a bizarre death reality
there is no "i", no seperate self. "I" am all, energy and consciousness. if this is everything and i am everything then i am you and i am that plant in the window and there really is no "i" and this means this "i" loses attachment to everything that it is attached to because the I would be everything, all things. even the telephone. so that everything is a manifestation of one energy and power that my being is tapped into and can access, if only "i" am aware of my connection to this energy- a realization that i am this energy.
there could be a seperate self- i have made a seperate self- an identity, an image of "who i am", but really who i am is an interconnected energy making a whole- making a universe and this is perfection and this is all and when we die, we go back to this knowledge and are whole, within everything.
there is a strong feeling of despair and pain, but a stronger feeling of unitedness and love. thrown out of the reality there once was, now finding ourselves in a completely new sense of space and time and feeling. grief has us weighted so that eyebags puff and bodies linger. finding a bean bag chair, two nuts, and a book filled with wisdom and psychedelic drawings. drowning out the ego. surrendering, trying to accept. dreaming of nothing, waking to rain soaked days, tears, and a open house with lots of food. the lights twinkle, knitting and making hats and thoughts take up long, hard days.
this is as transitional as it gets. caught in the middle between death and life. story telling about cider (she misses luke)
there could be a seperate self- i have made a seperate self- an identity, an image of "who i am", but really who i am is an interconnected energy making a whole- making a universe and this is perfection and this is all and when we die, we go back to this knowledge and are whole, within everything.
there is a strong feeling of despair and pain, but a stronger feeling of unitedness and love. thrown out of the reality there once was, now finding ourselves in a completely new sense of space and time and feeling. grief has us weighted so that eyebags puff and bodies linger. finding a bean bag chair, two nuts, and a book filled with wisdom and psychedelic drawings. drowning out the ego. surrendering, trying to accept. dreaming of nothing, waking to rain soaked days, tears, and a open house with lots of food. the lights twinkle, knitting and making hats and thoughts take up long, hard days.
this is as transitional as it gets. caught in the middle between death and life. story telling about cider (she misses luke)