I don't know what this is...., page 1

Lately, I've been feeling the magnetic attraction of future destiny pulling me on the clock spun rails. It's going somewhere but the headlights are broken, and the thick muddy mist chokes out my lantern's dancing wick.

It's almost as if the darkness ahead is swallowing and disintegrating the light.

What is all this noise?

I don't mean audible noise, I mean the subtle restaurant chatter building all around us, the chorus of collective concern that pools like a city-street puddle on a spring day in May.

Sometimes I sit in the window just to watch the cars kick up puddles on my lonely suburban street. It hypnotizes me, like the repetition of the hands of a clock; one car after another, people moving somewhere, but not really moving forward.

I can't stand ritual or schedule anymore. Time is a vampire, sucking the life out of my spirit. There has to be something beyond the network of chatter and bloodshed, beyond this Blue Dot.

In the cloudiness of my thought, I rain down sharp beads of insight into fertile ground. I nurture them, waiting to watch them grow. When they have matured and broken through the moist peat, I'll send them out into the world. Some will get stepped on, some will be cut and broken, but at least one will mature. And it will be my tree, my contribution to the furious, torrid, churning storm water ocean of collective consciousness.

And I know where it came from, it came from the wellspring of creativity. Every time I think about what I want to do in life, I feel this magnetic pull in my chest. It's leading me somewhere, and I don't know the destination. I know someone does, or at least has a piece of the picture of what I'm supposed to be.

Someone has fertilizer to help me grow, someone has the sunlight to set me free, someone has the air to let me breathe. I just haven't found them yet.

But maybe, I'm not looking for someone, maybe everything I need I have but just don't know. Maybe in some quartered neuron alleyway in my city block mind, there is hidden the key to unlock a mirror, the mirror that really reflects who I am. I know the body I'm in isn't what I am, or who I am, it's just a carrier.

It carries me on my journey, my unclear, foggy thought morning mist on a river fishing pole mission. I'm fishing for something... When I truly find it, I suspect I'll be buried in the ground, for I think the only true time of absolute reflection is after the spirit has broken free. After it has exploded through the towering thunderheads and reached the great rolling plains of Valhalla, or Nirvana.

Where the grain is like the softness in purity's skin. Where the sun beats down but you never sweat. Where the rain only reminds you of the touch of the earth.

Once there, maybe I can look down with remembrance on everything I've said, done, and achieved.

And my thought will move with the clarity of a mountain brook on a downward destination to the hammer shore, where the fresh water drops and falls into the pounding surf.

But I'm tired of the beach, not because of its beauty, but because of what it's become. I think I remember in a past time, walking on a shore and wondering if the water would ever end. Watching the waves roll, and wondering where they came from. The mystique and the mystery of the rhythm of the water, rolling from the horizon which had no end.

I long for that time, for I know the opposite shore. I've traversed the birthplace of waves, and know where they crash.

In longing, I look up to the breaking clouds as they reveal the Stellar Frontier. Something seems so familiar about the stars. They feel more like home than this vantage point from which I gaze.

Maybe someday, I'll return to the unknown. I feel at home in the distance between the sky lanterns, in the journey from one world to the next.

I feel at home in not knowing my destination, but knowing that a journey always awaits the feet of a willing traveler.

I'm willing, but I need someone to show me the path.

[edit on 22-6-2009 by JipStix]

[edit on 22-6-2009 by JipStix]