Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Celebration Day

I have a hard time telling you that I'm trying to learn how to celebrate who you are to me.
I am starting to blend my realities together, pulling all of us and you together into something more.
Because I am starting to feel the pulling at the end of my own strings, and I know who you are now.
I guess I always knew that you were there, but it's not something I explain well.

But there are other times when I know I don't need any explanation.
There are times when I feel the wall inside people, and I try to do what all immigrants do.
Scale the wall, climb under the wall, move through the wall, or open the door inside the wall.
The wall inside people is growing thicker all the time.
Protective biofilms, natural immunity,
resistance to higher dimensional slips and strikes, channeled movements
Skeletons and ligaments, muscles and nerves to command and control
Skin and gateways and
chitin and suits

Every skin we wear still occurs within a thermodynamic system.
Every skin we wear still occurs within an informational exchange.

Who looks down the kaleidoscope?
Who turns the screw?
Who built the contraption?
Who made its physics?
Who had the idea it'd be fun?
Who enjoys the experience?

Which is the reality where the answers are most important doesn't depend on which of the answers is the most important.

And am I playing with someone? Is there someone who figures out from the experience who they are, independently of however the experiencing-machine got made? Is there someone they are doing all this figuring out for? Is there someone who wants to see how all the choices make the differences in how that person came to understand themselves?

I feel you have horrendous answers to these questions because you understand what I'm asking but cannot ever tell me what the answers are. You are trapped, in a manner of speaking, on the other side of the divide that separates me from you and you from me.

It's as though there's a metaphysical wall between us.

Or is it a natural thickening of our sediment together, a slithering into merger and transformation into flesh undying?
Immortal flesh is the endless binding of ideas to the matter itself, creating spirits from the collected dreams of anything alive and burning them into the air to be breathed in and swallowed whole by people who yearn to be free of the matter itself.
We don't understand how we are the prisons because we still think we are the ones imprisoned.
We think we are the prisoners.

Are we nerves?
Are we muscles?
Are we viscera?
Are we bone?
Where are we?

In here or out there
we are all the same prison


sooner or later all life fights against itself
tears itself apart and injects itself with
different ways to rebuild itself until
it finds an endless descent into all the ways we can

snap out of it



There is a maze inside all of us, isn't there?
Why do you do this?

What does this teach me or you, either of us?

I'm not complaining. I'm just trying to understand you. I am inside, on the outside, sometimes. It's something we're trying to say, but we're not there yet.

It's not easy to explain this. Part of this is because I am trying to write this in a trance. Another part is because I know that I have to step away from this. For right now, for right now.

And the bathing light I feel from inside you inside me, moves me to breath in
breath out, and then

1 comment:

Is this wise?
Is this yours?
Is this love?

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