When the serpents finish shedding their skin, I will be whole again.
Um. Hi. I haven't updated in a while. Things have been interesting. Currently, I'm feeling very drained. Although I'm still productive, I've been fighting a growing sadness for the past month or so. I've been doing well, but here and there I've been more down than I'd like. I feel very detached right now. I'm rather detached from my writing, as well as my connection the spirit world and energy fields. It's hard to explain. I've just been on an emotional roller coaster the past few months and I used up the majority of my energy in the process. I guess I'm more or less defenseless right now. That's all about the change though. As I'm reborn in this next cycle, I will be armored again and ready to charge forward once more into life discovery and the events of the now. But until then, I'll remain in my fetal vulnerability, nursing my confusion with blank stares and glasses of scotch.
And it wouldn't be a proper Journal if I didn't post some stream-of-consciousness writing. Perhaps it does a better job of explaining my current mind state than anything I could deliberately articulate.
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Back down the mountain slowly, know what’s best. The waves of indiscernible commitment are something that would better be found out through your dreamy eyes. That realization of glowing anonymity careens across the landscape in negative mass. The bluish blackness prevailing in the waning light. The forest of constitution that pants heavily at my feet is so cold against the growing warmth of my grove of consciousness. The inability to speak for what seems like years has cracked in the dried-out sunburst of a human figure. The tirade of change, glimpsing in retrospect at the gazing onlooker. The way of guiltless abandon hovers quietly in the shadow of the recognizable shine. That face, that figure of recognition, something familiar and like home to the glare that it penetrates. It is the outward projection of inward thought. The deception that is drowning all those surrounding the emanating lie. Like the Tower of Babel in my mind, a pinnacle of all the knowledge in the world, and here I sit and watch it tumble and fall, crumbling and fragmenting everything ever catalogued and filed in the easiest of ways. And helpless as I am to stop the catastrophe, I’m just as powerless to resist the lasting effects of a shattered paradigm. The solace lies in the destruction of the ego. To create the watershed from within, disturbing the frequency of all shade. That projection of falseness, the one who doesn’t exist, the one who only moves as misinterpreted perceptions in the shifting eyes of the enamored and the disdainful. But here, with gasoline in hand, I ascend the steps. With the conflagration comes the rising smoke and smoldering ash. Through the cycle of rebirth dies the idol of doubt, and though the integration of wind and fire does the ash return to earth, and there it is soaked with water, fertilizing the birth of something new.
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And it wouldn't be a proper Journal if I didn't post some stream-of-consciousness writing. Perhaps it does a better job of explaining my current mind state than anything I could deliberately articulate.
|||||
Back down the mountain slowly, know what’s best. The waves of indiscernible commitment are something that would better be found out through your dreamy eyes. That realization of glowing anonymity careens across the landscape in negative mass. The bluish blackness prevailing in the waning light. The forest of constitution that pants heavily at my feet is so cold against the growing warmth of my grove of consciousness. The inability to speak for what seems like years has cracked in the dried-out sunburst of a human figure. The tirade of change, glimpsing in retrospect at the gazing onlooker. The way of guiltless abandon hovers quietly in the shadow of the recognizable shine. That face, that figure of recognition, something familiar and like home to the glare that it penetrates. It is the outward projection of inward thought. The deception that is drowning all those surrounding the emanating lie. Like the Tower of Babel in my mind, a pinnacle of all the knowledge in the world, and here I sit and watch it tumble and fall, crumbling and fragmenting everything ever catalogued and filed in the easiest of ways. And helpless as I am to stop the catastrophe, I’m just as powerless to resist the lasting effects of a shattered paradigm. The solace lies in the destruction of the ego. To create the watershed from within, disturbing the frequency of all shade. That projection of falseness, the one who doesn’t exist, the one who only moves as misinterpreted perceptions in the shifting eyes of the enamored and the disdainful. But here, with gasoline in hand, I ascend the steps. With the conflagration comes the rising smoke and smoldering ash. Through the cycle of rebirth dies the idol of doubt, and though the integration of wind and fire does the ash return to earth, and there it is soaked with water, fertilizing the birth of something new.
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