- Freely Writing is the Introspective & Reflexive Feeling of One’s Aura.
- I Am Freely Writing.
- Or Am I (Freely Writing)? Am I an I?
- Am I an Oar of Ore–An Intention of Motion.
- A ribbon and a lantern, brilliantly lit within and shinning beyond…
- An electric kinetic conscience.
- Spark of fluctuating vibrations where amplitude and frequency sing and dance to rhythmic intensities while spanning a life flow through space.
- A ticker tape reel looping timelessness like a thread in a collective tapestry?
- A lighthouse, where the absence of the spark illuminates silent presence.
An entity of simultaneity, defying 3 tenses and establishing a 4th dimension where one day I will wink a smiling eye at those I have left behind at earth, peering down on the peaceful cities through a pin hole looking glass.
- A luminous and numinous star that squeezes and releases the breath of life and fire of soul it beams through and beyond spherical layers unto the earth night sky, a freckle of me felt but not seen by the creatures below.
- I am forever because the chrome of the ore; the blood that runs through me ran through a million circulatory systems past and will continue to nourish life.
- Mostly I know that I know nothing, but of this, I am sure.
Am I this, too, together: the magnetism of attraction of gravity conductive property of the stuff called human chromosomes, veins and blood.
Premonition towards Predetermination:
An attempt to adjust the focus and acuity lens on a telescope. An attempt to precise what predestination means through the perspective of my own lens. A foggy morning at sea, a blood shot sun, drenched in humidity, staining whips of orange streaks across the slumbering sky, eye appears: opening in streaks and heavier than all of the water in the oceans: hang and holding gravity on its hip, tilted, a hard-boiled egg, pink and crimson, sweating into the horizon the color of life. Spring has arrived.
Predetermination is married with connotations, obscuring the real in the masks of reality and now I have two wrists turned upwards, beginning to burn, begging the question of what is real, the present absence behind the facade. cloaked in mystery, and rolled up in a tapestry of iconic connotations, distorted by the deception of marionette-puppeteer paradigms riddling the dynamic between and within Woman and God.
Like the goddess my predestination is cyclic.
To allow the future to guide my presence, here and now, is backwards.
The past is in front of me: I carry the capacity of sentimental experience in my personal memory. The past that I know that I know is positioned in front of me, and I can see it clearly.
The past that I do not know that I do know is the Universal and collective memory.
Vestigial senses and the stuff of consciousness that carries the spirit of what I was before I was born (and what I will return to after my incarnate capsule (read: contained of soul) called body decomposes and mind’s eye floats on). What guides my intuition is axis mundi, is the same knowing in every one consciousness of one consciousness.
The sentience of one sentiment. The mind masks the experience of liberated soaring in the integration of sensory filters and perspective negotiated by cognitions: sentiment is sentimental in the mind-body-spirit trinity called humanity and its rhythmic condition.
My axis mundi is a compass rose, a rose, a rose a rose a rose. What I am is what I am. And a rose is still a rose. Twelve observable nodes of nostalgia. Embedded deep within, tucked beneath like the potential in all of the eggs and sperm, pistols and stemans, incubated and unhatched. The rosebud evades the awareness of articulate expression through a mode of black lines on white paper.
What I say is not what I mean, and what I mean is bigger than my mind can wrap itself around; open shaped [U]rn creaks open expands, usurping panorama to a true blue clarity beyond visual capacity: it’s a feeling.
The explorers’ sense of wonder and awe is a warrior traveling with insatiable and burning curiosity to circumnavigate the source, knowing one cannot be precise in exacting the carbon copy expression portrayed the source to another, for the absence of what lies beyond the horizon is the same call towards home that calls us to rise, heliotropism and schisms and enigmatic sensation of oh, what a joy, the experience of alive, and oh, how dull it is to pause, to make an ends.
Endlessly infinite and expansive; with a depth that is cyclic, the planter and the seed, and the prototype for the green thumb, all of the divinity of the eternal return: within us. Inside of the incarnate life we are in bodies that serve the source, and what is before and after birth and death as the human condition confines is a return to the elliptical swish of sorcery, of the Source, the Planter.
Location and prepositions make sense of motion in time and space, and I am no sure these concepts are applicable to a realm of the super natural, a domain that is effervescent and supersedes the natural world we can home and habitat while on earth. the 13th bud but indescribable and insatiable call towards exploration. I am a what. What guides me is intuition, my compass rose. And what guides my compass rose? That which guides my intuition is the same source that The spirit.
The spirit triumphs for the spirit is not seeking attainment of a product to signify the end of a process: that is reality.
What is real gravitates towards the antithesis: the spirit sings and dances as natural as breathing when surrendered to and liberated fall into its own nature, a rhythmic encantation. processes for its own sake.
The past I have experienced through the active and evocative: –>my own agency in verb and my reaction to that motion; <–> my reaction to the stagnant and helplessness of the two-sided dimensionality of any one push or pull, prod or wall. One action forks into two reactions. The past is what I know that I know. The future is behind me: what I do not know that I know. The joy of life is the realization of the stuff of consciousness positioned at the time-space crossroads:
My present, joy-full and alive: alive journeys and processes of conscious realization of what is behind me (spatially) and simultaneously lies ahead of me (the future)…