come together

Many things are falling into place, it appears sudden, but when you lay out the bits and pieces you'll see there is a pattern which gives meaning to it all.

First you'll want to examine how things are going for you personally at this time, take the past into consideration and some of those sharp memories of your childhood. Put that stuff into a manila file folder and label it Done.

Then read this. It is important. I'll wait while you digest the material. Go on, do it now. I'm not going anywhere and if you had the time to visit today, you have the time to read the links. I am on pause until you come back because this is part one of a two part story, the New Story. Our personal Year Zero.

Welcome back. The Done folder goes into the circular file. You know, we've been wasting a lot of time, although it appeared our time was purposeful, it did not actually get us where we really want to be. It occurred to me recently the huge body of outrage resulting directly from our stupid situation, our limp fury and bandaged heads from all the beatings against concrete walls, had an almost indescribable momentum AS IF IT WAS DESIGNED. Designed to be impossible to remove. What are walls meant for anyway? In the old story, walls worked. In the new story, there are no walls. We couldn't help it because we were born into it and it takes a train to cry. That's a good stage BTW, at least it opens the heart. After dwelling in that stage long enough, you know you must move on, you'll get a headache from the heartache. It seems that just about everyone born into the western gravitational system needs a lifetime to figure out how to get those Manhattan telephone books off their feet. Until you just remove them by yourself, going from one step to the next is unbearably difficult because those phone books are the pages of our past, our ancestors and their Karma, but remove them and all of that stops. It stops with you. You are at the end of that story here and now. Its over.

Everything feels better, brighter, more real, as it should be and as you always knew it was meant to be. The windows are open and the crispy season of turning leaves brushes against your face. You could almost fly. It doesn't matter what criticisms lie in wait, they have no meaning anymore, the Complaints Ledger went out with the Done folder. Could it get any better than this?

Yes, it can. There is a stunning coda to the new story. Just when you made the greatest breakthrough of your life, no phonebooks, no complaints, there was a very small and silent part of you that still longed ... the part that says "but what about?"

Now read this.

We could just stop here and live happily ever after. No more blogging required. Except, I like blogging, besides, I like art, too. Mostly, I like to see where these ideas lead and best of all, what other people do with them. In our new story, everyone is exploring their potential, it never stops, where one starts another takes it higher. To hell with copyrights, to hell with the selfishness of me-isms and mines. We WANT our ideas expanded otherwise they die, contracted, against all reason, which is exactly backwards from our natural intent.

If you read the links before you visited, we are on the same wavelength already and traveling together in light years. If you are just reading them now, there is no time like the present. The hologram is gone, the prison bars melted, the door of the trap was sprung wide open. Take it easy, the only thing holding us back today is language, our thoughts move faster than words - and words, geeze, they're backwards too.

I've been trying to compose snail mail letters to a friend in rehab. You can't imagine how difficult it is to convey meaning by hand, my handwriting races into the margins now. I've been trying to explain our new story, you can't link in paper letters, heh, and I imagine she won't be allowed to have those letters until she leaves. I want to tell her drugs have nothing on the truth, but that has to wait for a few more weeks when her real crisis begins. All of our crises are the storm clouds under which the play of civilization unfolds. Our protest acts as lightening followed by the rains, the floods, tsunamis of unrest and devastation. Our illnesses and discontents never had to be. Our guilt was rooted in singularity, thinking we were alone, or special, or separate, or smarter, or more adept or thwarted or unrecognized somehow and slighted, misunderstood, under-represented, without free will, enslaved and mysteriously used against our better judgement, ie; forced and coerced unnaturally. Our collective materialism was the buffer and it failed miserably in our hour of need. Each failure reinforced another and another until we found ourselves virtually helpless, lost in a vast universe of illegitimacy. You have to just shake your head in grief, how long has it been anyway, that you felt really, really good?

Well, let's go then, into the new story and get it on. Erase those hated words, rush and urgent, deadline, harsh, rehab, mainstream, zeitgeist, statistics, etc. Surely you'll have your own list of prehistoric nonsense you've used repeatedly to be in the "know". In the new story, we know nothing and everything at the same time, call it a speedball state of existence if you must, a state of union with the All where what IS completely extincts what WAS.