I find it funny so few people I come across seem to be trying to put together the pieces.
They go through life distracting themselves, lying to themselves, yet dreaming of a day when things become simple . . . easy. It won’t for them. They don’t map correctly the existence in this moment where they are with the vast myriad of potentials that they may nurture their totality into becoming.
This is your movie-montage-moment, fucker.
For all of time in which life has existed, it has tried to get to a state where the vessel can just chill. Humanity is presently the only creature we know of to become lackadaisical enough to achieve it: some fat, naked fucker right now is purchasing supplies through the internet to stock up his larder and has not left his house in years.
We have all this excess luxury of time and yet – on the backs of the sacrifices made by the ancestors we would call kin, on the foundations of their corpses in our soil and their stories in our bones – we shame them. We complain, we turn non-existent issues into world-ending apocalypses. We waste what they would have fought to the death for. And for what?
For none of us life is perfect. It is short when you open your eyes to the passing of it. Yet here is it. In this space there is massive beauty. Beauty which perhaps would not exist without the knowing of how weak the net is, how fragile the individual. In that juxtaposition of weighing your own death with the apparent beauty in life, you can turn to many perspectives.
I choose to think that even if the work I do is never found, it helps me to be a better person.
I choose to think that even if no one reads it while I am alive, it is here for the next generation.
I have always felt more kinship with crotchety wordsmiths of old more so than anyone I know. Anyone alive, in my life, that I have heard of and could call up and have a conversation with.
And thusly, I choose to weave a mentality that can be a patchwork in the quilt of you. The quilt you’ve made of your history, your family, of the one who cared for you; the same quilt which one day will fray to stringy and need to become a part of your legacy’s own comforter of kinship.
<Specs>
Start with sensory anchors.
(smell, taste, touch, feel)
Move into sewing scenes.
Drawing meaning.
Applying principles.
<Weaving>
Multifaceted problems require multi-pronged solutions.
Weave senses into aspects to be re-webbed regularly
%Chemical
%Movement
%Artism: ESP MUSIC-Ohhhh
%Support
%Hobby of Joy
<Conc>
You know this story in the back of your mind. Hell it is the reason that to flee so wildly from it in your life. Scared as fuck, you know it comes for us always. Embrace that. Live well and die well. You will die, so why not die well. Notice the infinite renditions of “Self” in the “Other” and that the illusion of you alone is just that. No you cannot always break the veil to see, sometimes your vessel requires that you pay attention to the close at hand. There will be times though, and in those times take a sip from the fountain of understanding and choose to be the type of human whose patch on the quilt makes the center for some cold kin of your own: to be the blanket which keeps them warm and of a tension that holds together the rest of what they choose to add.
See the unlimited facets
~We all know this story
Gifted in infinite renditions
As of myriad facets
And endless perspectives
Of a gem composed by
The force of time~