soliloquies
Resist!
As we all know, there are infinite realities (narratives) being enacted in infinite dimensions and densities in the whole of Creation. As far as I am concerned, the particular aspect of our total SELF that is experiencing this particular polarity matrix in this particular dimension/density is of no less value and has no less potential in relation to the evolution of consciousness than any other. The whole of creation is sacred and I do not perceive any separation between the Creator and the Creation. The structure and the narrative are inextricably intertwined and both serve the Whole.
As for this particular matrix, it seems obvious to me we are here for a reason, otherwise we would not focus any portion of our awareness here. That reason could be argued from an infinite amount of perspectives, but choosing to ignore the matrix (both its structure and its narrative) and ONLY ‘look beyond it’ seems to me a negation of all the potential for increasing awareness that exists within the experience as well as a crass denial of the primary impetus and motivation for this unique assemblage.
Taking responsibility for the whole of our collective creation (because we ARE a concert of individual souls) includes taking responsibility for our own individual participation in the narrative as it is manifested in the physical world of this particular dimension. We are ALL contributing to the story being enacted here, we are ALL connected to one another and all our actions affect one another.
If we insist on separating or alienating ourselves from the narrative (insist that all is an illusion and therefore the narrative is inconsequential in the larger scheme of things) we miss the opportunity we have given ourselves to redirect the forces of destruction, of entropy and chaos, and to ultimately transform these energetic currents into finer expressions of harmony. If we fail to see that our story is an expression of our energetic structure, fail to see the correspondence (as inside, so outside), we fail in our personal and collective mission. The power of love we contain within ourselves, the love of which we are made, is exactly the power we must use when we interface with all those forces and energetic currents that have been distorted and have become less than true expressions of the finer vibrations of justice and harmony.
Only resistance to the forces of destruction will provide the opportunity to transform those currents. Without resistance, our energy, our power, is subsumed in negative currents. Think of what happens at the individual level; self destructive forces, distorted energetic structures within the self, must be brought to our attention (awareness) then actively and fearlessly confronted and resisted in order to be redirected into positive creative currents. In the same manner, destructive tendencies reflected externally must be consciously and actively resisted.
My point: become proactive, become a shadow slayer on both the inside AND the outside. Indeed, there is no separation; each is a reflection of the other. Resist corruption and evil!
Photo Credit: Ancient Iranian Women Warriors, Watercolour By Shapour Suren-Pahlav
As for this particular matrix, it seems obvious to me we are here for a reason, otherwise we would not focus any portion of our awareness here. That reason could be argued from an infinite amount of perspectives, but choosing to ignore the matrix (both its structure and its narrative) and ONLY ‘look beyond it’ seems to me a negation of all the potential for increasing awareness that exists within the experience as well as a crass denial of the primary impetus and motivation for this unique assemblage.
Taking responsibility for the whole of our collective creation (because we ARE a concert of individual souls) includes taking responsibility for our own individual participation in the narrative as it is manifested in the physical world of this particular dimension. We are ALL contributing to the story being enacted here, we are ALL connected to one another and all our actions affect one another.
If we insist on separating or alienating ourselves from the narrative (insist that all is an illusion and therefore the narrative is inconsequential in the larger scheme of things) we miss the opportunity we have given ourselves to redirect the forces of destruction, of entropy and chaos, and to ultimately transform these energetic currents into finer expressions of harmony. If we fail to see that our story is an expression of our energetic structure, fail to see the correspondence (as inside, so outside), we fail in our personal and collective mission. The power of love we contain within ourselves, the love of which we are made, is exactly the power we must use when we interface with all those forces and energetic currents that have been distorted and have become less than true expressions of the finer vibrations of justice and harmony.
Only resistance to the forces of destruction will provide the opportunity to transform those currents. Without resistance, our energy, our power, is subsumed in negative currents. Think of what happens at the individual level; self destructive forces, distorted energetic structures within the self, must be brought to our attention (awareness) then actively and fearlessly confronted and resisted in order to be redirected into positive creative currents. In the same manner, destructive tendencies reflected externally must be consciously and actively resisted.
My point: become proactive, become a shadow slayer on both the inside AND the outside. Indeed, there is no separation; each is a reflection of the other. Resist corruption and evil!
Photo Credit: Ancient Iranian Women Warriors, Watercolour By Shapour Suren-Pahlav
Coming Out
Coming out.
Cautiously moving away from the periphery of isolation where for years everything has been written in secret, then simply tucked away into dark corners like the bottom drawers of huge desks and old stationary boxes.
Coming out, after tentatively filtering out over the boundary bits of my spirit, testing, feeling the ground.
Coming out, because the exhortation of certain friends inspired a little confidence.
Coming out of a place that is safe from public criticism and warm with self-appreciation - much like a womb - this place where the ideas, once conceived, are nurtured with deliberation as they swell into the forms of stories and prose.
Coming out, peering out over the edge because the Self suffocates, however invulnerable the refuge.
Coming out with poetry. These, rendered from the heart, come suddenly like waves breaking in the distance, folding over the imagination, each line undulating to the next... as I, holding my breath, ride the crest of each surge on my precarious memory, hoping all the while that it will carry me safely without losing a single line.
Coming out, because that expression is void unless shared, and the fear of spawning dead things left to rot in the bottom drawers is greater than the fear of bearing them to the world.
Coming out, eventually with the stories because they are a record, a witness to LIFE, and belong to this world.
Out, mostly because the art is the Self and the Self, above all else, cannot bear to move towards death alone.
Cautiously moving away from the periphery of isolation where for years everything has been written in secret, then simply tucked away into dark corners like the bottom drawers of huge desks and old stationary boxes.
Coming out, after tentatively filtering out over the boundary bits of my spirit, testing, feeling the ground.
Coming out, because the exhortation of certain friends inspired a little confidence.
Coming out of a place that is safe from public criticism and warm with self-appreciation - much like a womb - this place where the ideas, once conceived, are nurtured with deliberation as they swell into the forms of stories and prose.
Coming out, peering out over the edge because the Self suffocates, however invulnerable the refuge.
Coming out with poetry. These, rendered from the heart, come suddenly like waves breaking in the distance, folding over the imagination, each line undulating to the next... as I, holding my breath, ride the crest of each surge on my precarious memory, hoping all the while that it will carry me safely without losing a single line.
Coming out, because that expression is void unless shared, and the fear of spawning dead things left to rot in the bottom drawers is greater than the fear of bearing them to the world.
Coming out, eventually with the stories because they are a record, a witness to LIFE, and belong to this world.
Out, mostly because the art is the Self and the Self, above all else, cannot bear to move towards death alone.