thanks to acid and writing, im no longer afraid to just say and do it, i used to look deeply into matters, thinking they had to be left behind to come back to any state of health, left behind totally, i was abandoning parts of myself because of some percieved outside force, and that just ain't right, why such a need for definitions. when the wind blows through the sycamore trees, and your thoughts turn homewards, that real one in yourself, when you forget about yourself. I was remembered so much, we could have been only just been being born, true none of it suprised me, but the magic in the middle of the street, the questions that carried on our humble lives. all of it was cool. the roof top unfolded to the surroundings, it was good to see from above and even higher up, were we submerged as if under some strange ocean? I patted my hands and acted it out, it all fell in line, so natural but true, just like the light that comes through the windows, curved on the frame of my glasses. These are the hidden gods dwelling in plain sight but usually unseen. Where did it come from? I had no clue, nor what was happening, these things ceased to matter so achingly. but i realize sometimes i fall into this mindset thats like well i've given up my power, i'm not strong enough to do this, i'm a loser, i don't deserve this, and i say it, and then nothing changes and my life continues to suck. This to me is good, I'm not motivated to progress, I don't see this as a problem. I wonder what people are really saying, or what they really have in their hearts to say, because they are not me, they seem to live with much ease, but of course, this is because our connection is one of paradox, they are the other selves. How many refracting versions of this same basic being and personality are their, all with their minor changes, one because I am always there, like the beach that the ever changing waves of the sea crash upon. Even though each wave is a wave and similar in its difference, and a beach is infinite, every grain of sand, every star in the sky. I watched the ashes roll off top of the empire state building. I didn't speak. But here I can, the thoughts are so quiet. Sure, my life is an open book, I would tell the world is not to seem overbearing, but if no one cares, then how could they care? Words are only words, and silent words at that. I am a deer different from the rest of my kind. But they still remember something about me, and I in them, though we struggle with the ideas that both our worlds have taught us, leaving those shattered and escaping into the new pandemonium of red apartments, and solitude, it was a box the went out, and circled around. It was real, I was glad that a good friend of mine had communicated this to me, that there was another soul out there, alive, experience the same world that I did, though many worlds apart perhaps, and yet so close. What makes people deny the existence of fairies, of a mystical world? What can hide the obviously miraculous from the light of the soul? Time, indeed, it speaks from above, in a manner of patterns and continuation, no one here has ever said it, but in all it is finally 'said', that is it is communicated. Fairies appear on the edge of our dreams first, as they are subtle beings, like spirits, or whatever name would be called. Because I follow the path of my ancestors, who are fairies, I am marginalized, and made smaller, indeed is this not the way of the fae, who are small, and yet overwhelmingly good. A chaotic, earthy goodness that has something to do with kindness and fellowship with the universe. In wanti the gates came crashing down each time, I think people though of fantastic other worlds, when I just left it to the openess of empty possibility. Thats why people come and go, they are different, but we all have our own way, and are intertwined, we come across the right situation at the right time for our unfolding... As a wanti priestess, I just carry on the story that I learned in terms that I can, reflecting back upon the half moon in rare thunder. The highway was vast. I remembered it from long ago. And long ago I tried to destroy myself, and lose the me, and I did once and always thought that to be my peak, but now is it not the same, though so much manifests outward forever, it springs from the root of my own being, and is deeply authentic, as everything only can be. The cliches that we attemp to measure up to are always skewed by the originality of pure spontaneous somatic living. And all is a part of it, the shells by the stream, and the litte bumps on the carpet. Look down or up, the root echoing the thunder bolt, is the wood leaping from itself. The wood becoming smoke. Summer to autumn, the patterns everywhere, simply said and done. We talked about dinosaurs and their ancient way, again caught up in being ourselves, actors on the world stage, acting only for our own ideas ourselves? the hills. why ever deny a presence there, where love grows... really, deeply and high but thoughts and the pursuit of worthwhile thoughts and in turn what that leads to are the purpose of life, at least my own. i see that cannabis and entheogens are fine, its just my spirituality i shouldn't have to defend it so adamantly, but why not. its linked instrinsically with my health and the health of the planet
