Treasuring this brief window of time where I sit in between where I was and where I will be, keen to have the where I was inform the where I will be.
After moving in a different country and only knowing a bit of language there. A few times needing to communicate in an uneasy situation and being at a loss, being tired, and somewhat frantic about addressing the situation, unable to find the words. Like a little child must feel, unable to express what it needs, close to tears and unable to connect. Tiny despair, gigantically human.
On the other hand, it was restful, listening to the exotic sounds of a very chatty culture, unable to understand much of what I heard, a relief and a rest from speech that cannot be ignored in a known language.
What carves through conversation elegantly are the unspoken communications that come to clear definitions. The eversomuch conveyed in face and gesture, and with a good guess, finds its mark and sparks a far out joy. Understanding!
The conversations via phone are impossible, as if deaf and blind to the others response, searching in the dark for words, never mind the conjugations, what could possibly make for understanding. Using WhatsApp is the best alternative, along with a translation app to complete the communication.
Face to face, or interface? Whatever works! The prize is in the satisfaction of understanding.
There we had no references beyond each other, my husband and I. If circumstance had become dire, like nuclear war, a solar flare taking out the internet, the military faking taking out the internet, etc., we would be adrift in a world without attachments. No kin nor colleagues to band together with, a total anathema to a cult member! We could end up dependent on any available human kindness. I often thought of Peace Pilgrim, imagining her walking her 25000 miles for peace, fasting until given food and walking until given rest, and she never came to want. People are good, she would say, and trustworthy. Ive never been too sure of that, yet if then there, without references, is able to instruct me here now, I might give that possibility some weight. It may be an imperative in this time of controls when stories are made up for freaking people out and pitting us against each other, every which way but loose. Belief in the goodness of others would be a valuable purse along the trails in our future, now that we are walking free of cult controls. I imagine it depends on a resonance with my own goodness and what I lay claim to in that.
I wondered as I wandered there, how to turn away from the narratives aimed to control us? Ive left the cult of the motorhead and still must cull the narcissistic perspectives that were planted in me from that lengthy stopover. Now how to leave the cult of the world, run by sociopaths and mad scientists bent on controlling us and everything? How to devote my awareness to what is good while giving up the arguments with the motorhead or any other psychopath? Those nimrods will never give in to love or compassion! They dont have the amygdalae for it.
How to keep my focus on a singularly good thing? Like rain. When the woods are on fire.
Life has been given to inventions that move us on the outside, inventions sourced from human consciousness, where all magical gadgets come from. How to disembark from this outside life that was foisted on us for gain and profit, when given the choice we would be happy with clean air, fresh food, loving relations, and an inner life, The Inner Experience, able to inform us of what we really are, and how best to move with joy sparked understanding?
We hear that chemicals can seed clouds to unleash torrents. We dont hear much about what pure consciousness is able to accomplish, free of physical extensions and interface. At least I havent heard but would like to. That was one allure of the cult, the seeming Many Minds Made One, everyone focused like a laser on the same belief, yet an ill-fated effort it was, aimed at a back country psychopath.
A friend led me to an inner sanctum. As I looked in to the dim and saw two or three figures bent there, my mind spontaneously began a Buddhist chant I learned long ago. When it came to the word sacred my mind went blank and there were no more words, no more thoughts. My friend said, because in this holy place, it is never empty of someone in prayer. Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus.
There seems a wild array calling to be tamed and whispered, to be quieted by turning away, like breezes changing direction to blow through different chime and pipe, through what is sacred in these times, to never be empty of a prayer for what we love of this world, its trees and greenery and so on, and then living on by living in those praises, in praise of our best interfaces with nature, human and otherwise. Like rain, real rain.
J. You might find beams, brights, articulate flights in the reread of chapter 7 Atlas Shrugged: 'John Galt speaks'. The manipulations of her spectacular precision and possibility counter intentions to the obvious as incredibly dumb down murderous ignorance by the good ole boys media/propaganda is equal to the use of any goodness to substantiate corrupt power rationals. Stupid. Hope with you're good write you'll swing over to the big stuff like whose the groomer in ban the books and come here to die. love, mike