Sometimes I feel like I am in a warehouse of inflatables.
And
wherever I unintentionally breathe is breath of my life into one of them. Carelessly,
my world is closing in on me. It is filled with dirigibles of my mind
vacancies, objects of half-thoughts and gibberish and the grand expansions on
fearful themes. Eventually this is revealing a pattern that everything on the
outside is an exact duplication of what was inadvertantly instigated mindfully by
distraction on the inside! Oh for the divine intervention of the blessed mother
of prickly pear or some thoughtform thisstle work to release me. I would hate
to suffocate from such a natural disaster or be trapped in static cling, yet
everything I seem to vacantly think, comes to exist right before me. No, not
mirror-like but as inflatables, 3-D big!
It happens so quickly that it seems whatever I name is now the medium of
its presence and closing in on me. Oh my god, it’s like standing in front of
the bubble machine that is forever pouring forward out of me. I am that bubble
machine. How do I turn this off? (even that’s a lame bubble!) What is or where
is there a solution that is not more of this solution? Is this a lesson about
being self-conscious, about being mindfully aware? Maybe a misunderstanding of
my usage or intent? (lord, more bubbles!) Why am I doing this, this thing that
does me in? Is there anything that I am or that I think I am that doesn’t contribute
to this circumstance? If you can answer don’t come in here. Help me find a way
to come out there. Don’t speak to me, (maybe more bubbles in return). Don’t
cause me to flakey understand, (surely, more bubbles). Don’t lead me to my
feelings, (definitely more bubbles). No no you have to be me. That’s it, you
can’t help if you’re separate from me. You can only help from where we’re one, where
we have no language, where we have no thought, where we’re already one. Bubbles
only come from isolation. Bubbles are a way of me demonstrating separation, yet
close at hand. That’s it, you can help but don’t do anything. Don’t call for
help for me, bubbles. Don’t fear the worst for me, more bubbles if I know that.
Don’t even pray for me, yes, more bubbles if I know that too! Just go to where
we are already one, and just be, there, no more bubbles. And there, we just be
without any inflatibles forthcoming . . .
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