Few words do justice to the distance they've come.
The human ability to reduce a sense of reality to words, and then reduce these again, to what works for me, is an affront to the actual shamanic reality of words.
Let's get clear about shamanist stuff:
I'm not seriously into beating drums, chanting for hours and entering altered states for the sake of altered states.
I'm a mystery to myself, and missing a lot because of ordinary ignorance, and I realise much of this enigma is because is the weird mix of feeling and language. Read NLP.
But even getting a handle doesn't mean opening the window for much needed oxygen.
Words:
They go all the way down into sound.
How flat and artificial is human noise.
When even one note of real connection comes out, and is lost,
so many multiverses of possibility go.
At least they come again.
We live in a forgiving place of living,
but I have the sense we can't take it for granted.
Human words are human sounds.
They'll last for a bit.
After that, silence.
And after silence,
who can tell?
The outpouring is the same as the
yearning.
We all know it,
but our words are too
small.
Believe in your heart.
It's a big as the widest sunrise
you'll ever see.
We are where we'll ever be.
Knowing this should
help. One small practise,
and you'll see.
