I’m working harder than ever before, and this website doesn’t show it.
The concepts I’m delving into are so intense, I wonder if I can blog about them. Here’s an excerpt:
You prepared a table before me in the presence of my enemies. Then we broke bread together, and they washed my feet and asked to partake of my cup of suffering. I realized when the aliens came to this planet that I was the enemy, and the prophecy was of unity, not gloating.
There was a time before the blog. I wrote plays late into the night when I was small, I worked on my autobiography, I told stories and journaled my dreams. I don’t know if there will ever be a post-blog writing life for me. This is for the regular updates, but I’ve needed a break from the pressure of daily, weekly, or even monthly posting. I’m exploring the infinite and the divine.
I hope that my audience that followed me through theological questioning and spiritual discovery and logical dissonance and familial abuse and alienation…will allow me to keep pushing, describing what I perceive as the edges of reality itself.
We count one, two, three, four.
Story is necessary only in time. Individuality is necessary only in three dimensions. What came before is beyond our language because we cannot count before one or past infinity without negativity. It was consciousness. It was one and many, not individual. They did not speak to each other, or it did not speak to itself, for it was whole and complete in its knowledge and understanding. What one part knew, the whole knew, and communication was unnecessary. It was, and they were, content.
So it was that the moment of spontaneous desire was the moment in which story and physical spacetime coincided.
One did not exist without the other, for story is linear. Conflict and resolution need time to play with each other. The consciousness was complete and content, so desire changed everything.
We count one, two, three four.
But the dimensions are not in this order. There is something that precedes the dot.
These four cannot be counted in hierarchal tiers, for they are in each other and around each other. For desire needs to chase satisfaction, and a chase cannot exist without physicality and time. Content consciousness had/has no need.
It is difficult to describe how what will appear to be a conversation took place. Our communication assumes time, space, and desire. Through our perception, it would seem to be repeated again and again, but it never repeated, for repetition requires time in which to invent and repeat. The conscious entity simply knew what I have here translated into human words. It did not speak to itself. What I will translate as “what will happen” is what has happened since desire manifested, and space-time came into existence as a natural result. Consequence is a concept that requires time, for a consequence follows what caused the consequence.
2016 has been indescribably hard. After my first long-term polyamorous relationship, I broke up with my boyfriend at the beginning of February and my girlfriend in March. I thought I was going insane, and couldn’t keep track of my own feelings and perceptions. Once I had grasp of clarity, it was hell to share living space with someone I loved, yet couldn’t trust.
I opened myself up… but the darkest sin I ever committed in the eyes of those I hurt was that I did not feel deeply enough.
It took a few years of not living with fifteen other people to be able to get inside my head without blasting very loud music. I still love music – and my spectrum of interest has widened to heavier metal and funkier EDM than ever – but it’s not a need. I’m not drowning anything out. I listen to it for the sake of listening to it, and not because silence is uncomfortable or disturbing. It used to be that if my music stopped playing for even a few minutes and I was alone in the house, it was too much to handle. I didn’t know this at the time. I realized it after music wasn’t a necessity anymore, and was more of a treat.
Art decorates space, music decorates time. Space and time are illusory, perceptual, the speed of light is slow against whatever reality the universe has in Dark Matter. Music and art are lovely, but they are metaphors. We are all allegory. This life is a dream to teach us and prepare us for consciousness in another host, somewhere across this vast plane of existence.
Push again, dig again, give myself the grace to rest. To not beat myself up internally for a natural reaction to a fractured reality. The Lorax told me to climb trees and listen to them, and the trees became my teachers. The dirt healed my feet and brought warmth to my body, and I spoke to the plants in my forest garden.
Thousands of years ago, God told the prophet to take off his sandals, for he walked on holy ground.
A few years ago, the Infinite One told me to bare my feet and make the ground holy.
Now I understand that I am the earth as much as I am this human vessel, and the pain I felt in the broken earth was my own pain. To listen to another creature – no matter what form its vessel takes – is to converse and discover the self.
I cast off everything that binds me and tells me that I should not wholly fulfill my full potential. I know not what it is, but the song is the same, perfect verse after perfect verse, further up and further in. I will put this song on repeat it until I know it well, and re-live it again and again, learning every detail and then continuing to listen, until I can dance and sing to its every movement, until I can hit every note and play every instrument, until I can go back in time and write the song before it was written, until I can give birth to the musicians and the indigenous peoples who invented those instruments, until I can hear the planet sing in a time before it was touched with the evolution of man. That is what it means to live a million lifetimes and finally to learn to dance for the first time. If this is love, then I am eager to taste the cadence of fire-music, to feel the melancholy and anguish with which it touches my emotions every time the song hits a certain note, even if I’ve heard the song a thousand times. This is infinity, this is a fractal.
Discovering more than ever before, and putting it into words with the best precision I possibly can, no matter how insane I might risk sounding, is an infinite task. It stretches beyond time and space. This Latin lettering and this English language are limiting tools. This task is infinite, and I take it with the knowledge that my efforts are limitless.