You choose a career, a focus for your life, and something rises, silently, certainly not invisibly, to overtake you with the infinite fixins, add-ons, applications that have attached themselves, like barnacles, to the body of the whale of a profession. Maybe my anxiety is tied to the feeling of determinism these Medias embody, while the higher part of me insists on causeless love... a well-spring of all-that-is. Identity is a mask so anxious to make you make it yours. It makes me anxious to allow it such free and fancy, fatalistic reign... whoa buddy, no, I can't be contained! Ok, let's reconcile, I'll hold you for a while...
You've got a core tool, but now, seemingly, you can't use it unless you've got the service. Ok, fair enough, we all need to connect this tool to a larger network. But oh, here comes the army. And they tell you, in that definitive marketing speech which too-easily overrides the independent-thinking minds of many that, don't think twice- you won't be complete without 'em, those tiny soldiers profiting off slices of slices. Trickling down, out, are we destined to function as nature intends it... Independence a figment of modern man's new mental survival mechanism... potentially destructive as mass quanities of 'me'...
Find a reflection in the passageways of our breathing bags, divided into infinitesimal hair-thin branches reaching to the limits of their tissue’d walls.
Or roots of hulking trees, beneath the singular trunk, split off to find their own means, of moisture trapping for the massive all.
Dedication to discrimination an asset rising in value, dropping in availability as waves of distractions fight
to feed on the most natural of half-way fictional resources; one standing apart from it all, though its holdings are forever unfolding, tick tock, it's so golden.
Speaking of time, try blowing the roof off your view of the life you're living... Imagine it a small chapter in a huge book of never-ending War and Peace. You may have noticed the brilliance of a little kid, or a 22-year old who radiates wisdom, has an adept talent beyond their years. How are these beings seemingly 'born with it', while some 60-year-olds are just breaking past a mold to understand lessons better late than never? Perhaps the previous chapters of those more-like-Fall-chickens left them ripe for the aging as a newborn baby, embeded already with eons of experience. While younger souls, so to speak, are gaining the lessons to pay off in future dividends of lifetimes at another other end...
This 30,000-mile-high view is deliriously en-light-ening. Literally, I feel way light (too little oxygen, perhaps?) let me come back down... The dharma (धर्म) of your time on earth can be clicked into place with a bit more grace. There's a bigger reason here, a knot in a string that's got a major gift to wrap up...
And there's no way of knowing what it is,
unless we go inside.............. stay riding
Everyday is Christmas.
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