathema to our own growth as individuals and a species. We must become fluid. Like Water – Bruce Lee.

To struggle with this is natural. Change and the chaos it brings are very often painful. We are conditioned at our very core to oppose change once we have settled into something we identify as safe and comfortable. A cave to shelter in. A bountiful meadow.

These are traps.

Ideology is the same. Religion, political beliefs, and holding to theories that have solutions to debunk them. The data stack of knowledge we use as a foundation must be forever expanded and solidified so that we may grow higher.

In spite of all of this being true to my knowledge, we must also remain watchful. Curiosity about consequences must accompany curiosity about the new and unknown. This should not become fear. The pain of consequence is just as often a teacher as is success.

This is how to correct many ills

This is the root of my growth.

A wish

I want my brain to cooperate to maintain this meat suit I have been burdened with. I have decent stretches of being functional, then hit a wall and it is like another, self-destructive, shadow me is trying to drive. Not like hearing voices. Just… the urges and needs grow ragged edges. A fog settles over concentration. A near anhedonic slow-boiling rage bubbles up like a cranial reflux burning my amygdala like a raw, weeping esophagus of my subconscious. Everything I want becomes exhausting, even when it is something I love.

And then I climb out and the lingering bits crust over and fall away, leaving itching reminders of where they were in my psyche.

But the lingering adhesions where the edges are… remind me that the attachment points are still there. That I am still wired to interface with the morass. The primeval shade of unspecified rage and bile wants to burn the edges.

Stolen Silence

Where do the words go that we never speak?
Where are the paths to the destination
the places we never seek

Cut off at the last moment
a plan in pieces when the picture was near complete
rain on watercolors when the day was bright
and words unspoken brought unrelenting night

One more day
a sunrise away
everything unraveled in confusion
so many words I wanted to say

If there was just one thing you knew
kept inside for the moment to be right
could have been that last handhold
for you to climb into the light

Cold now the hearth and gone the soul
never knowing but maybe wishing
still fallen before truth was told

structure broken
support was decayed too long

sunken into the sea

I was not a siren but should have sang my song

No destination

People often say what they expect, or do not expect when “Death comes for them”.

I like to view this in an entirely different way. We are heading towards death. It is the invisible barrier that we will one day encounter on our trip through spacetime. We are like the skydivers that have switched to the flying squirrel suits. We are plummeting at near-terminal velocity with the illusion of control.

We can modify our pathway along the course of gravity, but ultimately that great attraction still wins. There are no parachutes on this ride. You do not get to safely land and try it all again. (Unless reincarnation is true, I suppose…) You meet the filter at terminal velocity and the electricity that runs the sub 60-watt bulb in your skull flickers out. The signals to and from your amygdala and vagus nerve stop and your coprocessors wind down.

Then the mass of symbionts that have been travelling with you start the process of breaking down your meat suit for further processing.

But you – your energy has ether moved on to a dimension we are unable to perceive within this flesh, or reaches a resting ground state.

Death does not come for you. It quietly waits for you to arrive.

Will you be on fire when you hit, or just another cold breeze coming through the door?

Etching

The acid flow of ideas eating through the neural pathways
dendritic lightening tightening the bonds but will it esterase the base of the glitch
the itch

etching its way through the fractal road practical stowed in the crevices
psychic ceviche but there is no lime
ticking in the aftermath when there is no time

taste the acid etching through the crevasse under the corpus callosum, widening the divide between what we calculated and what was chosen

Sour thoughts and smooth brains talking about soft hands and black stains on lung scans but not enough miles on my airplane scans to smoke a camel in quicksands…

Where were we?

susurrations of scales over sands expands the bands of spectrums still unseen in the violence of the liquid scream
the only comfort in the taiga is the lack of scales and thermal vision, making the frisson of fear of the enlightening one

the glowing son

the burning sun

am I the only one?

But this fertile garden now frozen in fear, the fertilizer steaming in the fresh fallen ice
looking for the navigation device
or just the vice
that drove the motor
the engines
over the edge

the irony of freezing to death staring into the eldritch fusion reactor we call god.