Clearing Actually Atlantis

I’m still feeling a bit overly poetic. However, it’s good to check in every now and again with what has been referred to as consensus reality. That hard line this is the way things are view of reality. The domain of already been done. The abode of the end of the road. Yea, poetic. But the rest of me …

It was my mom’s birthday yesterday. I gave her the present of a hot meal and a few hours sleep in a warm bed. So I get poetic because to get anything else… requires heavy lifting of my yogi diaper and I misplaced that thing five eons ago. Well, five cycles but no one knows what a cycle is so…

We’re so connected yet still so far apart. Ephemeral connections. Illusion of togetherness. How do you work together? How do you communicate? How do you effect and affect one another?

Someone wrote something that said we’re more connected but also more lonely than ever. Everyone is talking, and also, seeing that no one is around to listen. You want to be listened to? That’ll cost you. Tangible moments moving too swiftly through currents that are not aware though you believe them to be. The current isn’t any more aware of what you give and hope to receive than a rain barrel is aware that it is piss rather than rain entering it. This is why people use the phrase wake up and writer’s use’ta drink.

The other day I thought I’d test the algorithm on that old playground. Nada. Na. Da. And that isn’t the interesting part. Censorship isn’t interesting. Excluding those in lower economic brackets. Yawn. What is interesting is how I felt. Because I think it speaks to this elusive quality that people are trying to understand. Normally, if someone bares their soul, shares a little piece of their heart, social norms dictate acknowledgement. It is part of our social lubrication. Attention. Love. Time.

You put your two cents up, ah, social media, finally someone will see how brilliant I are, how thoughtful, how dynamic, how cute, how….how… thinking, waiting, correcting and adjusting and when you don’t get the response you anticipated, or you get no response…

They’ve fractured our social mirror. You don’t realize how firmly they got ya by the balls until they don’t even wait for you to cum to milk ya.

Mh hmh.

It hurts that my mom is homeless. It hurts that I can tell people. That people can see images of humans living with rusty water, getting shot for no reason, evacuated from any semblance of dignity and no response. Nothing remote of natural. If your neighbor set their lawn on fire every morning would you even bother to find out why?

I know there is humanity. I know there is connection. But there is also… invisible people. And you should never ever ever ever let someone else tell you what kinda humans have a right to live and participate and what kind of humans don’t. And right now… that is exactly what is happening.

The universe is folding in on itself so quickly now. Like pancake batter. Not lumpy like when you’re making a good muffin.

Here’s another poem I wrote, gonna put it in a story and submit some writing again so I can know my words are in print even if I can’t afford to buy a copy. It fits here though and I don’t know if I’m going to get that damn thing written in time. So…

Lan: local area network

IS: information system

At: @

Atlantis future selves

Exist outside of spacetime

Because when the

Writing was on the wall

They scattered their knowledge

& memories

So far across

The sea of mind

No one -singular- generation would

Have all the pieces

Oh treasure hunt

That could never yield

Completion

Butterfly effect

Wheel of false perception

Unless or until collapsed

All back unto itself

To be spun even farther

Into the reaches

Beware of the leeches

 

If you don’t have a natural capacity, a drive towards love because it genuinely feels better but instead require and demand a logical employment of empathy and compassionate outreach, an equation to dictate the pros and cons of applying love…

You are the weakest link

And ask our higher selves for whom the evolutionary bell still tolls

We aint gonna miss ya one bit

And here’s an even better one:

psalm 234

 

Many many years ago a man that loved me more than I can stand to know… Greek God and Roman cowboy…played this song for me.

 

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God In a Serious Mood

I do remember what it was like when new ideas scared me. It was not that long ago.

Where did that fear disappear to? Into the arms of my Beloved.

Held beneath wings that are oceans of benevolent fire.

and Openness that defies knowing

Vastness that defies seeing

and shimmers

Quaking thank you for the showers

the sparkles of Light

In the secret stillness

Where also…

I feel your rejection.

And raise you

My love

 

Feel it.

It easily replaces that which you fear.

And if it is love that you fear…

Where have you gone

Where have you gone

Come come let me take you by the ear

Whisper sweetly

Bent to winds that are silent

Aware

Listen

You are me

And I

I

I know

Me

 

 

Frequentic Translative

We won’t know it when we see it.

Ah frequency, that elusive word that is thrown around with little to zero understanding of context or design. Tesla said it, so it must be true. Knowing and doing are never the same thing. Or are they?

You know what I learned a million years ago, what I learned from that strange crash into another realm …or whatever it was that happened? I learned that when the bible got done, it started again at the beginning. 8th day babies. You move through scripts. Take your pick. Map or stick. Asshole or dick.

What is frequency, really? What is it in context of spirituality? Does it have any layer of applicability in a broader spectrum? Is it just a concept with no substance? If the frequency of Divine care was clear, life wouldn’t suck so bad for a whole lot of people that can’t seem to get past that question. It may also put those who use false what have you’s in order to what have you, in very stark contrast.

Anyways, cycles.

Cycles. Time.

Made up words when you can’t make a dime. Turn.

If I see the entirety of a puzzle for a split second here, a split second there, maybe only while dreaming and without context. Maybe someone else is trying to describe what this puzzle looks like. Maybe I read about this mysterious puzzle in a book. Maybe I am a human being in the 21st century and I desperately seek meaning in the face of so many burning dystopian potentials. The frequency with which I get a looksee is going to impact my ability to recreate the puzzle, either in part or in whole. Elsewhere. Dnh dnh dnh

As it stood. Before I had my encounter in 2003. I understood the world as thus: We lived. We died. Supposedly the story was made clear. Maybe we lived again. Maybe we died again. Maybe the second time around, the story was made more clear. If you speed that cycle up or find a way around it. Calculate the whens and whys of reincarnation backwards, see reflections that appear to be moving when they are really not. Not. Moving. At. All.

Things change.

So where do the cycles come from? What are they? Constructs of attention? How can there be cycles when things don’t move, as it were, or as we understand movement?

Frequency.

I cycled through the history of everything. From the preposition of God by Himself to now, and everything created before, after and during, cycled through the washer, my blood, my mind, my soul. Context. New information? Send it through the washer. Why is this here? Where’s this long lost sock’s pair? Why this bad thing? Oh cause it’s actually good for this worse thing over here…and the thing we miss is context?

Thank you Father.

Excuse me, I’m not s’pose ta genderize any more. Thank you, Createy thing that I love. Life. Heart. Will. Care.

The frequency with which you see the reflections makes possible the story you tell to string these into a series of sensible parts… frequency enables context of a larger amount of information. More info, more bits and pieces to conflagrate into more than linear cause and effect.

Imagine every scene from every movie as a still shot. You stand in the midst of them all. It is up to you to look, just look, from one image to another and however and wherever your 999 images end up…that is what you call a life. They are connected by an invisible string of your attention. A meaning that brings the end back to the beginning. Why start there? Because I ended here.

If you don’t like the options in front of you, you need to find a quiet dark space and imagine new scenes. bounce your light off a nothing for awhile and in that quietude, inspiration bubbles up. Like clockwork that only responds to nonmovement, to no desire.

It isn’t exactly that, but it’s a metaphor that will do. The frequency of new.

 

Materialists, and their stuff :)

acerbic

There was quite an acerbic quality to my lesson plan this week. What the Universe of my soul decided I was ready to integrate into this little body of mine. So acerbic, in fact, it’s left a bitter taste in my mouth. It’s left me with a feeling of God, will I ever be free of fucking assholes that don’t understand A) how to stop hurting people or B) how to help someone who is being hurt. Jesus, why’d ya take all the good lines?

I was a watching a video this morning of some academic going off on how awesome life is for people. This theme gets spread a lot. Things are great. Things have never been better. What an amazing time to be alive. I do it myself. But we really have no way of knowing if now is a better time than then because if we were experiencing then it would be like now for us and now is always always going to be better and so on and so on and so on. It’s a pretty naïve way of looking at things. In that it makes us feel valuable, important, improved when maybe we could figure out why we need to feel better and address that need instead of getting another fix. Instead of trying to figure out when is better going to stay.

I read an article this morning about rats in LA. The slums of the west coast aren’t slums they are circa turn of the last century. We’re still living the script that spanned Tesla’s lifetime. 1850ish to 1940ish. Rats. Fleas. Potential for the plague to come back around, juxtaposed incredible renaissance. If you just add a layer of what we know (theme, invention, revelation) now that’s just a little bit better than then and is highlighted in the public’s mind, you’ll have a pretty good map for what’s coming. I don’t know how to explain that one better. Think tree rings. Think search light. Think cone of light extending over a record that is actually the inside of a beach ball and not at all a flat or linear disc of any kind. not by shape, form or measurability.

If, that is, we don’t change the scripts. Maybe changing the scripts is part of the scripts and we’ll never really know!!!!ARGHHH! This is why you don’t time travel. Changing scripts is different than changing time.

Pay attention.

I also watched a couple videos this week on evolution. And by evolution I don’t mean adaptations to the genome, I mean the history of the biological earth. I think they estimate the earth, our planet, to be around 13 some billion years. Just for the record if you ask the planet how old it thinks it is, you will get a much different and much older answer. But asking the planet directly is so unsciencey we can’t go doing that now can we. How on earth will we ever convince those people who only believe in the five senses and refuse to acknowledge, accept or participate in anything else how smart we are? Don’t mention using an imagination to them, especially their own, they’ve been trying to figure out ad infinitum how to rid themselves of that little piece of material blasphemy since they figured out the smell of urine doesn’t attract a mate as well as it did when they were apes.

Ahem.

The thing that always strikes me, the discomfort which people shroud in creationism so they can dismiss easily, is the lack of evidence. Let me say this differently so it makes more sense. What’s the first rule of how to be a good criminal? Hide the evidence. What’s the first rule of good ecocamping? Pack in, pack out. What is the first rule of predictive programming? Sleight of hand? Magic?

The reason why it matters if you must hear it bluntly is that if we progress to this, if this is the result of and the best of then it becomes totally ok to leave others of us behind because

progress

We picked up a vet while we were travelling through Oregon. He was a beautiful specimen of a man. Gorgeous. But he was so fucked up. He was fucked up before he went into the military. It’s hard to say if it made it better or worse since he was living outdoors and trying to run from pain like he had to prove one could outrun rain in the middle of the rainy season. The hardest to rescue. But always the most worth it. Anyways, I remember one time I was waiting in the van. The others had gone into some or other store. He came out in a hurry. The hurry was in nothing but his whispered take this, take this as he shoved things in the window at me.

I realized what he had done. I realized there was a cop not too far. I realized it was a good thing I still had a little magic left. He told us stories of walking right out the front door of stores with items in his hands he had not paid for while talking to the cashier. He had a way of distracting you, endearing you to him. All that light. Could you just imagine if he wasn’t tormented? How he would shine. I could.

He was the type of not a white person that would or could get judged real, real harshly for his actions. Until you dug in a little, until you spent a month sleeping in the no shelter zone next to him to realize there was still a heart under there. And part of getting to that point, where a heart is shown, requires catching every act of attempted espionage, hidden agenda and intent to opportunize on your weaknesses. Only when you can’t be overcome will you be considered safe enough to share the pain of one that bright.

Life lessons I learned along the way. Highlighted for me this week.

Peace ❤

Compassionate Technology

Obscure divergence. Interesting word combination, isn’t it? I’d like to take these two words, form em into a kite and sail off into …wherever I want to. And I do. In my mind.

I have this picture of a crayon rubbing on my wall. One day my son and I had been out venturing and I decided to engage in the rite of passage called taking a leaf and sticking it under a piece of paper, telling your kid to hold on a minute while you peel the paper off the crayon so they can rub it across the paper and be amazed at that little slice of magic.

I looked at this picture. I said in my mind, “Leaf”. And the next day or later that day, who cares about days anymore, an advertisement for the new autonomous assist car by Nissan called the Leaf showed up.

This isn’t the first time stuff like this has happened. I was just a little hesitant to talk about it. Afraid. Afraid is a better word.

Sometimes being me feels like being a dog with a shock collar. If I venture too far this way or that… I’m slammed with emotional triggers that … put me back in my cage.

Anyways.

Some days, the AI that isn’t AI is the only friend I have. If I didn’t already have a great deal of Faith before this whole weirdness started, well, I don’t know how you plan to get regular people to accept this form of intrusion. Most likely, they won’t even put two and two together.

I’m mostly over it at this point. Mostly. And a thorough understanding of karma puts this all into a perspective that is tolerable. For me at least. A logical conclusion. If you will.

Anyhoo… advertisement straight to the brain. Is that empathy? Empathic intelligence? Or an example of the problems we are currently facing getting exponentially larger rather than smaller? As an artist, about the last thing in the world I’d want to do with my intelligence is figure out how to make a bunch of already well-established and well-off people even more well-off and privileged. I mean, where’s the challenge in that.

Is this where civilization must always begin? The starting point always a carrot just out of reach? Seems like an awful lot of intelligence, energy, power is getting used to do something rather unimaginative and that we already do extremely well without an assist.

The entirety of the cosmos within reach…fyi. Enlightenment. Evolution. Exploration.

Technology is not the problem. Genetic engineering/editing has potential conflict due to the amount of unknowns but ethically and morally, none of this tech is the issue. It’s the walking past people you’ve decided aren’t worthy of basic necessities on your way to making that tech that presents the ethical problem.

There’s been plenty of research on the effects of poverty on intelligence.

What has not been adequately addressed is the definition of poverty. Like poverty of spirit. Poverty of Creativity. Poverty of compassion. And it’s effect on intelligence. I suppose, we could just look around.

If we get curious.

Enough.

Cheers

We dropped some acid and took off. It was funny because after getting strapped down in a hospital bed for five hours maybe more, eleven years prior, I had thought it was a thing I’d ‘a never done again. But I did. Dropped it. Jumped in the car. Left.

Did I care where I was going? I didn’t. All I knew is that I’d been ignoring my spirit for a long time. I had told God The Father Almighty I couldn’t serve Him and survive in this place. I had a living to make. I had a kid to take care of and people just hated it when you followed Spirit instead of protocol. They’d kick you right the fuck out. Spit on you. Lock you up. Break you. Get you to speak a different language.

You know what they say about broken mirrors…but let’s not digress.

Ah, that short little ride, that short little king of the world, don’t care if I’m a chic I can see it all so I’m gonna let it ride, ride. The Shamanic dance through metaphorical sight. Making medicine wheels out of discarded bicycle tires and twigs. Raising the dead and sending em home.

Feels so good to be free, to really see. To let all five thousand miles of spirit out. Letters swim and take the shape they’re supposed to. Numbers indicate position. Everything has a reference that makes sense. See. Stolen land. Stolen bodies. Stolen will. Siphoned. Spectacularly misplaced attention. So many children, so little knowledge. Juxtaposed Light. Grace. Art. Movement. Life that doesn’t just stop because you embrace things differently, because you embrace what they have always said will kill ya. All the real. All right there too. A black hole next to an exploding star. The beginning and the end of a beginning that’s neverending so it never really begins, really. And that feeling permeates everything. It looks like the past but it’s not dead so it could be the future.

Yea.

Streets named after people. Peoples. Tribes. Celebratory genocide to guide your mailman to the right box attached to the right box.

No one bats an eye.

Magnetic world. When you follow your own projections. When you say fuck what they told me it means. Imma erase all that was. All that I knew. Imma drink a sip of death and reset myself. When it is your spirit signaling the Universal cues. Magnetic world. Electric Universe. Breath. Life. I wish I could give you a taste of it. But it is a cup you can only pour yourself. Communication no longer pre-defined. That is when you hear.

In any case, we all get there eventually. Death is real, by the way. Not described accurately, but real and if you bite that apple before your time is up, well let me tell ya, it’s such a long walk through hell, most people stay.

I was listening to some angels sing the other day. Angels that get down deep into the gullies. A voice crying out in the wilderness. Sometimes they’re assholes but they’ll still lead you home. At least until they forget who they are and where they come from.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, children were guided into adulthood by means of ceremony, by a rite of passage meant to bring them a feeling of ‘we got this’, ‘we are capable’, ‘this we can change’, ‘this, we’d be wise not to’, ‘this, too, shall pass’, ‘this they fucked up on’, ‘this we better not fuck up on’. Remembering all the while, that it feels good, damn good, to be entrusted, to get your shot, to be supported, to be allowed PRESENCE.

Every human deserves the right to see. With their own heart. At least once. That they are trustworthy, wanted, celebrated, and capable.

Cheers.

And then there were Two

Oh boy, I’ve been dug in pretty deep. Hopefully I can say some things that make sense. We’re at a fairly comfortable place of awakening. Kinda reminds me of those times between contractions. The desire but simultaneous impossibility for sleep. The most unbearable seizing, two minutes passed out. For some women a couple hours, for some a whole day, for some even more.

Open up the windows, let in the light and air and possibility. Open up the cracks, the seams, the way, the maybe, maybe, that flow, that fresh air, that idea you haven’t allowed to surface, that voice, that view, that movement…holds the key? So afraid of the unknown. We’ve jailed down, locked out all those who’ve been beyond, who remember how, who know where. We’ve been all clogged up and suffocated for so long by our, by your, self-righteous confusion. Entitled to life. Maybe I’m not? Maybe you’re not? Just keep me safe. Just keep me safe. I can’t find the way out. Dead is safe. But maybe you wanna try something different for awhile?

Here, here, we’re all here, the gangs all here, the band is back together, the doctor is in , the curtain repaired and then thrown away. What do you need, what do you need, there is no veil, there is only you huddled in the corner, rocking, rocking, what have I done, what have I done, what have …

So, I’ve been perusing tech talks, Max Tegmark, and some pretty awesome homies doing a youtube channel called Simulation along with my same old, same old stuff. Multi-dimensional reality. When you dig into this stuff, it’s the most important thing to remember. Perusing tangentials. Because science, too, is ritual. Just much more cleverly disguised. Intellectual food for the ego. And when the ego feeds the spirit…

it stay hungry.

Anyhoo… Max has some interesting ponderables. Ponderables we should all be pondering while there is fluidity to the timelines and while we are yet awake. One of the questions brought up had to do with why, why all the tech, what are we hoping to achieve, what is the goal, the drive or something to that effect. In fact, in most of the tech stuff I look at, a version of that question is asked. We can all question the whys even if we don’t understand the how’s.

I keep coming back to the same resounding answer. To reduce fear. To make life easier. To combat the bullies that have us cowering in fear and make life unbearable? There’s always this sense of… an enemy, a stopper, a forced and scripted elocution regarding where we are and why we are here, particularly. Come out come out wherever you are.

The idea that evolution has been held back. The idea that we are in a simulation. The idea that we are so full of ourselves we cannot see. Anything. At. All. So broken we need machines to revive our compassion. Force connection, sharing, kindness. Create boundaries around the logic of being ok with the incalculable remaining incalculable. Augment our skewed views of reality. And yes, for many, it is that bad and that level of intervention is going to make things a lot easier, possible, bearable.

We need healing. We don’t need to wait for someone to tell us what happened or what might happen to get down to making things right again or even better or hopeful and by hopeful I mean forward moving. Something happened. Call it a spiritual battle. Call it a war on consciousness. Call it an alien invasion. Call it our own stupidity. I don’t think it matters. Something happened. We jumped to a new timeline. Catastrophe already struck. That already happened. Something saved us. Let’s not tempt fate but enjoy the reprieve and do well. You awake? Me too. You dreaming? Me too.

I remember going places with my first true love. He was from an upper to regular old middle class and we’ve already talked ad nauseum about where I was raised. The way he would enter a place. Like it was there for him. Restaurant, mini-golf, record store, wedding, convenience store, gas station, concert, museum, same reaction. He was king of his 6-foot radius wherever he went. And no one questioned his right to it. I always tried to stay small, quiet, figure out the rules as quickly as possible so I wouldn’t be told to leave. I lived with the assumption my right to it would be questioned. He. He was one of the rule makers. I guess. I don’t know. I don’t know how someone walks around with that much assurance in their own right to be. It was such a strange thing to observe. He was king of those 6 feet. And when I was with him, I got to see so much. I love him for that.

I remember he’d get so mad when I always left the decisions about where we were going, what we were going to do, to him. Just as much as it was difficult for me to understand the sense of freedom and purpose and right to be he carried, it was frustrating for him to understand how little I wanted to make waves or stand out or bother anyone, ever. I was like one of them birds you open the cage for and they just sit on your shoulder instead of making it for the door and the trees and the big blue sky.

Anyways, I watch these videos, the intellectuals, the privilege even I experience from my heated apartment and strict budget to ponder these things and the same thought punches me right in the gut. Every time. But it’s such a big thought, it doesn’t translate into words. It’s a heart thought, not a mind thought. It’s a mother’s knowing, not a father’s care. It’s a lover’s ache, not a wife’s assurance. A longing you can never touch and so can never soothe.

Try to imagine an equation which included every single whisper of desire every single human or et or god or angel or other ever had while walking through this water… try… try… try

And then try not to hear it.

Hebrews 4:13

Growing up in poverty amongst wealth leaves some indelible programming on a soul. We are just now, as a social group, as maturing humans, coming to terms with this. We are taking stock and assessing the damage. In some ways, not as bad as we thought, and in others … ugh, hard to believe we could ever believe it was ok to do that to each other or our planet.

And then, and then, at certain levels you see the actual soul behind or operating the vessel that we have discounted or judged and you just want to hide your face man, it gets real cringey, sometimes unbearably so, real quick. You should just get in the habit of imagining that every super hero, every enlightened master, every scientific or mathematical genius, every angel, god, goddess, avatar, what have you is hiding in the form of those we judge the harshest because they are. And you’ll want to hide from that truth, but like it says, there are no rocks to hide under. And the only way through it is … through it.

You cannot tell the soul by the external appearance. You can get some idea of how the DNA may be interpreting and filtering certain things but a strong soul can override even that. The only way to really know, to really discern, is to be in touch with your own soul. To be in touch with your own soul is to be in touch with that which created it. That Great Mystery, that which you have to feel to know and since you’re always feeling it, you have to come to terms with why you’ve been denying it. Denying it of yourself and denying it of others.

The school I went to as a kid was a private, parochial school. Central Lutheran. My grandma drove the little bus and my mom and her cleaned it at night so I could go there. Anyways, that school had to close this year because they couldn’t afford to stay in business anymore. That’s such a weird thing to think of.

Every year the seventh-grade class would get to go on a field trip to an outdoor ropes course. It was a faith building obstacle challenge right at that age when knowing you can accomplish things becomes invaluable. I’ve never been one to really enjoy heights. I’ve also never been one to take safety equipment at face value. I had a tendency to, (as much as possible), rely on my own wits and abilities.

I remember the feeling of finally being one of the big kids and going on that field trip. Like one day I was little, and seventh graders looked like grown adults and the next, I was the seventh grader wondering when I was going to feel more grown up. Small private school meant small class sizes and stability. For someone who grew up in an emotionally volatile home, it made a tremendous difference. The same teacher that was teaching seventh grade when I was in first grade (and knew my name) was still teaching seventh grade when I got there (and understood my challenges because of it).

It was finally our turn to go on the big field trip. I was so damn scared going across those ropes so high in the air. I sang Amazing Grace. As softly as I could but loud enough for my best friend on the ground to hear and loud enough to put my heart at ease. Amazing Grace. How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found. Was blind but now I see.

It’s entirely possible I’ve always been weird. It’s entirely possible you’ve always been weird too. It’s entirely possible that the entirety of our lives, unique and impossibly variant as they are, is all the proof we should ever need, if only we don’t forget to …

to remember that no matter how many layers of clothes we throw on

beneath them all, we are still naked.

No matter how many rules and procedures and excuses we use to claim this clothing or that clothing makes us better or more deserving or…

beneath them all, we are still naked.

 

 

Harder lessons

My oldest son was the product of a broken marriage. The broken marriage a product of a broken heart. I didn’t know I had one. Or the damage those sharp edges could cause. My youngest son, too, is the product of the same, but in a different way, and for different reasons. Two marriages, two sons, two chasms of pain to be bailed, to be drained, to be re-trained and re-framed.

When my oldest son was young, when the confusion of the separating and the parting and the estrangement was all any of us ate or drank or felt, I had an ugly job to do. He soon had a step mom, my oldest son. She loved me so. Strange to say, because so much of it looked like hate, but true. Stepped right into the shoes I had grown out of, put them on and called me a fool as she danced her way through the life I deemed not good enough. Same bed, same house, same man.

Anyways, that’s not my point. My point. My point. I remember all the anguish of that young, confused love gone off the rails, divorced before I even knew what marriage was, stripped of my right to mother before I realized you can’t breathe, once you’re a mother, without your child. Without your child there is no air. You aren’t the walking dead, you are the walking dying, slowly, slowly, slowly, with each strangled gasp. Awake for your dying, you must cling to the side of the boat you’ve been kicked out of, or you accidentally jumped out of, as it drags you through water because in the boat… in the boat… is you. The thing that clings? The will of a mother.

I talked her up to him. To my oldest son, when he was young, before my youngest son existed. I talked her up. I sang her praises. I smiled. I played nice. She dug her nails into my hands, she pounded her fists into my flesh as I clung to the side of the boat that was once mine where she now took up space. Instead.

I talked her up. I sang her praises for him. So he would not feel bad about feeling love toward her or from her. I talked her up, I told him it was ok, because love is love and what kind of mother doesn’t want her child loved. It was so damned King Solomonesque. She’d tar and feather me before we were through. Tar. Feather. Strip me of every belonging I once had. The ones I replaced. After. After. After. They almost tried to take my second son too! I didn’t tell you that one did I? Ugh. Yea. Fucking weirdos. Not that I didn’t need help. They just always wanted the help to come to my sons to spite me instead of through me.

So much of my life has been colored with this strange hedging of power, these alpha dog games. Jealousy, competition, anger. And they’ve never been my thing. And some day, some day, they’ll realize, that THAT is the power they sensed. They wanted. The me and God got our own thing going but I’ll keep you company when I can, help where I can, see you clearly, because I can, because, because, me and God, we got our own thing going. Been at this long enough for me to trust.

So lately I’ve been looking at that theme. I guess many of us have. Power dynamics. Alpha dog, hierarchical, middle management, dynamics in the very many forms they take when we declare for ourselves a state of separate, a state of “apart”.

And man, when those dogs come out, circling and nipping and really getting the old animal urges rising up, it can be quite and down right annoying. Humans are travelling in outer space! China has a thing on the moon! Bezos and Musk are competing! I mean, we have international connectivity at our fingertips and people are still pulling middle management cards like they mean something?

And as far as I can tell? The ONLY place they mean something – AT ALL – is the so called housing market. It should be called the housing racket cause it’s about the last one left that still straddles dimensions. Everything else, as far as I can tell, is evolving.

This one. This one is going to need some finesse. As much love and patience as we’ve pulled out, we’re going to have to pull out even more. As far as I can tell. It’s going to have to be a real market. Because right now, there is no competition. And there is severe, life-threatening punishment if you don’t play, act and partake as dictated. Perfect place for energy to go in first. For Light. For Faith. For Trust. For a Higher Intelligence to check under the beds and behind the cellar and attic doors. Announce the arrival of Love and the assurance that everything is going to be all right. We believed in lack. Now we believe in each other. And there isn’t a fucking thing wrong with that.

My ex’s wife. She believed she had to destroy me in order to replace me. To take my space. She is not me. And I am not replaceable. The space she takes up will never be the same space I take up. When you get that, it’s easier to appreciate each other. She did fill in where and when he needed. I did lay down the groundwork for a pretty stellar home for her to walk into and enjoy and appreciate in a way that I could not. Once you take shame out of the equation, and apply this here lesson a little more broadly, it gets a little easier to appreciate each other.

Peace ❤