Thoughts for 2016
"Be yourself. Everyone else is taken." — Oscar Wilde
Sometimes, getting only halfway there IS the entire trip.
Anything that I put in my mind becomes my reality.
To my husband: You complete the circle of my self.
Believe me, you will have more sex if you get off of Facebook.
"God" has become nothing more than man's excuse to act like an ass.
"I'm not comfortable with the idea of a Celestial Dictator." —Stephen Hawking
Living to me should feel like that roller-coaster ride at Coney Island. The Big Dipper. And the lesson should be: "you can't fall it. It's built so you can't fall out. And you go up that steep incline glacially. You can't see over the horizon because all you see is white boards, steel rails, sky. And then you reach the top, and that's when you feel that sinking sensation as inertia turns into potential energy, balanced for just a second, and the sinking feeling feels almost exactly like what I feel when my guy kisses me — and then I'm falling at the speed of light, and I raise my hands and arms, I remember they told me I can't fall out — and the wind is in my hair and hitting me in the face and I raise my arms and let go of that bar and scream at the top of my lungs, "I'm alive!"
We all were born to love and be loved. We were all born as a result of cosmic superimposition —the merging of two bodies, whether microscopic liaisons or celestial collisions.
I believe we are sacred beings, made of the same stuff the stars are made of. We are all very beautiful.
We do not flourish in slavery. We become deadened by the death all around us.
We seek a better way.
It is foolish, I suppose. Often, we fix a thing only to have it slip back into its own repetition, as if bad things were needed so that good things could stand against them. I do not like this arrangement. I did not create it.
But I am needed to stand against the crimes of others. Many others want everything. They want what I have. They want what you have. They want it all. They lie, steal, kill, yet there are usually enough of us to fight this plague.
And if there are not enough of us, I will still fight to see it fall, even if I am alone.
I carefully hold freedom like a small, precious bird in my hands and my heart. I wish to see the end of slavery. I wish to see the end of war. I wish to see my sisters and brothers set free.
I will eventually die but others will come to replace me.
They will come holding the same small bird.
To a friend:
You are authentic, and more so than in the usual meaning of that word. We are sailors, we are captains. We are explorers. The stars guide us, the sails unfold. We are adrift where the only true ally is our own courage. Our courage becomes an emotion. We cast off from the shore and we visit many paradises. We have seen many things and much good, much evil. We are beautiful in our passage. All these things I see in the photos of your face. Your many familiar face(s). It is familiar because I look at her every day in the mirror. You, that is. Oh, my hair thins and my teeth are less than wonderful, and my back hurts from time to time. I be "a-slitherin' up to da boneman . . ." but I still be authentic. If I go bald and lame, I'll still be, like you, me.
This empty, frightened feeling
like lead in my veins
has been here all along.
When you came to me
and took my heart
I was ready to begin breathing again.
Living, however, is a danger
only magnified by it’s own resilience,
and escape is near impossible.
My father chased my mother
around the house,
inside and outside—he was fire itself,
ignited by bad beer and self-deception.
The roar of his charge was
fear and dread to a child born only for love.
My mother, despite her weight
and swollen legs
ran from him in short steps
befitting a geisha—
already hobbled, trained, beaten
Still, she moved fast.
She died early, as did he.
It was a cloudy, dark, silent death.
The empty feeling, the
lead in my veins, is gone, and
in its place is you.
You brought me here to this
place behind and beyond time,
and it worked. I forgave myself.
You complete the circle of my self.
“Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to other, past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.” - Sonmi 451 in the movie “Cloud Atlas”
Over and over again, I am reminded that evolution goes in two directions.
Many do not understand the nature of time.
Forward motion on a conveyor belt is an illusory version of time. Most people choose to live in the past, semi-embedded in amber. But even the past changes in reaction to human perception, and thus affects the future. Lies about the past also alter the future.
As a Senator recently said of "trickle-down" economics, "Have we learned nothing in 60 years?" Really, we have learned little in several million years. We are human.
The "present" is the most human of illusions. It is even possible to dispose of the concept of a "present" altogether. We live between what was and what we create, what will be.
"Whatever I think or feel becomes my reality."
Thus it's vital to think and feel truthfully, honestly, and with self-love and forgiveness.
I will continue to create new and hopefully positive changes in myself and those around me—I will endeavor to bring special, unique, and astoundingly variant themes into reality. My joy is change. and this is good because the Universe is with me on that one. And it is needed on so many fronts.
I love people. To be a part of this world at this time is a great opportunity.
We hurt ourselves when we seek to be all the same.
And we judge our reality too harshly as we do ourselves and our neighbors. We are not primarily our faces or our bodies or our genders or our jobs. We are our true selves, spirits, souls, magic star-stuff, and there are many ways to be helpful. We are all different and in that lies our connection to each other.
I sometimes think that the pain we have endured and the great gains we have made may spread outward like ripples in a pond and bring balance and harmony to people with very different pursuits.
MLK is a great source of inspiration. For every person, in every age, across every illusory boundary, our work will hopefully change the Earth.
In the USA, high school is where you go to learn false pasts written by prejudicial historians who bend history to fit their versions of reality. Thus, they change the future. Many attendees are recruited for the "forever war". There is also much carryings on, drinking, drugs, sex, rock'n roll, and ennui. This is followed by a morbid 45 years at a job one hates and is not trained for. Correction: in this new age, it is followed by 45 years of 45 jobs that one loathes. After all of this, retirement! A brief 7-8 years with the "sick-care" system and then a slow, painful death. Tip: they're stingy with the morphine. I will say this though: it IS an education. A real education. I abstained and consequently, I survived.
SpaceTime is an immovable point.
We move around it to create space, we travel forward and back to create time.
When we understand that past, present, and future are the same thing, we are free to think and move in more than 3 dimensions.
If we measure and judge our world on the book covers instead of the books, we will only read the worst.
A reputation built solely on other's opinions of you is unworthy of you.
None of us want the world to be like this, and I still believe that most people don't either. It is criminal, this abuse and slavery disguised as "commerce". It will only fall away when the rigid codes, belief systems, dogma, religions, moral laws—and the outworn concept of "the natural order of things"—become useless as a defense for bigotry and hate. How we do this, none of us TRULY knows. But there is power in numbers and our numbers grow. We can no longer be silent at this time in history. It is time to write our own history. Let's remain optimistic as much as is possible. They want us to hurt. We are stronger than that. This is very close to revolution, and evolution often ignites dangerous opposition. Love and beautiful lives . . . I wish this for all of my sisters and brothers.
The Poetry of our blood is pilfered
for the edification of a select few.
For the rest, nothing.
The primitive things . . . pianos,
bands, musicians, artists, writers,
In darkness, they turn our friends into
informants, software shadows,
instruments of data storage and retrieval,
while censoring our passion for our tribe.
Our lifelong commitments to others?
Unnecessary artifacts of youth.
We pollute our own air so that our
children will not be able to breathe.
And our food? They are busy creating
engineered food substitutes for the
masses of slaves They have created, the
masses of the sick, the lame, the insane.
(Did you notice?
The children are smaller
The hope we had when we were children,
the excitement of surprise, the gathering of
family around a table at Thanksgiving,
the lavish amounts of real food set before us . . .
gone. They do not need Thanksgiving and are
slowly phasing it out. Every day,
they are well fed, and need give thanks
to no one.
And what did they prioritize as necessary,
what did they preserve for us?
Junk food and coke. Drugs of all kinds. Wars without end. Reality shows. Contact sports. Ball games. Gladiator warfare. Jobs that steal the will to live. Soil in which little may grow. Music without humanity. Art without soul. Food without nutrients. Air that causes asthma in our children. Bills that creep up higher each month. Housing that is substandard or unattainable. A way of living that is unsustainable. Oceans without fish. Democracy without votes. Capitalism without regulation. Tax-exempt religions. Tax-exempt corporations.
And the opiate of this age of loneliness,
coded by their minions, just for us, Facebook.
They have stolen our world
and still we do not see it, do not complain.
They reduce our life-span so that we will have no
Elders. Thus we will soon have no oral history.
They record everything that we write on their devices.
Every item we buy, any word we search for,
every place we go to, they collect and study.
They wish to know how and what we think.
( It is as if we are living under the rule of an army of
alien invaders from another galaxy.)
We do not speak their language.
They do not speak ours.
They are here to take what little we have left.
They speak of the “natural order of things.”
They champion Darwinism, of how, in the jungle,
only the strong survive.
Yet now, even our strong of body perish.
They have created this jungle and its cardinal rule:
Only the rich will survive,
only the greedy will thrive.
They forget the lessons of history because
they have erased or rewritten so much of it.
A nation of slaves is a dangerous formula,
a maw of revenge waiting for ignition into motion,
a juggernaut that cannot be controlled.
They are now our enemy.
They forget how strong the sick and deprived can be
when the chains that hold us become so painful
that the only thing left is to break the chains
without caring whether we live or die.
We who do not care so much for living
become remarkably violent when necessary.
Perhaps this time approaches for them.
Perhaps it is time for them to leave this planet.
It was good here before they came.
(Have you noticed
how frail the children are
—Jessica Williams, May 16, 2015