We move unconsciously through life at the mercy of automation.
Plugged in, always on, absorbed in the energy of an internal lighthouse, blind to our own self-care.
The human instant suffers from too much closeupness, leaving little time to zone out. Time runs deep between canyons. Water flows patiently over rocks. The urge to speed up silences the music still in us.
We’re rhythmic creatures who make reality, not ones to be stuck and consumed by it. The new script requires that we think before we act. The robot is already preprogrammed and ready.
We end up aligning with nature’s intent. We see the world through the lens we grow up with. We are the products of our environment, the sum total of our existence.
Yet, we can become a variety of human. We can develop an expanded toolset that includes others. We can shut off stray thoughts and ignore droll distractions, replacing them with dreams of boredom. However, we stay light and loose.
We set the brain roaming with no clear destination in mind, only a feeling of intuition. The freedom of unforced attention makes harmony in the auditory wilderness. The brain functions in a mysterious way to find parity between the blind and the deaf.
Constant and changing, the Fall comes around and whips durable trees into seasonal characters, reminding us that everything is temporary.
The form is ephemeral, the roots are permanent. The colorful autumn foliage tree jettisons its leaves, falling without regret.
The ‘e’ in leaf stands for effortless; its intuition accepts the will of the wind and the serenity of landing on terra firma. Those that remain appear vivid under the flash of light. The season’s cycle into GIF loops.
The rules are, There are no rules,
We are putty,
Asking to be reshaped,
Mushy in the middle,
Wobbly at the sides,
Recorrecting at the ends,
The mystery universe.
Take my advice and throw it away,
As far as the wind can blow,
The cycles of life are temporary,
There is always a pendulum,
Ask the questions and then live them,
A ghoulish curiosity amps the restless,
Calm is happiness,
Not too fast nor too slow,
The seashore ebbs and flows,
Avoid shaping the wave.
The forces that bind together meaning aren’t always strong, nor are they credible. Your inner-dialogue is like a bank: the more you put into it, the more it wants to synch patterns between disparate events.
We look at the world through the context of our collected experiences. We choose what sticks around to arm us for the uncertainty that the future brings. Carl Jung once said, “In all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order.” But what if our mind manufactures stories of coincidental events? Imagination tends to hyperbolize reality.
Perhaps there are no gravitational forces; everything is just a game of chance despite our aim to corroborate our beliefs with supposed facts. When we try to find meaning in everything, we often end up with an incomplete picture.
Certainty tries to assert itself as the dream of man. But when we learn to relax our beliefs, we realize that there are only a few items in life that deserve our scarce attention. Everything else should be left to chance.
There’s a still of rhythm to be found in between the cacophony of noises where we decide what we want to hear.
Outside the windows, where I focus my attention on an overstretched street light backed by a series of palm trees, bicyclists brushing past the American flag on LA’s 405, with vehicles that match camouflage into their immediate surroundings.
Through the lens of a window were sights too commanding, mirroring objects with my third eye.