Stream-of- Consciousness 7/2/15

I love you. Thank you for the intense pervading beauty that saturates my life. Thank you for throwing me winks and signs that lured me from a sterile atheistic reality tunnel. Thank you for bring me into this realm of the Human; the pulsating, sweating, stinking, living, breathing, moving, and dirty. Alive.

I feel my consciousness assimilating new programs which are liberating and freeing me. I almost cry thinking about the little cracks I'm exploring and the lessons I'm learning. Thank you for Bassnectar's mixtape this summer. The wink is not lost that the mixtape is called Mixtape 13. Thank you for loving, knowledgeable friends who are helping me repair the shelter my mom lent me. 

Thank you for my health. Thank you for my mind. Thank you for a childhood that surrounded me with love. Thank you for the physical injuries that led me to books. Thank you for books. Thank you for the great minds who lived before me who wrote. Thank you for language. Thank you for my ability to manipulate language. 

Thank you. I love you. I'm glad I've found you. I hope we continue together. Through romances, friendships, illnesses, blisses, successes, and deaths. I look forward to experiencing whatever you are once entropy wins the battle it's constantly waging with my body. 

I hope my intention matters. I hope that my goals align with your energy. I hope I can help people in a significant way. I think there are a lot of people who need helping. The person needing the most help is my culture. She's a kind of mother. What greater gift can a son give his mother than to alleviate her woes. All of our mother is our culture. All of us share the same grandmother; Earth. I hope to fix my mother so she will be able to fix her's.  

That's the big picture. These perspectives, ideas, and experiences that have healed me, I want to try to reconfigure them by manipulating language. I'd love to try to heal my culture. But, ego lulled, my healing is far from complete. I bow my head. I know I have many more years of trials, many thousands of pages needing reading, and sun salutations needing flowing before I'm really ready for whatever is destined for me.

Or at least this is what I choose to believe. 

But in the mean time, I continue to thank you every day. I'm so fucking fortunate. Thank you. I feel you with every full moon, every sunset, every sunrise, every new friend I share sassy with. I see your winks. They haven't lost their meaning and I hope they never will. For now I will think of you as love. I you you. I love love. I love you. I you love. It's all the same. Thank you. 


An idea that I've been exploring more due to a resonating articulation from a friend, a synchronistic podcast by some enlightened comedians, and a wink from Reddit, is the trite sounding idea that we are not our thoughts. 

So it goes a little something like this. You are not your body. Your body is a beautifully complex biomass you've been gifted. But You are not your body. 

You also are not your thoughts. Thoughts are energies that You are able to experience. Like your body is able to feel cuts or kisses, You are able to experience happiness and fear. The key, the code, the secret, is that You are not any of these things. You are the Light that illuminates these things. You are the Witness that witnesses these things. That thing that is truly You is that thing that cannot see itself. That thing is godly. You are godly. 

You forgot. And those who have remembered, forget. 

Everyday is a new day we awake with amnesia. Thus meditation. Remind yourself that this beautiful body you have is not You. Remind yourself that these thoughts, as they rise and fall, ebb and flow, they are not You either. You are the witness in the back, the light of your mind, and you are eternal. 

Okay, that eternal part is a little poetic. I don't know if the light is eternal, but the idea as a whole is a beautifully liberating one. 

A quick materialistic translation: The emotions and thoughts you experience are temporarily charged neural pathways that will continuously change, so do not identify with them. 


You, the reader, know what inspires you. At least spend 15 minutes today doing that thing. We are going to die. We are atomic symphonies falling through time and we will hit the ground. You've got enough time for a few cool tricks between the womb and tomb. Do what you love. I love you.