Blue Heaven
There is a question that I have heard from a few different places: "What is the difference in spending an eternity in Heaven and dying, being overwhelmed with beauty and feeling liberation, then being removed from existence?" Does that mean to suggest that the last thing experienced makes up the individuals perspective, which may be Heaven or Hell?
My aura is very blue. Blue use to mean creative for me. I am not creative anymore. The last decent poems I wrote were when I was in China. I wrote a good poem before about Krishna, but I haven't written anything I like since. Blue now means analytical or philisophical I suppose. When I see a professor lecture, his/her aura is blue. Seeing my aura is difficult, but I know its blue because I feel the blueness.
I have a feeling of an emptiness in my life, but it only seems to exist on days that I have to work. The humdrum rhythms of my job combined with the lack of something I can't quite identify make a temporary emptiness; however strange, I like my job. The only part that I don't like about my job is the habitual shortage of workers and the amount of time it takes away from "my weekend." Nine hour shifts seems to last incredibly long. I haven't had a "weekend" for a long time. The notion of having a weekend is odd to me. I would probably read X-Men comics and play video games during a weekend if I had one, and then my weekend would develope into reading poetry and searching for graduate schools. I suppose one humdrum rhythm replaces another. I miss one of my former spirit guides.
My aura is very blue. Blue use to mean creative for me. I am not creative anymore. The last decent poems I wrote were when I was in China. I wrote a good poem before about Krishna, but I haven't written anything I like since. Blue now means analytical or philisophical I suppose. When I see a professor lecture, his/her aura is blue. Seeing my aura is difficult, but I know its blue because I feel the blueness.
I have a feeling of an emptiness in my life, but it only seems to exist on days that I have to work. The humdrum rhythms of my job combined with the lack of something I can't quite identify make a temporary emptiness; however strange, I like my job. The only part that I don't like about my job is the habitual shortage of workers and the amount of time it takes away from "my weekend." Nine hour shifts seems to last incredibly long. I haven't had a "weekend" for a long time. The notion of having a weekend is odd to me. I would probably read X-Men comics and play video games during a weekend if I had one, and then my weekend would develope into reading poetry and searching for graduate schools. I suppose one humdrum rhythm replaces another. I miss one of my former spirit guides.