8-14-10 AYA P. 2
12: 45 AM:
All that man has yet to understand: the purpose even of a yawn, the felt sense of the air before a rainstorm, the subtle frequencies which radiate and surround us in communication and motherly acceptance. These, even while beyond the reach of our physical senses, still exist nonetheless and are splendorous.
The blockages of my restrained emotion, the blockages of my clutching mind, the blockages of my very genetics are each revealed to me in their futility. Beyond them, I feel and live my purpose, radiant and alive with all of the being I had closed and hidden behind the petty fears and insecurities of this personality. In a deep yawn unlike any other, I feel the shining radiance of spirit opening, causing my chest to quiver to the edge of bursting! My legs immediately follow suit, shivering responsive like two entwined antennae. Tension...
Only when a wire is taut does it vibrate with communication - the living resonance of speech or the oscillating reverberance of tone on a plucked string. Likewise, this tension of abstinence and fasting, the building tension of bodily need held trembling tight in the very musculature, carries expression in the paradoxical: the tense-sleep of visions. To enter the subconscious oceans of sleep with the vivid wakefulness of morning’s sunrise is to travel a spirited line, a sensitive vibrant boundary. This is the primordial orange lagoon sunrise of eons which, in it’s swimming infancy, birthed our eyes and their opening. I weep silently with awe, overbrimming the ecstatic bliss of a never-ending horizon's light.
The retention of memory fails if not retensed into moments present to use and produce; the fruit of humanity. In lax and sedentary days does the once sharp quiver of recall grow unresponsive to inspiration’s charge. In spire: it is the cyclic inward flow of breath, naturally occurring when our bodies are fit and ready to serve as carriage to the inward flow of vitality, prana. Heavy with sleep and the inactivity of a life of slumber, Aya floods the being, inner and outer, with wakefulness. *
Community of the night, I join you in acknowledgment of the moon’s pull. Hers is an inward pull, a call to spiritual ascension. So much energy these genetic wires hum up into carnation - and so easy to indulge ego to contain it, repositing that radiance beneath, concealing behind the security of fear. That ingenuity is ingenuine; a posturing of personality which grows stale, year after year. Finally, I am refreshed by the taste of nature, pure and true from its long forgotten source: this vibrant spring, this inward fount.
*At the moment of completing this thought of wakefulness, a lone wolf howls long to the night, as if in response to the overwhelming sense of rapturous inspiration I felt at that moment.
All that man has yet to understand: the purpose even of a yawn, the felt sense of the air before a rainstorm, the subtle frequencies which radiate and surround us in communication and motherly acceptance. These, even while beyond the reach of our physical senses, still exist nonetheless and are splendorous.
The blockages of my restrained emotion, the blockages of my clutching mind, the blockages of my very genetics are each revealed to me in their futility. Beyond them, I feel and live my purpose, radiant and alive with all of the being I had closed and hidden behind the petty fears and insecurities of this personality. In a deep yawn unlike any other, I feel the shining radiance of spirit opening, causing my chest to quiver to the edge of bursting! My legs immediately follow suit, shivering responsive like two entwined antennae. Tension...
Only when a wire is taut does it vibrate with communication - the living resonance of speech or the oscillating reverberance of tone on a plucked string. Likewise, this tension of abstinence and fasting, the building tension of bodily need held trembling tight in the very musculature, carries expression in the paradoxical: the tense-sleep of visions. To enter the subconscious oceans of sleep with the vivid wakefulness of morning’s sunrise is to travel a spirited line, a sensitive vibrant boundary. This is the primordial orange lagoon sunrise of eons which, in it’s swimming infancy, birthed our eyes and their opening. I weep silently with awe, overbrimming the ecstatic bliss of a never-ending horizon's light.
The retention of memory fails if not retensed into moments present to use and produce; the fruit of humanity. In lax and sedentary days does the once sharp quiver of recall grow unresponsive to inspiration’s charge. In spire: it is the cyclic inward flow of breath, naturally occurring when our bodies are fit and ready to serve as carriage to the inward flow of vitality, prana. Heavy with sleep and the inactivity of a life of slumber, Aya floods the being, inner and outer, with wakefulness. *
Community of the night, I join you in acknowledgment of the moon’s pull. Hers is an inward pull, a call to spiritual ascension. So much energy these genetic wires hum up into carnation - and so easy to indulge ego to contain it, repositing that radiance beneath, concealing behind the security of fear. That ingenuity is ingenuine; a posturing of personality which grows stale, year after year. Finally, I am refreshed by the taste of nature, pure and true from its long forgotten source: this vibrant spring, this inward fount.
*At the moment of completing this thought of wakefulness, a lone wolf howls long to the night, as if in response to the overwhelming sense of rapturous inspiration I felt at that moment.