hellllooooo you Sweet Dewy Blades on Holy Lawns,
and welcome Sweet Friends to yet another experimental search for Ethereal Pulses.
each morning we die into a new day and each death is an awakening into a fresh night. each iteration of Self brings with it recapitulation, renewal, and, like the rings of a tree symbolize the flow of nutrients past, while marking the growth of these miniature epochs each one mirroring Great Seasons. during these we find ways to not topple in the strongest gales, keel over neither for pest nor pestilence, to stand firm under loads of snow, tides of mud, and the cracked, dusty soils of drought.
Sweet Souls, I don't know if you've noticed, but we are in a bit of a shift. I think it would be heartlessly euphemistic for me to call them growth pains. although, I suppose the new tissue that seals over a freshly severed limb is a type of growth. one that can certainly be regarded as positive, so long as survival and protection from pathogens is the aim. however, it probably does little to mitigate the emotional and physical sting of the severance. for that pain there is next to nothing that can be offered, even the reminders that time heals all woulds and any other of a wide array of platitudes just wont cut it... but when we feel sufficiently helpless in the face of another, one for whom we care, they seem to fall out of our faces as the only thing that we can offer, if for no other reason than to sooth our own reciprocal pain, for like the trees in the forest, by some Great Metaphysical Mycelial network, we are Connected.
still, I won't do that here.
I will type, however, that holding on to the gangrenous, putrefying limb in some petulant hope that it will miraculously re-attach or some other such non-sense does no one any good. especially those who you live with, those who, out of a sort of awkward 'politeness' put up with the smell, for your sake. "let a dog have a bone" kinda thing... these puns should stub shortly, please be patient.
so why type all the above? well the severed limb in this case is what one would call a 'failure'. personally, Spiritually, politically, economically, societally speaking.
if one is intent on using such words as failure.
I however am loosing the desire to even associate with such reduced concepts.
for the symbols (words, shadows of Ideas, of Thought) we use are like garments for the mind (itself an aspect or layer of Soul... like Souls Phloem if you will), and we've to be careful in these days how we Dress. while I don't think that bypassing the issue with the playful paisleys of the love and light new age folks is the answer to the drab grays and blacks now so in the mode, I also think the blood stained reds and harsh, pointy, metal studded leather gear of the newly emerging nationalist 'puritans' is the call either. sentiments that say: "love the slavery and genocide away" must seem useless and self centered, at least from a war torn orphan or child miner's perspective. while "you and everyone who looks and thinks like you can fuck off" seems like trillion dollar a year militaristically driven childishness, as well. I'm not an orphan or a child slave in a mine so I guess I don't really know. nor have I had the opportunity to become one who, over night, became a political refugee because of choices I've made that hurt or help no one but myself. I must ask forgiveness for my taking liberties on behalf of those demographics, that typed, I also don't feel as if I've gone too far out on this limb. I mean that's what the empathy is for right? well, either way, that's how I'm using it. considering the well being of others, even those I may never know, even those I disagree with is how I'm choosing to 'dress' this mind. because of nice? yes. because liberty? yea why not. mostly because that's what I would want for myself, and if I can't give it, how dare I ask for it.
this is why I won't use failure to describe what for some probably seems like the total collapse of everything they hold and held dear, nor will I use words like hiccup or transitional phase. at the end of the day our Species seems to be sick, and sickness begets healing. we've been hitting the sugar hard for like... 3 k years? another run of sweet tarts for president who were once candy bar c.e.o's providing millions with yet another reason to wash the sour taste of defeat down with carb heavy bread sodas and bottom shelf rye’s, means we might have to part with some toes. that's just what it is. but so long as we don't sit down and take a hard look, right now, at our choices, not their (‘their’, in the classical sense, meaning any other person than oneself) choices. not the decisions we will make or the ones we have made. but the options open to us now, dire as they may be. to do so with as light a heart as we can muster here and now. however to not through the baby out with the bath water, also maintaining consideration for past and future, their non-linear intermingling with the Present. to do so knowing that Sorrow is Sacred for its ability to provide (sometimes by no other means than to Highlight) inroads to Joy. to swallow the Sacrifices that seem necessary, for the sake of Securing our future presence, and Healing our past presence, as they live in us today. the last minute insulin injection of reform parties (that aren't even really running) won't cut it.
but a bone saw might.
for refusal, yet again, to shoulder the yoke of our own responsibilities, and more, the Responsibilities of Sovereign, Divine Presence waiting Patiently within us all, may lead to more than just a limb, it could mean the whole Tree. which again would not be a failure, for in the unending Gaze of Time of the Mighty Beings that Stand There, what real harm is the loss of one Tree in an Infinite Forest?
however, now that I've typed that, pretty as it seems to end on in a sad, sweet, kind of way, feels itself, a bypass.
I'm ready to give up coffee, mangoes, cell phones, over-budget roadways, and underfunded ‘healthcare’. I’m ready to place in the bio-hazard bag (or compost heap) the dead and even the decaying systems, aspects of our externalized, internal neglect. the unmet trauma, the empty offerings of barren olive branches. I'm ready to put a seed in the soil of not only the land but the Growth Medium of Soul, of Spirit, to start playing my part in Nurturing the I in individuality. I haven't yet done most of it, if I'm being honest. other than re-routing nutrition to the diseased parts of self while pulling out any salvageable cells within reach hormones harmonious reach.
but I'm ready.
I guess getting dressed for the Job I want shall have to suffice, for now.
with all the Love I can muster, with all the Pain and Pleasure that Love brings with It, I'll sign off for now,
N
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