I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in tune once more. ~John Burroughs
I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in tune once more. ~John Burroughs
Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly. ~Franz Kafka
We are the stuff of stars . . . and of dreams.
We are not all the products of society’s speculated and manufactured dreams. Some of us with the (dis)ability [deemed so by society’s very small and finite standards] of deviant perception see the world (and by the world I do not mean society’s reality, the technological lexicon industrial civilization has so purposefully become) as something else. Nay, as something more. Where although nature’s colors be bold and vivid, those colors are more so for us, with rays of colorful brightness that extends well beyond the so-called boundary of the object. As if the color glowed in the sun rather than the dark, as if ultraviolet were infused (as it is) but we are able to perceive its inevitable quantum inversion. As if each molecule spoke loudly, and those colors created the most beautiful of symphonies.
With our schizoaffected eyes, we hear music in every hue contained within a flower, or leaf, or body. Color sounds like the twinkling, glimmering glow that physics says it can possibly be. The world is not the binary bullshite of black and white, but voluminous with hues otherwise unimaginable. For it is not our eyes, our finite and limited eyes, that see, but our unfiltered minds the tastes of blue, smells of green, and feels of purple. The sounds of Now shine in the golden amber rays of the sun filtering through a newly-morned room, tasting of dust particles and feeling like humility. Should we scream our unconvinced insignificance onto the air, galaxies appear and dance like the seasons change subtly from one to the other. In our conscious minds beats the fervor of Earth planet’s hum, thrumming our inductive bones like native drums. When we dance, society names it crazy and neurotypicals follow the cry. Yet, their cry seems sad, for they too resonate with the rhythm of the spirit of life, only deadened by the burdens of eco and social (illusion) problems, solved only because they are meant to be unsolvable, less the economic clock quit tocking to the young tick of laborious tedium. Are people so ashamed not to let go of this miserable righteousness? Must we forever bear the cross of sins we never committed? I wonder.
Within the constantly firing neurons of our schizoaffected brains screams the need to be free of social ego’s needs, so we laid it to waste at birth, discarded like a piece of garbage onto the classroom floor. We are not children of light, we are not enlightened, we are merely unaffected by the scientifically managed, now neuromarketed, compulsion of affluence, abundance, deception, manipulation, and greed. Money does not provide our currency, only simplicity sooths our affected brows. Unable to stand the noise of shopping malls, labor, bureaucracy, government, felonious, superfluous laws and the other sick dis-eased ilk of modern (outgoing) social culture, we spit it out, repulsed and disgusted by the constant conundrum of society’s lies that attempt to entrap us. For this “crime”, we are sentenced to institutions and called disorder.
Funny. Who would call today’s society order? Or is it known only by name, and not action? What acts of order are seen performed on Shakespeare’s protean stage? What calm is felt from the pulpit’s preachers (read as presidents, priests, speakers, politicians, coaches, judges, etc. and other costumes of authority)? These, too, have color and it is one listless and bleak. Look around: where else do you see the blues of the sky? The purples, pinks, reds, yellows of the flowers wild?
Within our schizoid bodies, host a rainbow upon rainbows upon rainbows, a tessellated, multi-dimensional, interconnected double helix harmonic sequence of all senses woven together within every one. A chaotic order of untapped stillness . . . just barely there binaural beat pulsing, beckoning . . . life.
A schizoaffected existence.
The World is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it’s real, because that’s how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round, and it has thrills and chills and is very brightly colored, and it’s very loud. And it’s fun, for a while. . .
You are literally made of stardust and whatever becomes of you the particles from which you are made have been around since the dawn of time and will continue to live forever. ~Danny Scheinmann, Random Acts of Heroic Love
In other words, we are all a continuation of the big bang (if there was such a thing, but rather than looking at this as an actual event, let’s look at it as if it were the adjective about a particular event). Much the same as humans are conceived, and as thoughts are conceived, and as atoms collide, and as the earth peoples (like the apple tree apples–an idea borrowed from Alan Watts, but that is apropos I think), humans are.
Yes, no one can truly see the world the same way as another. Truly cannot see because each human has experienced his or her life, uniquely, through a unique set of happenstances and occurences and accidents and guidances etc; it is this uniqueness that establishes the subtle distinctions that can make each one of us a guru. In this way, all humans inherently possesses an infinity of probable potentialities. Each probability disappears or appears according to the conscious and willful choices made as human beings. These constitute the lovely differences between humans, which make it possible for humans to relate to one another on differing levels. When we find ourselves among greatness (whether that is a work of art, music composed, ballet, basketball game, graphic design, architecture, voice, etc.) we subjectively feel the meaning conveyed and we perceive that greatness wrapped up in a little piece of ourselves. . . so, in some ways we still experience it differently rather than the same. What we can all agree on is that as far as we know there does exist an external dimension, separate from us, yet somehow connected, called external reality (the amalgamation of all realizations, the collective mind). These are the genes of our sameness.
I, too, perceive in such a nondualistic manner. As the Winter leaves its cold tendrils in the early days of Spring, and as does one galaxy merges (not collides) with the other, passing through one another and leaving bits of each other within the makeup of the other, as is the nonduality in things. It can be difficult to distinguish one from the other, but only at certain levels of magnification. At one level, the distinction cannot be perceived, as a single point from which to begin or end cannot be perceived. Where do I end and Life begin?
The space around us is full of a living essence, which we are just beginning to understand. This essence is like a conduit that is affected by our thoughts. Like oscillations of a bowed string, the notes we play do matter. ~Shawn Hocking
It’s easy to travel down the nihilist path; I find myself doing this on occasion myself. Although, I don’t think of basing the why of things on their function constitutes nihilism. I think it’s a very realistic (no pun intended) way of perceiving the world about us. Nihilism only comes into play because this way does not include the existence of a god (as an anthropomorphic entity). Also, nihilism does not necessarily mean ending as in destruction. Even Nietzsche, the so-called father of nihilism, did not think this way, evident by his philosophy of the Superman. Nietzche was an evolutionist! He wanted a better kind of Man, as he was extremely displeased with the present lot.
And so, that brings us to Love. Love, to me, is not an emotion, it is a way of being, a way of living in the world. Not so much with love, as *being* love’ in this way with every action, with every motion and with every will and want of your being embodies love, which is the natural tendency in humans. Love is a form of consciousness/conscience, and without them love cannot be experienced. And no, love is not only a human trait. The iconization and commodification of love is a human trait, yes. It is obvious that animals and other organisms love. Observe the cow, the lion, the cat, the dog, the deer, the elephant, the dolphin, the whale, the penguin, as well as the flower, the rock, the sea, and the desert.
Are we not all the embodiment of Life and Love, a cosmic consciousness?
*Image Credits (artwork used with permission through CC license and with express permission from Shawn Hocking)–
“Yin Yang Sky Earth — Illustration” by DonkeyHotey
“Fossil Sitting In Sun Light” by A Guy Taking Pictures
“Tardezita” by Eduardo Amorim
[Cosmic Consciousness] by Shawn Hocking
[Untitled] by Shawn Hocking
We work hard to disown the parts of our lives that were painful, difficult, or sad. But just as we can’t rip chapters out of a book and expect the story to still make sense, so we cannot rip chapters out of our past and expect our lives to still make sense. Keep every chapter of your life intact, and keep on turning the pages. Sooner or later you’ll understand why every scene, every chapter was needed. -Sandra Kring
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