ST91 ... Tales of a postModern Wayfarer

I walked thru the curved space of history looking for a saviour from this intermittent turmoil under my skin.

Confessions…

I walked thru the curved space of history looking for a saviour from this endless turmoil under my skin. I saw it in everyone, some with the obvious facade of the comfort of possessions, others with a dream of final thought true thru eternity. From the poor to the rich, their loyalty base was belief and bullshit. They all got lost in times of turmoil as their highest beliefs broke, shattered, left them stranded on a road of uncertainty. Thought died, heart stopped, mind crippled, surrender unlimited… they found their god, their saviour hunched over a stack of worlds whistling wild winds into a lost universe. Soft visions wrapped around their skulls as limited love for protection from the deep.

shaman weaving a web within a lodge of curved space

I talked to jesus, buddha, all the great hearts, shamans from eons of warped space with paths, solid undisputed attractors till my heart bled. I cried, i joyed, i lived on the edge beside truth for centuries but still that vague awareness splashed continuously against these infinite walls towards the mystery. I changed from this to that, perfect balance to awkward knowing. I was a man thru millenniums of evolution, processes beyond my certainty, forms of flesh, rock and waves of secret riddles wrangled up into for a this, a believer in something, the dilemma of thought. I want to live, i want to be free from the known, the trap of conclusions, to be saved from this terminal sorrow. I want to not want. I want nothing now. 

I travel into the thoughtless state, that space between, that space thought creates when it believes it has found nothing, silence, eternity, but it is nothing more than blank moments, illusions created with the same identical imaginary tool that breathes abstracts.

windows of pretty prayers from a surface

I have heard all your pretty words that don't do a damn bit of good in this jungle of life. Follow the light, think positive, be true, it’s your past life karma… all trapped within wrinkled words sailing over paper horizons. Endless teachings to caress your hearts ego, your hidden motives from the illusions of a weak soul. Words, words manipulated on endless sentences searching for a real paragraph to exist within. I can say i love you, i can say i trust you, i can say i'd save you but we all know things change, love dies, that kind of love, we all know deep down that we are stranded in an orchard of manufactured apples, a maze of words, a universe of conclusions falling off a precipice eternally. But it's alright, we flow with time, that is our gift, our crutch, our existence, reason of thought. We walk on tearing down the illusions of belief, knowing, forever. That is what we do, that is what i know.

The day breaks into a hot sweat. I am free. I know nothing. I breathe clear air. It is a wonder. Life. There is nothing more. It is all in the hands of some great mystery. No matter how many rituals you know, how many deaths you have died, whatever you have experienced, your soup of knowledge, the mystery owns it all. There is no direction home. There is no home that lives forever. There is no path to freedom. I am, therefore i think. I think therefore i am not. It's all maya, the mind is a myth, enjoy the ride, be as you are, be as you are not, nothing is permanent.

If this depresses you, it’s alright, it’s all in our mind, sit by the water, float with the clouds, watch, expect nothing, listen, see, look for nothing in anybody’s eyes, be, let life live, affirm nothing, stop the search, breathe air…. and you will come along.

watching, walking along canals of the mind, seeing

This is my advice. I know nothing. Stop reading these words; eat them, digest them, eliminate them, wipe yourself clean, move on. Thought is an amazing tool with reason as its form of various shapes and hues but it is a tool abstract and not the ultimate instrument of knowing and if there is such a devise…. it is impossible to know. paradox rules

Note:
I appreciate your readership! I do. This is my way of watching thoughts sail thru the sky, kiss the wind. If you are amused/inspired reading these woven words and would like to support my work, please buy me a coffee or a paid subscription; but do please pass it on to someone whom you believe might appreciate these posts and the delicate efforts of their creation.

I thank you.

A coffee !

Hang Me Up…. Images

WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey