Sometimes you're thinking too much to sleep properly or even meditate properly.
It's always an unpleasant state and it's one I found myself in tonight.
But still, by some miracle I found myself in a meditative state
and into some sort of sleep.
(If you could call it that.)

Tumbling every which way;
there was no up
nor any down,
but I was headed towards something.

And waves of color and light stretched out from everything that is
or was for that matter (or will be!)
They told me the story that I'll never be able to put into words;
it's the one that is very likely the only one that matters.

And at the beginning of all these prismatic waves
(The ones of all the things that is, or was, or will be for that matter)
There was god; if you can believe it.
The one that keeps the world in motion.

I asked why we were here
but god did not know.

I asked if we had a purpose
I asked if the universe is really real
I asked why there is suffering
I asked how my uncle is doing
I asked if human beings had free will
I asked what is at the bottom of the ocean

I asked all these questions, but god did not know the answers
god sighed with a sadness that only comes from possessing infinity
I knew I was upsetting god, but I couldn't help it
I was a bit upset myself.

So I asked god why it did not know, how it could consider itself god if it knew as little as I did; I asked what sort of god god was.

"Oh, but my dear", god fumbled with words, unsure of how to phrase it all,
"Did you really expect me to know more than you?
I know I have been around for a while, but I've been too busy to figure these sorts of things out.
But I am sorry to disappoint,
I am sorry I am not how you imagined me.
But I know one thing for certain, what I am and where I am,
(god seemed to think the two were one in the same)
All I am is the longing for purpose
not much more than that.
I'm just the space between your electrons
and old friends reunited
and the crashing of waves upon the beach
and the stories to be found in the scars on your body
or the stories to be found anywhere else, for that matter."

Still unsure of what to think of god but now I was shocked as well
I thanked god
and we went off our separate ways
(If you could call it that).

Whenever you are sad

Think of all the miracles that brought you into existence

Luck is a particularly tricky kind of magic.

And there is no space in between anything.

Everything is holy as it flows into itself.

Doormats

When the time to speak up has past we must stay seated,

staring uneasily at one another.

We cannot complain,

we must be happy enough.

It starts with a brushing of a single pair of hands,

though they do not belong to the same one person.

Muttered apologies, averted eyes but something felt so nice.

And soon we are all brushing hands, arms, knees against one another

and slowly we grow less bashful

and soon all our fingers are intertwined.

Leading a life of quiet desperation isn't so bad,

we find ways to be happy enough.

My mind is simply flint and steel

When there is a spark

My body becomes the tinder

Screaming, whispering.

I push the skin on my neck back and forth, the notches on my spine sway with the movement of my left hand.

Here in the dark I feel the pull and strain upon every muscle

The mass of hair upon my head feels different, more distinct

I marvel at the wide assortment of textures

to be found on my skin.

There is a special kind of holiness found in the secrets that our bodies keep from ourselves.

Purposes.

I must admit, though I claim to be an agnostic, I can have atheistic tendancies.

We are thrown into life, purposlessly. It is up to us to create a purpose, even though it may be objectivly meaningless.

And I may have found mine. My whole life, through trials and joys, deaths and rebirths seems to have all lead up to this. This one moment, which is infinity.

I want to live to remind those around me of the beauty and wonder all around. Tell them, through word and actions that there is no such thing as hopelessness, that atleast we have that.

I know I am far from perfect at this, often I am quick to judgment and occasionaly I do feel hopeless.

But to find a small spark in a handful of others and to try to cultivate it, that is all that is worth anything. Reminding them of all of the universe's wonders reminds me as well. And there is no better feeling than that, to feel not only connected through existance, but through awareness of existance as well.

Because my life is not for nothing. Yours doesn't have to be either.

In one of the books I am reading, Joseph Mengle (among others) saved this girl's life. He told her her hair was beautiful, asked her how old she was, she was thirteen. She was tall for her age. He sent her and her mother to the right and told her that now she is sixteen. She never saw him again, but soon learned who he was. This does not excuse all the horrors he commited, this does not come close and I am no apologist. But there is a spark of humanity in everyone, no matter how hard we try to deny ourselves and others. The problems of the world, and of people are not really their problems, but the existance of such problems alongside their humanity.

What does it mean to be human?
I feel I'm coming close.

I don't mind making mistakes.

But I mind not knowing whether or not I have made a mistake.

That is happening quite a lot lately.

May I have some closure, y'guyz?

On dying, on living.

"It is a very mixed blessing to be brought back from the dead." -Kurt Vonnegut

Here's what's been happening, everything is dying and ending and it feels like it is happening all at once. Maybe it's simply the season for it. That may sound callous but trust me, it is not like that. But assorted happenings, words people have said or written to me and I, back to them, papers I have been writing, books I have been reading, all have me considering the unusual (though more common than we think) practice of living after partially dying, or after being so close to actual death. 

I trust that you are all familiar with the term "ego death". A concept that has fascinated me, that I have spent the last 2 or 3 years of my life trying to attain. I have come close on a few occasions, but as I begin to dissolve, and as dividing lines between all I see go fuzzy my mind seems to go into a defensive mode and my 'self' reasserts itself. I know what I need to experience, I believe in it. But it is different from actually experiencing it. Unfortunately, I have not been able to find time to meditate for long stretches of time which is something I need to fix because meditation is my favorite thing, probably.

Ever since I passed out from being stung by a mostly-dead Portugese Man-O-War I feel my brain has never worked the way it is supposed to. Maybe that is an arbitrary turning point and it's more than likely the case that that just isn't true. Maybe my mind never worked right.

Once, a different time than being stung and much later, I was closer to death than I had ever been, or have been since. Looking in the mirror I did not recognize myself. I had over time become someone who I could not recognize or bear too look at. This stranger had an empty, pale, sagging face, around her eyes were dark purple circles, her eyes themselves were listless, yellow and bloodshot, her skin lacked any vibrancy or mark of the living. Until the day I die I will never forget seeing myself as an 'other', seeing myself, seeing that other die before my eyes. 

I slept forever, on the other side there was a warm and soft nothingness.

But even when one sleeps forever, there is a time to wake up.

The bruises all over my body that I had gained eventually faded.

And since then I am always gaining new marks, new scrapes and bruises

Since then my body has never been free of wounds,

the fragility of the body, the strength the soul requires to make up for it.

When you die, then go on to live to tell the tale it is not something you will ever fully forget. Your death is always in one corner of you mind. One might say looming, but that gives off the wrong connotation.

"You have to die a few times before you can really live." -Charles Bukowski

When you yourself have been close to death, when your ego fades, or when a substantial part of you dies and you are there to watch, you know that there is nothing to fear. You can overcome death; you cannot live forever but you can live. To actually live is more powerful than to live forever. 

Whenever we die, we should pick up the pieces, we put them back together different. Try to put them back together better.

Whenever anything dies their pieces, their matter, their energy is still a part of the universe as everything else takes the pieces of the dead thing. Everything else puts themselves back together. What use are the dead if they cannot fix the living?

But also

What use are we if we cannot fix ourselves?

I am different now, maybe even better in some ways. My temper and judgement take longer to come, I look at everything anew. More importantly, I look at everything. I am happy now, but I know that happiness is hard work. I recognize the world is complicated but I cannot help but oversimplify things most of the time.

The most complicated aspect of the universe: It is simple sometimes.

Once you see that everything means something while meaning nothing it is easier to just accept, to love boundlessly. You are as free as you want to be, but you may not even want to be very free at all because what is freedom without love, which kills freedom in every sense of the word.

I am bound to all of you because I love you.

I am bound to myself because I love myself.

I am bound to my moral standards because I love them.

I am bound to the universe because I love it.

And I accept death too. I know, in my heart that it is never the end. Because I am bound to the people I know, many of whom will live on after me (if only for a short while). Because I am bound to the universe, which will endure for longer than I can fathom. When you die and then live you recognize that death is nothing to be afraid of, you accept it and you do not fight it anymore. You do not push it out of your mind when it appears because it is a part of you and a part of the universe, both of which you should love.

I am bound to death because I love it.

I am bound to die because I love it.

I know this may be hard to read for many of you, hard to understand for others. I know those two sentences up there may upset every reflex you have, your mind might cringe, your heart might worry.

Death is painful for those left behind I know this and I know you all know this. But leaving someone is all in the mind, it is a product of how we see time, how we see space and how we see matter. We can see past these instinctive boundaries. We can hold onto everyone and everything and we are never left behind.

What is the dirt that is sitting between your toes? What is the wind that is whistling through your ears? What is the Ocean? What is love?

Here's what they all are: Reminders that the universe is, reminders that everything is, and has been, and will be, reminders that morbidity only exists sofar as we let it.

Leaves are falling, the grass will grow from them in the spring.

We will all die, most of use more than once. But to exist, and to love, is to be a part of something bigger and neverending. So we need not worry.

I love you all so much.

One a.m. (part two)

Again I found myself a bit lonely in my bed

So I took you out of my head (Where I know you didn't belong)

And, once again, I put you next to me (Even though you don't belong there either)

"Did you ever get over your fear of dying?" you asked me

and I was taken aback by the question.

"Well..."

I spoke up, paused for a moment, continued.

"When I said that I seemed to be thinking of the body only

the body, despite how amazing and beautiful it is"

I started to slide my fingers into your belt

stopped because it wasn't right

craned my neck instead

kissed yours.

"It's going to die

it's going to degenerate

we know that much.

But we don't

know about our awareness

it is separate, I think.

By definition, unknowable.

We cannot say what happens to it

if it continues to 

see

feel

want

have

long after the body ends.

It might be okay not to believe in

beginnings

or endings.

Maybe it's okay. I can't say but I'm allowed to believe."

You laughed

it was low and quiet. Nervous and maybe a little bit sad.

You took me into your chest

(I do like when you do that.)

Pressing your lips against my forehead gently

(Always gently, I like that too)

you said I was beautiful

for once I believed you.

Then you were gone

and all is beautiful.

It's too cold.

Oh but what's to be done in a world so undone.

You cannot tie knots as quickly as the knots unravel.

As the impersonal mechanisms of the world start taking you under and you know not who you are. Why does this always happen?

...Or, why do we always let it happen? as the line between fate and personal responsibility unravels and splinters.

Can you suffocate from having too much air?

Oh but I wrap myself up to stay warm. No one else will do it for me.