Monday, September 24, 2012

Oahahaaaoahaha ooah

I just had really existential/zen implosion over my habit of skateboarding.

I skateboard because I am not frightened of dying. I skateboard because I am deeply, deeply (deeper than) human.


And I am not frightened of dying, anytime will do....

“If I take death into my life, acknowledge it, and face it squarely, I will free myself from the anxiety of death and the pettiness of life - and only then will I be free to become myself.”

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Fall's Flying: Balance

A holistic outlook on life. Life as Life. Life as Not Life. 

A synapse here shot straight spiral to philosophical cluster~fuck. 

I realize I'm aggressive in my search for Consciousness. I am fervent, rabid, an animal that believes itself caged and so bites at obsidian fur, a mutilation for an end preservation.

I want to wake myself up todos en tiempo, siempre, ahora. I want to help wake other humans up too, albeit now I am more focused on this here body of mine.

In the fiery propulsion of my star kissed path, I come to land upon something like the wind; swaying, oscillating, brushing up against.
It is an actuality and an intangibility, of course, expectedly.


And there I sit and ponder the spiritual gouges that freckle my skin. My eyelid closes slowly again and I question my insatiability: this overwhelming desire to consciousness, to higher being, to a holy vessel living true to its design. 

I am very much like a young stallion learning to gallop. And balance is essential. Balance is essential.

I've been mulling over the concept and manifestation of rationality and irrationality. And how irrationality is very often linked to emotions. And how humans tend to skirt around feeling emotions because of the inability to cognitively, rationally, understand them. 

Then I bathe myself in balance. I see either end of the spectrum (although this is NOT a linear phenomenon) of chronic emotional reactions or chronic rational reactions, as imbalanced, unhealthy, disenchanting, unfulfilling. 

Our life must be a give and take of rational//emotional. I would even argue it best to synthesize the two in every reaction. Conscientiousness. Yes. Feeling your emotional blood beat in every situation while also kindly rooted to the ground like a redwood. 

That is my desire for daily living. For I have witnessed, in myself and others, a polarizing phenomenon of hyper-rationality or hyper-emotionality... and neither serves the individual, as I see it. I perceive them as living one-sided, out of touch with themselves or entirely lost in themselves.  

Either a well-rooted but lifeless redwood, or an uprooted one, soon to die.
Either too rooted in control, or sky high in an emotional whirlwind. 

And I suppose, upon all this mulling over, that it is partially subjective, how I view balance, rationality, emotionality.

But I also believe its partially objective, meaning universal. 

We are one whole organism, human being. Not static no, but definitely unified. And we can intuit and understand equilibrium, as well as sense discord.

Tapping in to tap out. To use your emotional intelligence in the fostering of rational intelligence, and vice versa. Yeah. That's what I seek, to practice, to learn, to gallop.

And by writing this I fulfill the other halve of a whole I mentioned before. That yes, I write this for myself, but also so that you too can be inspired to find balance in your life. Believe it or not, you know exactly what you need to do to find balance; it's already written within and without you.

Begin the day, and be gentle with yourself.


M .A. R

Happy Libra everyone, it's gonna be a good one.   


Thursday, September 20, 2012

Nostalgia's Just a Burp of Time

"The darkness is the closet for which your lover's heart roosts, and that night fowl that caws against her spirit and yours, dropping between you and her the awful estrangement of his bowels... the night is where all becomes estranged."
                                                             -Djuna Barnes,  Nightwood

"There are night people, and there are day people."
"Night people do not bury their dead, but on the neck of You, their beloved and waking, sling their creature husked of its gestures. And where it goes, you go."

What you reap you first did sow. This I learn and sometimes know. 

Now, Me time:

"One day I am going to stay up the whole night and walk 'round. I'll kill you with the look of the night and flex my muscle only to know the vibrating wave of your bone goin' crunch. Just sing."

"A uniqorn is whole only when she takes into account her shadow."

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Mulling Over Time as it Mulls Me Over ...?

You have finally hit rock bottom: a span called the Planck length, the shortest anything can get. According to recent developments in the quest to devise a so-called "theory of everything," space is not an infinitely divisible continuum. It is not smooth but granular, and the Planck length gives the size of its smallest possible grains.

The time it takes for a light beam to zip across this ridiculously tiny distance (about 10 to the minus 43 seconds) is called the Planck time, the shortest possible tick of an imaginary clock. Combine these two ideas and the implication is that space and time have a structure. What is commonly thought of as the featureless void is built from tiny units, or quanta.

"We've long suspected that space-time had to be quantized," said Dr. Steven B. Giddings, a theorist at the University of California at Santa Barbara. "Recent developments have led to some exciting new proposals about how to make these ideas more concrete."

Regardless of the detail ridden culture of Modern Science, One should ponder upon the implications of the concept behind this....

we (Todos) are an orderly puzzle...oooh Fractals. 

Oooh. Maybe our lives aren't random begrudgeness... maybe one can learn of and tap into the Order.... maybe we've already done this and mostly forgotten how to...

My question is...

What is your Ritual(s)? 

How do you feel most connected? (Connected to this multidimensional breathing rubix cube called l-i-f-e. ?)

The discovery of a correlated relationship between the existence of parallel and vertical universes...making a grid, an infinitesimal grid. Quantum physics baby.

"Trust some ellipses, to chase you 'round the room"- Arctic Monkeys
"The only true aristocracy is that of Consciousness"  -D.H. Lawrence

Have a glorious moment of dimensionalized time called a "Sunday Evening"

R .A. M

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Breathe Breadth

 "‎Wholeness and longing are as common as breath, so much a part of the fabric of our being they often remain unseen. They meet us everywhere, setting direction, not detail. All we do is answer their call. The shapes we build about them become a life lived, unique in time."
                                                        - Michael Bratnick

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Daily Dosage for None

The body is a holy tool.
Holy. I've taken to this word. Again.
For my relations with it, this word, spring forth from a stained-glass youth.

Words as symbols.
Humans as concentrated energy, manifest as sacred geometry.
Unconcerned with life's mysteries but living them, nonetheless.
It's a hilarity! I want to laugh raucously and without care

but the heartiest laugh has just that in it: pumped blood.

And so too, do I cry.

Because that which gives me the greatest pleasure is also the cause for a cavernous underbelly of insidious pain.

And yet, I am becoming more awake. I am waking myself up, for it is no one's task but my own. I am being awoken, by all. And in my surrender to waking, "my" energy transforms into the transpersonal. And humans as a specie move along with everything else. With rusted resistance, nonetheless.

I love the manifestation of our entire being creates Separateness with a jaw-dropping perfectionism. Yang potential, binary.

Sometimes I see humans as swaths of color. And I think that's because of an innate ability to oscillate the perception of my very own nature .... I can see beyond humanness, I can, for a moment, a hiccup in  time * space, see closer truth:  that of Synthesis.

And when I see  that we are just patterns stitched into time, into space, beyond it even... made of the same geometry and varying designs and how we fit to each other in perfection... I laugh and I cry

for I feel that it is so holy. And beyond my comprehension, that which my concepts, my symbols, my tears, can never touch.... but are a part of, nonetheless.

Holy. Holiness. Humanity, the rest, Human design.

Our true nature is that of holiness, of perfect imperfection, of perfect design.
Wake up, accept who you truly are, your design,

tap into your core, the honesty of your every muscles and bone and fluid,
 and life will be the technicolor dreamcoat

or the magic carpet...

or both.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Hubris and A Quote

In the shower, flowered, with this little line...

 "The Universe puts certain people in your life to teach you invaluable lessons; it doesn't necessarily mean you get to sleep with all of them."
                                                 -M .A. R

And another, in skies, with feelings occupied...

 "There's a degree of certainty in not giving a fuck."

Monday, September 3, 2012

Sol Survival

Still as a mountain and like that of a river. I'm carving now, not jutting or inserting myself; flowing.

It has been a wacky cosmological scene, these past moments pouring over into this day today. I experience universal petit morts, little deaths, in the blanket above and in my inner sky. A Piscean blue moon, rare and very fitting. I have learned vast leagues of emotional currency, the mettled ebb and flow of my heart.

I realize very much that I must think less and fly more. Do.

But in this doing I cannot be brash and sudden and foolishly flung. I must be like that of a river or a redwood tree. A movement so powerful in its slowness. Steadiness.

And those who teach me this slowness are in every pocket of this eye socket, of mine. They have both winged swiftness and golden haired quietness. And I love them each as One. I love them all. My love is One.

It is easy for one to think so much and so sporadically, and miss the nectar of every one flower. The teacher however, is forever present and in every being. It guides a faithful student back.

I am doing my bliss. My joy. Not pondering over it until it is a rotten fruit. Or as a neutered fruit that I force from the tree and make to rot. A neutered rotting. I do that too. Efficiently, in my chagrin.

And I am riding a bliss train.
A train that has broken from the tracks and soars upward with the laziness reserved only for those in inexplicable bliss, those who surrender. Surrender,      slowly,       everything.   

Effortless effort, like the moment of a river's and mountain's conception.

I can now fly I realize, but not trying to at all.

Ah, it looks so easy on one-two binary type. And it is.
With a drop of courage and plucked time.


M .A. R

go, go where your heart flows and do not doubt the streaming, winging,  feeling

Sunday, September 2, 2012

A Shock of NewNess Sewn

First hexagram in a third moment of throwing. It's a cracked falling, thunder storms on Hylian plains. The moon is Uranus and is a sardonic smile, paining to further pleasure. I remember the mirror that sunk its teeth into my face and horrorred this lunatic.

My neck is taught,  tight rope wrapped round a mountain top; skies scream symphonies amidst.

I begin to see infinity in every face I create before me, not mine. A dazed hawk dodging Olympian orations; I can not see my self. I am in the storms of my mind. And I rarely meet another legendary bird here in this freezing warm.

I rarely can see past the golden dendrites I surf around. I rarely see my own feathers in this weather. My neck hurts, chained by my own capitulations, red emblazoned by docility.

I hurt so badly because I realize where I am, a striked mass of winged fury in a lightning kingdom, falling, falling, being.

I am beginning to emotionally accept my perfection, my beauty, my value. Beginning.

But it takes shocks atop shocks to the dome, high frequency paint splatters that incise tattoos of forever, and forever ago.

And stinging lizations that I am Here, but not a Hare. And my aria is sung for an area of heightened ideals, abstracted appeals; in skies screaming symphonies down ahead.

In a thunderstorm.  

I can speak in poetic tongues and seduce you in clandestine silences. But at the end of it all, the moon still has a dark side.

And I am there. Hidden betwixt the blackness. Alone. But not forever, and not forever ago. 


M .A. R