This week I had conversation with people in very different positions in this world. I have learned to become quiet and listen with greater ease. Meaning instead of reacting I listen, to hear the forms, to see the ‘ numbers’ placed before me, as the measure of the information.
I have two memories coming up recently. One recent and one from my childhood.
The first is while I am working in a school. There is a boy in the room, it is a remediation , or invention class. This boy is behind in his ability to read and process information. The teacher comes and asks the boy why he signed up for a class that he knows he can only take once- as the boy has already had this class. The boy then moves this into a conversation as to why he can only take the class once. The teacher responding. After the boy leaves, this teacher gets on the phone and goes through the whole conversation again with a colleague. I watch all of this, somehow it is a time frame of busyness that is a comfort zone, a distraction. The boy, so isolated from his peer group, grasps as moments of verbal interaction, to have something to live. He knows he cannot repeat that special class that is popular. The teacher joining in the topic to engage the child, and using the topic to fill the space and entertain, because real problem solving as processing information is not happening and it is the problem. Ironic that the mechanics used are the thing needing greater definition, greater self reflection within what one lives in real space as what one expresses, as a math that has no real direct seeing movement. It is like an elongated song, a math, imposed on being grounded in this reality. It is like a bubble of drama, or draw-me, imposed on the space that is a self seeking connection yet the connection is a false positive, as engagement is a fundamental drive. Yet this drama, done with words and values, is sidestepping a real awesomeness of being present in all that is here, as the physical. It is, by default, a comfort zone melody/math/soap opera filled with good intentions, yet missing the mark, not seeing itself as a separation from the capacity of itself to see the distraction it is by the very nature of a lack of presence in real space.
This also happened with talking to a friend. This person has had one of the best educations our country provides. She has attended the best schools. We were talking about history, when she made a statement that I have heard and could see the accepted logic of in relation to ideas about changes in time away from what is considered being spiritual. It was a statement that science caused a loss of spirituality. When this statement was made, I countered it by saying that this could be said of any change as recorded and voiced by our system. This naturally caused a lot of friction and I had to stop, listen and allow the rant of defensive for platitudes to play itself out. I checked myself even when it was said that I had to be righteous at the end of the response my words elicited. I even agreed that I had been righteous, and that what was said was a standard formula that was stated. Naturally this brought on more reaction. Yet, as she spoke, to some extent, she travelled through time and realize the pattern, that it could be said that there were other periods where the same argument was made that a subsequent period created a loss of something. Overall, this was a play out of knowledge and information memorized, a standard hi/high- story ( a supposed morality) of information constantly circumnavigating practical and grounded application in real space and time, in common sense of what and who we are as physical beings here.
Even to see this, and not be as reactive towards these songs, these maths, these measure of information, took some time. Standing up to the very morality of this, meaning to speak up counter to it, even if that meant calling out patterns, knowing this would elicit reactions, I allowed to cause a lot of fear. This fear manifested as myself feeling like I was losing something. Physically I would become, just like the feeling of fear, loopy and ungrounded, like I was in a soup, losing ground. I feared that I was going to be cast out, rejected, because I did not know, as agree with the formula, the accepted formula. Meanwhile, when this did happen, I was always here, it was only an idea within me, the loopyness myself, in a way, liquifying everything I believed as spoke as allowed, moving into a spin, a deconstruction of the information as me. I would acquiesce to not lose the relationship, for various reasons that were more of idea than anything real. What is interesting is that when I was more simple and more practical, and relaxed, as in caring but not that much, the drama stopped. In this situation, I could see the remnants of my own fear playing out, and within the rant of justification for a standard belief, a process of self discovery as the math, as the equation of events made belief were made verbal. As the realization of a pattern via justifying the standard pattern was seen, there was an immediate movement into value judgements , this some call hyperbole. It is that formulaic design I have seen in those blogs written by trolls, where a truth is stated and then moves into the fear tactics of value judgement, a kind of mendacious gossip that is the pulling forward of a value judgement and then suggesting worst case sceanrios. It all can appear to move like a horror show as it triggers any fears within one, and keeps one riding in an illusion that is held in place by a lack of processing what is allowed as informed that has no real relationship to practical reality. For me, moving through a morality of and as an idea that pushing against this in any way, was taboo, was mean, meant a certain rejection by the establishment. Somehow, the opposite is true, which I have found when being patient, allowing the scream of limited information to play itself out, to move into discovery or the formulaic play-out of trolling, as name calling being a distraction from that moment of realizing a pattern that would mean re-evaluating everything one had defined one's self as.
This sense of feeling like a liquid inside myself, triggering the second memory, I am in elementary school, and suddenly the wods around me are changing, and they change from some value form, I don't remember, to the point I remember, as being this liquid thing that falls apart and reforms. In the memory, I do not react with the sense of losing ground that I have experienced as an adult. I suppose because as a child, I was still grounded in the physical to a greater degree than I have allowed myself to be as an adult.
Interesting that I am writing this, because I have asked myself in this process where that point of separation from being focused in common sense, happens. This because I have asked question about being in a situation where I, be it imagination or a micro second in seeing through a veil, managed to see a different world perspective than what I was lost in as that information I spun in that changed in a moment for which it appeared to me that I had no control over. I wanted to see the sequences of change from one to the other. The leaps of change happening too fast for me to process. I suppose some tiny part of me understood that I am in a smoke and mirrors show, the ghost of which terrified me, and lead to asking the question " Where is life? It must be here, it has to be here, where is it?"
As I learn to assess in living space what is happening around me, and I begin to realize a false morality in practice, I move into shame, and a sense of impossibility at clearing all of this up. there is a point of wanting to cry that circles around as I move through the sequences of my own experience, of my own experiences from my life. I would say the hardest from within my relationship to all of this at this point, is no longer fearing to move through an acepted and limited morality. That being to face and address the standard line of information. This being a justification, that a method of operation, that is formulaic. Ironically, this a means that lead to a greater seeing or realizing of these patterns was through slowing down and processing the information, not fearing to lose something, as having a faith that somehow life is here, all around me, as it has to be, because life will. I would pick myself up, like a slow moving Sherman tank and try again, despite so many around me coming in with counter rationals, myself having a character that wants to cry out in hopelessness, that being a memoory from childhood, a memory of giving up in some way, as yet not clearly defined. Somehow, that is okay that it is not, because the means to this point is to keep going until the mote in every eye is clear, and what is eternal is realized. Somehow, mixed in with the fear, is a tiny sense of joy. And with that joy, is so muchshame, a realization of so much lost, I just want to cry out that I am sorry, so very sorry for not having lived the potential inherent in what men on earth can be.
This was a loss of what I left behind, as a gentleness that had a natural patience, which I lost in my life as well in a person, something that can never come back. No one can tell me that it is not my fault, when yes it is the default of not being focused and in respect of what is all around us, and that is life, manifest as the physical. What I project as a loss in another, is what I lost as me. The means to be this, the same patience and silence that allows a morality to play itself out, and the action of not reacting to the formula of a troll, that truth coupled with inflamatory value judgements using a false narrative with a energized voice that has only the power I give to it. My own process of choosing fear and believing the self created and accepted entity of ideas wihtin me, to seem more real than the practical. In all I can embrace the unnatural, because it is a game of shadows and stand within what remains no matter what, that I am here, I am the same after the emotional picture show peaks and moves either into realization and/or protection and defense. That defense needing no push back and only patience, because that reaction allows me to realize my own reflection as idea, of what I have allowed. It is a gift.
In this, overall, I can stop chasing shadows as what resistance is by name, as information, a story imposed through words -as knowledge and information - and remember who and what I am, that nothing can define me, and that I can learn the smallest of movements, to stand equal to that gentleness that is the will of me as life, here. I can be myself, I can gift myself life, I can recognize the paranoia of the paranormal, as the promise I made to myself that I had to become myself, to ensure that the loss of what is precious, never happens again. Somehow, this state of being on some border, as I see it, is both a mixture of shame and joy. There is only one choice here.
This reminds me of the slow death of my father. His body having all the characteristic tics and tensions, that slowly faded. His body became still. The energies appearing to no longer have license over the body. The body taking a couple of breaths even when he was gone. His request that he be buried next to his sisters, a telling story - as that time with his sisters, was probably the last time he remembers being really happy/grounded, just as my memory as a child. This choice being the choice where he remembers some semblance of himself, so far back in the past. The presence of him, being more of a child, gentle and simple. How could that be? For me, the loss of that gentleness is unacceptable. The wall of the mind,as a false positive, a charade of separation from what is real, must be called out by name, and allowed to see itself for what it is, a personality unequal to the real potential of self to be what is natural as the inherent will of life within and as who and what we are here on this physical planet, where all plans as forms of information are visiable, even those causing separation if we simply slow down and do what we can all do so well, which is to do the math, to see the forms, to know we can stand stable in ourselves and choose a practice of respecting the physical world around us to realize what does no harm.
Remember to breath.
