ST76 ... Paragraphs from two time frames under parallel gravity

the search itself has been the biggest hoax of all

the ego does not go gently into the dark night, the past or its shadow

an ancient paragraph lying around dusty and dying
This is my opinion based on numerous endeavours into the depths of the mind, that area often called the collective consciousness, and beyond, to the spirit world. With many experiences with what may at first appear as other dimensions, spirits, higher thought embedded into the mind, i have investigated the one tool that binds all of this together and found illusion after illusion.
There is nothing more i need than my coyote instincts to be alive, live. I can not teach anyone anything and no one can teach me anything, ultimately. I am a being upon this earth for a short time. I developed an identity from societal conditioning and stepped out of it numerous times to see its facade. It has been frightening at times because the ego does not want to die, but die it must to see clear. There is nothing to find, the search has ended, the search itself has been the biggest hoax of all. Certainty is dead. I have nothing to live for and yet i live. I have nothing to care for and yet i care. I have nothing to be and yet i am. Sometimes i am happy and sometimes i am sad, sometimes i am interested and sometimes i am not. I look just like you and no one can see what i have seen. The world is trapped into its nature, eloquently. The body knows all i need to know. It owns me, it is thee environment. It all begins with the body. It all ends with the body. I am merely a dream sitting in a home in a mind. The illusion has seen itself, like a reflection in the water, i am gone.

The fantasy is dead

newer paragraphs
I can't do this anymore. The fantasy is dead. There is no novel waiting. I am the same guy, only different. All the  short stories have all but disappeared, there is only clusters of words weaving about in desperation and hundreds of blank pages scrambling about to be heard.. but they're all empty. There is nothing left to say, all the conclusions have fallen over the edge…. sure, there are more disturbing dimensions and holy sounds bouncing off hearts but the magic is gone. I suppose i could surrender again to the lust of skin and drown awhile longer in that space where love divides, possibly i'll do that.

In the air between i find myself laying out words for thought to catch up, for the answers are always a page or more behind. In the twilight of my mind the simple smells of sweet moments once had clears paths forward and i find myself feeling rather calm. I have a thousand images for every word i write and every image a million words, it is an endless frontier of cycling recycling living with dying, dying to live, playing with words, words in a game with my whole being. Others have things they need to do, do their laundry, grocery shopping, carry water, get tortured, love others, there are endless things that must get done to live, here… one must meditate, get more stuff for the mind and food for the brain. I find it all rather tedious, today. Emptying. There are moments though that i would die for. They are not as present as they once were. Age has found me and is playing with my future. It has been shortened lately. I am three quarters of a century old and ticking. There is still lots of time to finish my novel. The big novel. Everyone wants to write a novel, maybe a kids story, a book of images, some essays, poems, something, complete…… make some money…….. i'll settle for short paragraphs - for now.

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