(no subject)
I don't lay awake in bed at night, because the thought of shutting my eyes while lucid is so terrifying that I mistake the disinclination to relax into my own mind for something mundane, like inconvenience or lack of time or necessity. There is always time to settle into the mind. It's terrifying, so it's difficult to do. I was fearless, am fearless, slip in and out of being fearless: will hold my hand over a fire, will walk upon the limen of someone else's closet, knocking on the door of their hardships with the utmost sensitivity, but will not lay awake in bed for fear of replaying critically every second of my life that hasn't passed this scrutiny before; will walk fully clothed into the ocean in the middle of the night, will walk the beach back peeling off bit after bit of heavy cloth, discarding it like soiled armor on the decks, will walk naked back inside the house, will drip on the floor, but will not sit on the night sand, comfortable in dry clothes, long enough to consider more than the most fundamental things about myself and my station and mein kampf and my joy.
Only a recent doubt in the virtue of the emptiness inside me has caused this strange distress. The problem lies in terminologies and the misinterpretation of spiritual propaganda. An understanding of physics at a younger age may have rectified this failure to understand the nature of opposite in pair systems. There are a push and a pull, not two pushes, not one explosion. There isn't anything wrong with cultivating this emptiness--a purity so pure it's free of light, white light being the most mixed and impure of light-colors. There isn't anything wrong with being the tablet. My eyes are dazzled by the fires in the burning bushes I find myself surrounded with. To become jealous of or to long for the intensity of a burning bush is to misunderstand the function of a tablet. I'm prepared to etch and wipe my scriptures as the day changes. This isn't compromising strength. This is flexibility.
If I seem unoptimistic, it isn't because I'm sad or discouraged. I'm really a very intense person behind the eyes. I find in my own indeterable optimism a carelessness a hairs breadth wide, wide enough to offer the opportunity of the kinds of minor miscalculations that destroy large space vehicles. If I seem unoptimistic, it isn't because I'm sad or discouraged; it's because I take this seriously and will make things as difficult as I have to to get things right. I have to.
(I could close my eyes, wrapped up in a blanket of you.)
Only a recent doubt in the virtue of the emptiness inside me has caused this strange distress. The problem lies in terminologies and the misinterpretation of spiritual propaganda. An understanding of physics at a younger age may have rectified this failure to understand the nature of opposite in pair systems. There are a push and a pull, not two pushes, not one explosion. There isn't anything wrong with cultivating this emptiness--a purity so pure it's free of light, white light being the most mixed and impure of light-colors. There isn't anything wrong with being the tablet. My eyes are dazzled by the fires in the burning bushes I find myself surrounded with. To become jealous of or to long for the intensity of a burning bush is to misunderstand the function of a tablet. I'm prepared to etch and wipe my scriptures as the day changes. This isn't compromising strength. This is flexibility.
If I seem unoptimistic, it isn't because I'm sad or discouraged. I'm really a very intense person behind the eyes. I find in my own indeterable optimism a carelessness a hairs breadth wide, wide enough to offer the opportunity of the kinds of minor miscalculations that destroy large space vehicles. If I seem unoptimistic, it isn't because I'm sad or discouraged; it's because I take this seriously and will make things as difficult as I have to to get things right. I have to.
(I could close my eyes, wrapped up in a blanket of you.)