templobemuse

[templobemuse]

and the eye gave birth to the sun

...the sun looked around and was lost. it was alone in a vast darkness, the lonely abyss that is felt deep in the intestines, possibly cuddling under a fold in the appendix. the fear started pouring itself into the space. it pushed and pulled its weight against the force of gravity, filling up the fabric and dampening the dimness of the sun’s first cry...

...on the other side of the fabric was the eye. it was ready to see, ready to join hands with the sun. the deep blackness of space was the fabric and fear was the color. the eye raced and tumbled desperately, looking for light, looking for hope, looking for a connection to its source. the faintest glimmer was devoured by the fear, a black hole desperate to become one with the universe, its pride and insecurity all-consuming...

then the eye caught hold of the most insignificant burst of light, so dim that even a blink would blind you to it. the eye began to tear, and the I began to see. the motivational instinct fated, the black hole’s infinite pull unable to budge the movement. the eye zoomed and broke through the fabric effortlessly.

...and the eye and sun were one again...and it was good...

[templobemuse]

the dream of your life is probably the only true dream. how do we really know that we aren't dreaming? how can you really differentiate what you perceive from what is? maybe the dream is really the only truth, the origin of both consciousness and silence. everything comes from dream: your sense of self, your desires, your fears...

...the dream of alchemy was awakened into chemistry, the dream of astrology was awakened into astronomy, the dream of silence was awakened into sound, the dream of freedom was awakened from slavery. 

the dream of love was awakened from pain and loneliness,  although so too was the dream of hate...

sometimes I dream in hieroglyphs, snipets of snapshots of what my life could have been , or what it is and what it could be and I wake up in the middle of the night fetal-fisted and shuddering from the nightmares cuddling in my bed. nightmares, some built of my own volition, some watered with blissful ignorance, some born of boredom or rather necessity. I try to wake up. but my eye-lids can’t manage to gather the strength to lift off into the night and the anxiety of all the pain in the world, in my world, in my dream...it lingers ...a deafening silence...

what if the dream is the lesson? the dream is the purest form. the way a black hole tears at the fabric of space and time I yearn voraciously for connection and in effect the things i pull fall infinitely slower, so slow and timeless that they freeze in time, patterned in the infinite night and deepness of space. the mind is also space, and the i is that black hole:

“this is me, that is me, this is not me, this is, that is not, i am, i am not...”

...but the self is silence, it hugs the i in context and gives it a point of reference. maybe death is true return and the i is a dream we share collectively. i used to yearn for awakening...

desperately...

but now i’ve learned that nightmares can also give birth to dreams and that all growth also stems from and becomes decay. the cycle of life and harmony. who are you to question that? who are you to argue against it? or maybe you should...

but enough talk. it’s time for bed. i have to be up early and it’s late. thanks for listening...

...zzz

          ...zzz

                    ...zzz

[templobemuse]

this is a perfect fourth...

this is a perfect fourth.  it is also 3 against 4,  and square against triangle. this symbol is multifaceted, it shows you what you want to perceive. and the infinite associations branching out of your mind all base their origin about your awareness. you are also a perfect fourth, and 3 against 4, and square against triangle. that is why you are able to perceive this object. it is also a part of you. just as much as you are a part of it.

how many times a day do you see into the looking-glass? who is that person on the other side? how can you reach them?

stick your hand into the mirror. talk to them. tell them your deepest secrets: like how you almost jumped off a building ledge just to see what it would be like to fly. or how you never you confessed your love and gave up on the person who illuminated your heart. 

one....two....three.... one..two..three..four..

everything, and i mean everything, is rhythm. there is only rhythm and pattern. when you wake up. when you fall asleep. when you fall in love. when you fall apart. then you stand up, and you understand, rather you over-stand the process and you realize that there is no other way that things could’ve worked out. even your mind is just a series of snapshots sewn into a blurred mental tab group, edited by a blurry instagram filter. you might be asking yourself what this is all about. maybe it sounds like some pretentious post with no direction. at least it’s honest. you can stop reading now...

...wouldn't it be great to wake up in the middle of the cold night, and run until your green knife turns into a serpent? it coils and shakes you till there is no more breath, till even the slightest bit of air starts pleading for your permission to be emancipated and left alone. letting go is a discipline. you have to do the reps and stay consistent day by day. let go a little here and let go a little there. give to let go. maybe force yourself to give more than you can. or don’t give. either way it’s okay.

it doesn’t matter. and it does. that’s the funny thing.

anyways, thanks for reading.