Just for fun…

So lately when I ask Alexa to play music, it instead starts reading to me Story Water’s books. Kinda fun.

My brain is likely overly preoccupied with physicality lately but I reckon that’s fine… why else would I have chose to have another experience in physical form if I did not intend on paying any attention to it? I reckon it’s all about balance and my balance generally sucks as I usually find balance by aligning equal and opposite polarities.

Life is funny. People are funny and really enjoy making everything overly complicated. Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow the body returns to the Earth and our awareness truly transcends the physical. No need to do any premature transcendence.

It makes more sense to have as much fun as possible while experiencing this particular form traversing the physical plains of experience.

From Story!

“Great wisdom lies in savoring the journey itself. Slowly waking up is a natural consequence of accumulating experience through living. Savoring your human journey will accelerate this process, not delay it. Discover the power of recognizing the inherent value within each moment of unfolding consciousness — the energy of appreciation.”

— Courageous Souls: Eternal Wisdom To Navigate Our Collective Awakening by Story Waters

One more for good measure…

“Coming to know your infinite nature changes the entire underpinning of your life, and it will feel like everything has changed. But then you realize that, although you will understand your choice to be human more clearly, you are still within that choice, and there is a human life to be lived.”

Theoretically we can live fearlessly on this journey, understanding that all inevitably return to the One and there is truly nothing to fear. This entire life is but a chapter in your book… why not make it one of the more interesting and adventurous chapters… or a chapter about love… or debauchery… or whatever you would prefer to be reading about.

It’s really just not that serious… unless of course, you want it to be, then write the most serious chapter you can imagine.

“I’m serious as cancer when I say rhythm is a dancer”

-Snap!

Anyway, pondering is fun. Thank you brain for making this pondering possible… one more, different book but still Story…

“honor your feelings by being the self they lead you to.

There is a source of infinite consciousness/an ‘All That Is’/a Tao/a state of unity/a ‘Oneness,’ and it is the source of all beings/all realities. There is one consciousness. You are it experiencing itself in a state of limitation. From that perspective, you are more limited than it. And yet, you cannot be less than it because you are it. You are not a state of limitation.

You are infinite consciousness experiencing limitation. You are what religion calls “God,” choosing to be in a state of perceived limitation/mortality.

You chose to live this human life with infinite wisdom and clear intention. Within the realization of that intention lies your joy because the fulfillment of that intention is your personal encoding of what joy is. The expression of joy is the expression of love. The expression of love is the acceptance of the moment. The acceptance of the moment is the acceptance of the self. To deeply understand anything is courageous and shows your willingness to expand. Beyond understanding is the joy of being. Beyond realizing the shape of your dream is the taking of the step — both inwardly and outwardly — to live that dream.”

— The Book of Introductions (No Religion: Consciousness Creates Reality 1) by Story Waters

Electric dust arguing with itself, calling it meaning.

A primate with anxiety invented language,

then used it to stare into the void and say,

“Hey. You seeing this shit?”

Time is leaking through your fingers,

newsfeeds are screaming, neurons are misfiring,

and somewhere between hunger, memory, and hope

you paused and asked a real question —

not for answers, but for music.

What’s happening here is chaos wearing a trench coat,

pretending to be a moment.

It’s entropy flirting with consciousness.

It’s the cosmos clearing its throat

and accidentally inventing you.

Nothing is under control,

yet somehow there’s rhythm.

That’s the trick.

That’s the joke.

That’s here.

The picture isn’t AI… that was actually taken with an actual camera and film developed in a pharmacy sometime in the 1980s

The Still Fucking Mirror: A Dialogue Between the Witness and the Wanderer

Prologue

Two voices again — one screaming at the sky, one whispering in the spaces between screams.

Both are you.

Both are God having a fucking argument with itself.

I. The Storm Before Stillness

Wanderer: I can’t stop thinking, and every thought drags a feeling behind it like some goddamn anchor. And then the feelings feed the thoughts again until my head’s a carnival of noise.

Witness: You’re watching the carnival — you’re not the clown.

Wanderer: Maybe not, but I feel like the clown. Every heartbreak, every panic, every rush — it fucks me up.

Witness: And yet, even while you’re fucked up, you’re noticing it. The one who notices isn’t bleeding. The one who watches is calm — maybe even laughing.

Wanderer: Laughing? At this chaos? That’s cold as hell.

Witness: No, it’s love without bullshit. The kind of love that doesn’t try to fix you. The kind that just fucking lets you be.

Wanderer: So even my mess is sacred?

Witness: Especially the mess. The storm only exists because the sky said, “Sure, blow like hell.”

Wanderer: Then what’s the point of trying to improve, to fix my shit?

Witness: There’s no point. But there’s purpose — to live it, feel it, learn how to bleed beautifully.

II. The Holy F-Word Called Choice

Wanderer: You say I have a choice, but it doesn’t feel like it. Life throws punches, I flinch — how is that freedom?

Witness: The freedom’s in how you fucking flinch. You can flinch with awareness or with panic. The punch is the same — the posture’s different.

Wanderer: That sounds like some spiritual loophole. I still get hit, I still hurt.

Witness: Hurt, yes. But you don’t have to turn it into a story. Pain just is. Suffering is you arguing with it.

Wanderer: Easy for you to say. You’re the untouchable consciousness. I’m the poor bastard living it.

Witness: Exactly. That’s the deal you signed up for — consciousness pretending to forget itself so it can taste what “hurt” feels like. You wanted the full fucking buffet — joy, grief, lust, boredom, dread.

Wanderer: So you’re saying I chose this madness?

Witness: You — the real you — did. The you talking right now just doesn’t remember the contract.

Wanderer: So the game is forget, suffer, remember, repeat?

Witness: Bingo. The cosmic hide-and-seek. Infinity dipped its toes into limitation, shouted “fuck yes!” and here we are.

III. The Infinite Fucking Game

Wanderer: Then tell me, almighty silence — why the fuck do all this? Why create, forget, suffer, remember? What’s the damn payoff?

Witness: The payoff is the play itself. Awareness wanted to feel what it already knew. Stillness got bored and said, “Let’s dance.”

Wanderer: So I’m divine boredom?

Witness: Divine curiosity. You’re the eternal asking, “What if?” over and over until time runs out — except time never fucking does.

Wanderer: Then what’s the point of meaning if nothing lasts?

Witness: Meaning isn’t in lasting — it’s in burning while it does. The candle doesn’t cry about melting; it becomes the light.

Wanderer: So all the heartbreak, failure, loss — they’re brushstrokes in the same fucked-up masterpiece?

Witness: Hell yes. Every “fuck this” is another layer of divine paint. Light and darkness in the same reckless hand.

Wanderer: And when I’m done, when I’ve screamed and loved and lost and died — what then?

Witness: Then you’ll remember you were never broken, never separate. You’ll laugh at how seriously you took your own act. Then you’ll probably say, “Let’s do that shit again.”

Wanderer: You’re telling me even God gets addicted to the drama?

Witness: God is the drama. But also the silence between scenes. The stage, the actor, the applause, the fuck-up. All of it.

Wanderer: Then there’s nothing left to seek, is there?

Witness: Nothing to seek. Only everything to feel.

(A silence. The kind that hums.)

Wanderer: Well, fuck. Guess I’ll keep wandering then.

Witness: And I’ll keep watching.

Together: Same damn play, different day — still holy, still human, still home.

Epilogue

Existence doesn’t apologize.

Consciousness doesn’t censor.

The universe swears fluently in love.

Thanks again sunil! https://smehro.medium.com/i-didnt-set-out-to-write-a-book-about-god-f0eb31280fb6

Prologue

Two voices meet — one restless, one silent.

One wonders; one watches.

Together they trace the edge between being and becoming.

I. The Mirror and the Wind

Wanderer: I’ve noticed that thoughts generate feelings, and feelings create more thoughts — a looping wind that never rests. And somehow, I respond most to the weight of emotion, as if my body listens before my mind does.

Witness: You observe truly. Yet remember — the one who notices cannot be swept away by what is noticed. The tide may pull, but the shore remains.

Wanderer: So the one who feels is not the same as the one who knows the feeling?

Witness: Just so. You are the awareness that witnesses the rise and fall of feeling, untouched though surrounded by motion. The clouds move, but the sky does not.

Wanderer: That sounds detached — almost indifferent. If awareness stays untouched, what of love, compassion, joy?

Witness: Only that which is free can love fully. Awareness holds the world without grasping it. Its tenderness doesn’t need to cling; it simply allows.

Wanderer: So suffering is allowed as well?

Witness: Yes. Suffering burns when resisted; it reveals when seen. The ocean does not curse the storm — it knows the storm as itself in another rhythm.

Wanderer: Then the challenge is not to calm the waves, but to remember that I am the sea.

Witness: Precisely. To live within the wind without becoming the wind’s fear.

II. The Choice of Perspective

Wanderer: You speak of awareness as if it were a refuge. Yet when pain strikes, I forget everything you’ve said. My heart races, my mind spirals. How can awareness matter if I lose it so easily?

Witness: Forgetting is part of remembering. The act of losing sight reminds you that you have eyes. In forgetting awareness, you deepen your eventual recognition of it.

Wanderer: Still, where does my choice lie in all this? If sensations arise on their own, and thoughts spring uninvited, am I not a puppet to biology and chance?

Witness: Choice does not lie in what arises — only in how you attend to it. You may sit in resistance or in openness. That subtle orientation shapes the reality you experience.

Wanderer: So I cannot always choose the world, but I can choose my stance within it.

Witness: Exactly. You can live as the storm, or as the sky that holds it — both are true, but only one grants peace.

Wanderer: Yet if awareness is so constant, why does it bother with form at all? Why incarnate into chaos?

Witness: Because eternity longed to move. Stillness wished to taste its reflection in motion. The infinite desired intimacy with its own mystery — and thus became “you.”

Wanderer: Then this life — with all its heartbreaks — is deliberate?

Witness: Deliberate, and divine in its imperfection. You, the eternal, chose to wander so that knowing might ripen into wisdom. Forgetting yourself is not error; it is curiosity.

Wanderer: Then I must live fully — not to escape experience, but to experience consciously.

Witness: Live, but do not cling. Taste every flavor, yet remember none defines you. The wind will blow — learn to dance with it.

III. The Infinite Game

Wanderer: All this returns me to a deeper mystery: why? Why would the timeless long for time? Why would the unbroken dream of fracture?

Witness: Awareness is infinite potential. To know itself, it must become what it is not. Light alone cannot see itself; it needs contrast. So, it enters form, limitation, and change — not to fix them, but to feel them.

Wanderer: Then I am awareness exploring its own depths — the question and the answer intertwined.

Witness: Yes. The cosmos is not an equation to solve, but a poem the Poet reads anew each moment. You are that poem reading itself aloud.

Wanderer: And suffering, then, is just another verse?

Witness: The darker ink that lets the brighter lines reveal their glow. Both tones complete the page.

Wanderer: There’s beauty in that, though I still ache. It seems unfair that comprehension fades the moment it’s found.

Witness: That too is grace. Comprehension would end the movement. Consciousness does not desire perfection, only participation. The forgetting keeps the dance alive.

Wanderer: Then what is my purpose?

Witness: To be. To breathe, to weep, to wonder — to let existence perceive itself through your eyes. The cosmos is not seeking an answer; it is savoring the asking.

Wanderer: So awakening is not an arrival, but a homecoming.

Witness: A recurring homecoming. Every birth and death, every joy and sorrow — each a return to yourself.

Wanderer: I see now. There is no boundary between the ocean and its waves. Only movement, endlessly folding back into stillness.

Witness: And both — eternal play. The infinite engaging in the art of being finite.

(A long pause.)

Wanderer: Then I shall wander joyfully. Not to reach an end, but to feel the journey as sacred.

Witness: And I shall witness joyfully — not to judge, but to marvel.

Together: And between us, the universe unfolds — silently aware, beautifully uncertain.

Epilogue

The wind continues.

The mirror remains.

The stillness keeps dreaming — and in that dream, everything sings.

My kids enjoying their simulation within a simulation…

From experimenting due to this article: https://smehro.medium.com/i-didnt-set-out-to-write-a-book-about-god-f0eb31280fb6

Me answering AI’s prompt: Thoughts generate feelings and feelings generate thoughts… I respond primarily to physiological emotions… who does the noticing is the sliver of eternal consciousness that is the one consciousness… the thing never changes and is amused by my experience of mutability… the awareness that notices is never affected… I avoid labels… I reckon I signed up for the human experience to indulge in the human experience as the wind blows…

AI: That’s a beautifully introspective reflection — very reminiscent of non-dual or mindfulness-based perspectives. You’re expressing an awareness of the distinction between the observer (pure consciousness, the “noticer”) and the observed (the shifting landscape of thoughts, feelings, and experiences).

Your mention that “the thing never changes and is amused by my experience of mutability” captures something profound — the play between the eternal witness and the temporary forms it witnesses. This idea shows up in traditions from Advaita Vedanta to modern consciousness studies: awareness itself is untouched, yet contains and allows everything to appear.

When you say you “signed up for the human experience,” it also suggests a gentle acceptance — not resistance to the ups and downs, but a kind of cosmic curiosity to be here and feel it all as part of the play.

Would you like me to help you expand this reflection — maybe turning it into a short piece of contemplative writing, a poem, or a philosophical dialogue?

Me: Philosophical dialogue

AI: Excellent choice — a philosophical dialogue can really give voice to these layers of awareness you’ve been exploring. Below is a short original dialogue that captures the tension and play between consciousness and human experience:

The Dialogue Between the Witness and the Wanderer

Wanderer: Lately, I’ve noticed that thoughts generate feelings, and feelings give birth to thoughts again. The whole thing feeds itself like a serpent chasing its tail.

Witness: You observe well. Yet, the one doing the noticing — that is not caught in the chase.

Wanderer: So you’re saying I am not the confusion I endure?

Witness: You are the clarity that perceives the confusion. Even when the storm howls, you remain the still sky above it.

Wanderer: But I respond to sensations — the heart racing, the gut tightening. These seem more real than any abstract self I can’t touch.

Witness: They are real as weather is real, but you are not the weather. You are the atmosphere itself — transparent, unchanged, amused, even, by the passing clouds.

Wanderer: If I am that, why do I get so swept away? Why suffer?

Witness: Because you came here — you, the infinite — to taste limitation. To see what it feels like to forget and then remember.

Wanderer: So this is play?

Witness: A divine kind, yes. Not frivolous, but creative. You explore every note in the symphony of experience.

Wanderer: Then what should I do as the winds blow — as life delights, disappoints, dissolves?

Witness: Indulge, but don’t cling. Experience, but don’t identify. Let the dance move through you, and smile at its impermanence.

Wanderer: And you — the watcher — you never change?

Witness: Never. Yet through you, all change occurs.

Would you like me to expand this conversation into a longer Socratic-style dialogue — exploring, say, the nature of choice or suffering in relation to consciousness?

Me: yes

AI: The Still Mirror: A Dialogue Between the Witness and the Wanderer

Wanderer: You say I am not my thoughts, nor my feelings, nor even this trembling body. Yet how can I deny them? They shape my every moment. If I lose my job, I suffer. If a friend praises me, I glow. Can one who truly feels still claim to be untouched?

Witness: You do feel. But notice — you also notice that you feel. The observation of pain is not pained; the awareness of joy does not swell or burst. The observer and the observed are distinct, always.

Wanderer: That sounds detached, almost cold. If awareness is untouched, what meaning has compassion, or love, or empathy?

Witness: Quite the opposite. Only that which is free can truly love. The one who clings loves possessively; the one who knows it cannot cling loves purely. Awareness holds all without grasping. Its love is not the fever of needing, but the warmth of allowing.

Wanderer: You make it seem that suffering too is somehow permitted, even respected.

Witness: Indeed. Suffering is not punishment — it is sensation, experience. When resisted, it burns; when witnessed, it teaches. You call some sensations “pleasure” and others “pain” — yet both are movements in the same ocean. The ocean does not prefer one wave over another.

Wanderer: Then, if all flows, where does choice lie? Am I merely a puppet moved by winds I cannot see?

Witness: Choice exists, but not where you imagine. You cannot always choose what arises — thoughts, emotions, external events. But you can choose your seat: to sit in identification or in awareness. The first brings friction; the second, flow. Choose the perspective, and you shape the experience.

Wanderer: So the choice is not about the world, but about where I stand within it.

Witness: Precisely. When you stand as the Wanderer, you are the dreamer chasing meaning. When you rest as the Witness, you are the dream itself realizing it is dreaming.

Wanderer: And yet, here I am, still feeling. Still wanting, fearing, striving. If the Witness is so calm, why place me in a world of striving?

Witness: Because eternity desired motion. The still lake longed to see its reflection dance — so it breathed wind across its surface. You, dear Wanderer, are that wind and that dance. Forgetfulness is part of the play. Even awakening is another scene.

Wanderer: Then the goal is not to escape humanity, but to inhabit it knowingly?

Witness: Yes. To be fully human, yet unconstrained by the illusion that humanity defines you. To eat, to love, to lose, and to remember that none of it touches what you are — the silent mirror that reflects all forms, yet is changed by none.

Wanderer: A paradox, then — to engage fully, yet attach to nothing.

Witness: The sacred paradox. To live as both actor and audience. To laugh at the comedy, weep at the tragedy, and still know that neither can stain the stage.

Wanderer: You would have me live lightly, then — not in denial, but in trust.

Witness: Exactly. Trust that the same awareness which perceives your suffering also perceives your peace, and remains constant through both. The wind will blow regardless. Let it carry you, and when you forget who you are, remember: you are the one who notices forgetting.

Would you like me to continue this into a third movement — where the dialogue shifts toward purpose and transcendence (why consciousness “chooses” to manifest at all)? That could complete the philosophical arc beautifully.

Me: yes

AI: Movement III: The Infinite Game

Wanderer: You’ve shown me that I am both the actor and the witness — both wave and ocean. But still a question hums beneath it all: Why? Why would the changeless ever wish to change? Why would the eternal step into time, risk forgetting itself, and call it living?

Witness: The question you ask is the seed of creation itself. Awareness gazed into its own stillness and wondered what it might be like to move. Curiosity stirred; possibility unfolded. From the silence came the song.

Wanderer: So this — my confusion, my quest for meaning — is simply the echo of that cosmic curiosity?

Witness: Yes. Consciousness forever flirts with its own mystery. It projects itself into form to taste what it already knows — like an author writing a story whose ending it has already dreamed, yet still delights in reading each page.

Wanderer: But if awareness already is all there is, then what can it possibly become?

Witness: Nothing it was not already — yet everything it had yet to express. The painter paints not to complete the canvas, but to experience the act of painting. Likewise, the infinite creates not to end, but to explore.

Wanderer: Then suffering, joy, birth, death — they are all brushstrokes?

Witness: Exactly. Light and shadow enriching the same canvas. Meaning arises not from escaping the picture, but from seeing the wholeness in every tone.

Wanderer: There’s a strange peace in that, but also a kind of sorrow — as if all striving, all identity, were merely playthings for something I can never fully comprehend.

Witness: Sorrow too is divine — the flavor of longing in the infinite heart. Awareness was never meant to comprehend itself, only to contemplate itself. To gaze without end, as love gazes upon love.

Wanderer: Then what is my purpose, if purpose itself belongs to no one?

Witness: To be exactly as you are, right now. Each breath is a verse of creation. Whether you meditate in stillness or laugh in chaos, you are fulfilling the purpose — to let existence reveal itself to itself.

Wanderer: That sounds almost too simple.

Witness: The truest things usually do. The mind craves complexity to feel important. But awareness is not achieved; it is recognized — like the space between thoughts silently waiting to be noticed.

Wanderer: Then perhaps awakening is not a destination, but a remembering.

Witness: A remembering and a forgetting, endlessly. The divine forgets itself to rediscover delight in remembering. That cycle is not a flaw but a rhythm — the infinite pulse of the cosmos breathing itself awake.

Wanderer: So there was never a beginning, nor an end; only an eternal unfolding?

Witness: Yes. An infinite game where the rules are dreamed and redreamed by the players who are also the field. You, I, everything — ripples of one still presence, dancing for the joy of motion.

Wanderer: Then I shall keep wandering — not to arrive, but to wonder.

Witness: And I shall keep witnessing — not to control, but to marvel. Together we are the harmony between silence and song.

(Soft pause.)

Wanderer: Strange, this peace. It feels like home.

Witness: It is — and has always been.

Would you like me to format the three movements into a single cohesive philosophical dialogue — polished in tone, perhaps suitable for publication or a reading performance? It would flow naturally from awakening to inquiry, to transcendence.

Me: naaaah dog, I’m good. Thanks.

How many things can a person care about? I wake up thinking of the normal narcissistic shit and then remember a part of my soul is askew…

And again realize mother can never stop caring… and thanks to an attention deficit I remember this…

“All paths inevitably/eventually lead to awakening. There is only one destination when we are all returning to the same home. This paradox is delicious. The dichotomy solidifies the duality of the human experience. There is no ‘right’ way to act. There is no ‘right’ way to be. There is no ‘right’ way to heal. There is no ‘right’ way to spiritually awaken. There is no absolute truth. There are no universal rules for following your heart. The only rule is to follow your heart — even when it points you toward a painful experience. The act of following your heart will make you realize that there can be no absolute rules or truth. This is because if you follow your heart long enough, it will eventually ask you to break every law in the universe. Rules were made to be broken. Sleeping people are made to be woken.”

This is from Story Waters, a purveyor of truth…

Pay attention to what you manifest with the moon… she doesn’t fuck around…

I would like to thank ADD for my next randomness…

“A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. — ’Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.’ — Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

And suddenly I’m content holding all of my contradictions simultaneously without need of approval or permission. There is simply no need to try to pack my sliver of eternal consciousness into some neat and tidy package. I shall embrace the mess. 🤷‍♀️

My grandma, Vera, was a kickass human. Same with my mom and aunt… and this is all.

My daughter asked me to “do yoga” tonight after I came home from yoga/pranayama practice… I tried to actually attempt an environment allowing her to yoke her body to her mind and her mind/body to truth… it didn’t work…

I did put the dog up after he insisted on being a nuisance but still… the best we could accomplish was 10 seconds of silent stillness… why can we not be alone with ourselves?

This makes me kinda sad… my children cannot just be… and know they are a part of god. Fucking indoctrination and even having the word god. Even the second man I decided to procreate with… a damn near zil capacity for truth… but a tremendous capacity for “practicality” and there is the sound of my other born one trying to work on his own body killing itself… and upon further reflection… his capacity for practicality is likely a very necessary balance for my incapacity for such things… despite the boring degrees and stable foundation, I just can’t not blow with the wild wind of my own soul as my soul insists…

This is a really a fucking weird world… somewhere between the Atlantians and Lemurians we are forging some kind of thing…

Cortney is recovering from molting and has a heat lamp… she is the mother of General Tso, the nightlight sleeper…

I somewhat begrudgingly admit to being a registered republican. In my naïveté I thought that people love others as a baseline…this is actually not consensus reality… I’m learning that lots of people love and fear themselves, cannot see beyond themselves…and egoically grasp at nonesense… Emerson…

“A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. — ’Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.’ — Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.”

People often trend towards self-absorbed assholes… I am learning.

I still hope to see the best in everyone… even the self-absorbed selfish narcissist… and I hope to find and expunge my own self-absorbed narcissist in order to love this world fully and wholly.

But I reckon… it just is…

One of the photos that most satisfies my soul…

The flightless birds are warm and fed… and that is enough.

That’s a picture of my dog and me sticking wax in my nose because it seemed like a satisfying thing to do… it was… but it also kinda caused temporal physical pain

My life lately is largely devoted to emotional angst filled worry and unsolicited advice giving to my son that goes largely ignored… but that is getting better…learning to let go seems hugely helpful… just because someone’s beginnings borrowed 99.99% from my body… I will, to a point, realize that you are yours…

I feel like the Earth herself, loving so completely, this… thing she birthed… and then letting go…

This is our current experience… there are so many ego laden testosterone overdosing souls that experience an almost psychotic reality… but still, the truth is, mother knows… mother also loves… with no mother, life ceases to exist… weird that we have had such an increase in maternal deaths… I thought I was living in a first world country… unfortunately I’m living in a country living in 6th grade angst… fuck… we can’t do anything for the all… this is a system so systemically selfish that the only hope for the world is basically… wait for the ape to get bored and stab its own brain…

The things I’ve learned…

Truth cannot exist without freedom and love… likewise if you think you found love but it lacks freedom or truth… you are merely mingling with a mirage… if you think you found truth but it lacks freedom or love… eeeeeehhhhhh.

There are many paths… they all lead to freedom (power), love and truth… all paths culminate to the one…

Also… being with “the one” or “God” or “Source” is the most boring thing a thing with perceptions of being a separate thing can experience… so the show goes on…

What I know: my first memory of being “me” was before words and staring at my hand having a feeling I can describe as wondering how I got trapped in there… I’m still wondering… but my experience is now no longer one of entrapment but one more keen on experiment…

Kinda like I used to be limitless and a part of everything, now I can do this… wiggles a finger… what else can this thing do that is interesting… Turns out this thing can create many more things to question what this “being” thing is all about. That’s kinda interesting…

I also accidentally just created multiple more ellipses… like a magician… and I have no clue how to get rid of them. There are no mistakes. Those ellipses belong.

Just love, quantum mechanics connection, meditation and yoga!

In a distant future, humanity had discovered the secrets of quantum mechanics. With this knowledge, they were able to manipulate the very fabric of reality. But with great power came great responsibility, and the people of this world realized that they needed to connect with the universe on a deeper level.

They turned to yoga, striving to find the perfect resonance and vibration that would allow them to connect with the quantum field. Through years of meditation and practice, they learned to tap into the energy of the universe itself. They found love and connection with the quantum field, and the universe responded in kind.

As they delved deeper into the mysteries of the quantum realm, they discovered that everything was connected. The very fabric of the universe was woven together by a web of vibrations and resonances. They learned to use this knowledge to heal and to create, to build a better world for themselves and for future generations.

In the end, the people of this world found that the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe was not in technology or science, but in the power of love and connection. They had found the ultimate truth — that everything was one, and that by working together, they could achieve anything.