How can there be any other explanation for what’s going on here other than play?There is nothing more than an inter-play of witnesses.When someone demands to make a story of it,Then you know an avalanche of lies is coming.That’s all the trouble you’ve ever known.And you created it all.And the miracle of it all is …
The rich people who paid millions to forgo life,to live in boxes with small views,who never leave their TV living roomsto see the world,who tell themselves storiesabout an imagined, liberal, or conservative, or evil, or progressive,or God-fearing, or Satan worshiping enemy.Those putting so much energy into the story of other and against. And what story …
And who am I?Just a character drifting through others’ dreams.What am I?Really.A pattern of thought held in a bone case.A circular waveform, round and round.Thinking it’s looking for somethingbut really just having fun swirling aroundin an environment that allows swirling. No swirling, no waveform, no pattern,no thought, no character, no drama,no world, no garden, no …
And the dream marks everywhere.Balloons and jet fighters.Explosions all around.The large and small of the universe demands attention.F-22s blow weather balloons out of the sky. But what of the internal patterns?Punish the self ever so slightly.Every so subtly.Deny it flesh.Make it the monk.Deny it the hedonism of riches.Feed it poisons and uppers and downers,and call …
The only argument for evil or sickness or rain or deathis for it to be a backdrop for love, health, sunshine, or life.There must be one for the other to the exist, But tell that to the hawk or the ant.Tell it to the mountain or to the ocean.And what does it mean? Mountain knows …
