Plato’s cave underground lock step shuffle till you drop distraction moaning cgi disillusion
In the doorway. Between seasons.
The problem is life is not a metaphor. The problem is what we are told is real is not real but rather the lower realm. We tunnel in the darkness structures that were created to keep away the light. We cannot see they are projected constructs that we have agreed to group believe. A metaphor is the holding together of two distinct objects to reflect into one another. Neither of those objects is the truth but by reflecting into one another they create a deeper realization than flat life. The mind holds on to metaphor like the tiny finger of a bigger hand. Something is there. We sense it.
In the darkness, we see the shapes of others only. We see their outlines and their pace. Trying to keep our rhythms in tune with theirs, we avoid being stepped on, pushed, trampled, or even worse left behind. We see only the outlines and hear chanting songs that keep our minds full of words that are not ours. The sound of conditioning begins before birth. The mother’s voice, the father’s voice in utero we are born to hear. And then the classrooms, the televisions, the radios as we shuffle along cave tunnels. We give up our urge to run into the light because we will be left abandoned.
we live in the lines we are instructed to walk in.
Where will the voices of love be then. What if there is no light? What if we have left one darkness for the greater void of black alone?
None of us shows a face. The eyes do not meet. We follow hoping for an end. Fearing our end. We pay our personality so that we will be surrounded at the end. Family gathered around the bed as we cross over because we were so, were not so, because we followed nicely in the familial line unseen, unknown, compliant dead already so that we can have comfort at the body death.
What is the punishment for visioning out side the tribe? It is to be shunned. We sit in school hallways alone while hearing the vibrant voices from the excluded room. We bend over lunches in the high school dry mouthed, eating alone. And so we dare not leave the lines. We dare not say we cannot see the lines. We turn away our spirits to watch them consumer tagged on Disney channels. Lines drawn on paper flat assembled mysticism like a wafer under the tongue. “Here, my child, here is your spirit.” Only the anointed can give what is not allowed to be.
A few are hiding in the dark, the urge to spark. Turning inward the rage and guilt of wanting to be free repressed into the alchemy of self loathing. The last loss of identity. Muffled minds, given up for hope. Making self wrong in order to be right. Damaged in the loving place.
Some know there are strings of energy flowing from one to another. In the darkness of the cave tunnels, we see the flaring neon lights but dare not speak about.
The physics truth fire works illuminates that there is a vastness beyond the shuffling tunnel chain gang life. And it is then we see.
Intensity of connectedness flows through us
Our society, our parents conditions us to belief systems and behaviors. At some point, we can grow up and with the love of a perfect parent start to condition ourselves to be all the powerful potential of love we are. We have to start with ourselves. I am reading everything I can get my mind around about habit, life changes, restrictive belief systems.
William James, the philosopher was planning to kill himself when he decided as an experiment to do all those things a happy, successful person would do. For one year. No variant behavior from that path. He made powerful friends, he married, he wrote philosophy and he became famous. In one year. This behavior, this choice, this decision will lead me to be who I wish to be, he realized.
I was thinking about the people I saw at the bus depot who were limping, heavy in body and unwell. They sat drinking coke and eating candy bars. The drinking and eating was the compensation for the affliction. The cause and the compensation both working together beautifully to create an end result.
What results do you want in your life? Where do you hold your gifts, your power? What if you could believe that for one year, or one month or one week that every action you took was to move you closer to your true, beautiful, healthy self. Is that not what a parent does for a child it loves? Can we dare to love ourselves that much?
The shiny shoes white dress bowed up hair singing and dressing up her dolls child who had marriages and plays and told stories and brushed her blonde, long haired cat with a soft brush while the cat lay warm in a patch of sun brushed the cat until the hair was burnished with oil and warmth and love the girl who picked flowers out of ditches in limp handed bouquets for her mother and sang and sang and made up story songs and hopped along the path avoiding rocks who kept 12 kittens alive by making them line up for their eye dropper of milk and warm cat food the child who lay on the floor with her head on her elbows listening to stories on the radio about magical bears and the missing christmas star and was free inside, always free who read with her legs in the air because she wanted to was perfectly me.
I am taking science of Mind classes at the Centre for Spiritual Living and sing in the choir. When I am singing I disappear, my body dissolves and my heart becomes the space around me. I feel deeply in love with the other people around me, with life, with the flow. Sometimes I cry from joy. In Oneness practice which is an East Indian meditation practice using the breath I see guides and spirits around me occasionally. Since taking the vusuib quest journeys, I hear a voice above my right ear which is new. It is the guide and it tells me things like “You are love.” It is very clear.
Another result of my setting intention is there is so much less chatter in my head. Some times for minutes at a time I am in no me state just walking down the road. I become what I am seeing, or hearing or smelling. It is not me doing it. It just is. There is such a great, velvet peace in those times. I could be here or in another body or in another time it doesn’t matter. It is just isness. The combination of meditation practice, writing, doing art, studying, church has shifted my life. The people around me now are kind. I am met with smiles. Toddlers run toward me. People tell me I am beautiful. It is another physical corridor another brane that I have never inhabited before.
Sure competition, darkness, loneliness come up but they are like a rock outcropping on a rolling gentle hill with a vista. Their contrast with the texture of the rest of my life is stark. I know they are habits of mind. They are outcroppings from the geography of a past life and I understand that.
I saw my brain rewired in the jungle. I saw new synapses being laid down. And now I am doing everything I know how to do to maintain and develop that manner of being in the world.
What tells me it is working is the mirror. The people I have staying in my airbnb, the people I have around me are gentle, kind, authentic and working on their relationship with themselves. That is my reflection. I have never know what it was to be at peace before in my life. But most of the time that is my address. Sometimes I am doing the gothic novel ranging across the grange howling into the wind thing. But it is less and less frequent.