The project of this life.

Am I relevant? Am I naive? Am I alone? Do I have a voice? Does my voice matter? Does it say anything useful to others? Am I using my hands correctly? Am I fulfilling my exponential potential? Do I hold the right relationship with myself? Do I hold the right relationship with the world around me? What can I do to help the world become more peaceful? Am I lost? Am I found?
What can I do with these hands who want to work; want to create, make, love, caress, tend to, heal, gesticulate, energise, harmonise? They want to express, press, hold, laugh. These laughing hands. Where do they rest? Upon whom? Drenched in what? which type of clay, what kind of pen, finger painting, folding paper, finger nail scratching, etching a way.

These questions are right next to everything I do.  My actions are encased in them.
I want to be unafraid to speak. To find my right expression. To let the inner waterfall flow. out.

The project of this life. Is unfolding the plan. Finding the correct path. Planting flowers along side the path for others who may follow. For my own self to follow. again and again. Its already been walked. I can almost see my own footsteps. For tiny steps I tread so deep. Noisy steps I have made. I've been here before. I'm picking up the pieces I dropped. Trying consciously to tread lighter, softer. Things will be rectified. The circle will be complete.

The blockage has been this pleasing nature of mine. Tailoring myself to fit what I think others want me to be. I observe what others are, I confuse myself with what others are. I'm just exploring myself. so little do I know.

I'm nostalgic for Gokarna. That beach. I was placed. Yet whilst there I was nostalgic for my own life. Always elsewhere. Every time we try to pin it down its not there. WHAT is that thing that is never there?  And how do we know we want it, if there is no proof of it? The proof that it is, is simply that it is not. How far can we break down an atom before we realise that at the core of everything is nothing but cosmic energy. "How do we know we are alive if we haven't once been dead?" Says Allan Watts. Things are only there, only distinct in the light of an opposite. If there is an 'I' there must also be a non-I? There must be gaps in the music for the music to be. It is the gaps of nothing which holds the real music, the real beauty. Music is a series of gaps of nothing. A dance of a series of nothings. Such is life.


Watch your feelings as if they are energies manifesting within you. Visiting you. Expressing themselves through you. Becoming aware/ known to themselves through you.
I grab a handful of this earth. my knee. with both hands. I know its not really there. so where is it?
What am I really grabbing when I grab my knee?
tomorrow it will be gone? or something else. This knee will cease to be.

I feel tenderness manifesting. I feel motherly. female. the healing nature within.
Soon this will attract to itself another. A beautiful stallion. Soon I will ride, with my man, the stallion and the wind. The bees will pollinate. then they will relocate.

For ever I have been trying to find a reasoning for beauty. I've been defending it. Placing it within the importance of what life is. Now I realise it is beauty which gives life its meaning. Beauty is the crux, the aim, the reason for life itself. Creative prowess. Beauty let it be.

Elemental studies. The study of the elements. The way they feel, taste, smell, sound, look, are. An arrangement of life, of feeding energies, interlocking, weaving, working, breathing. Molecular beings, appearing solid, liquid, gaseous. States of being. Simple. Complex. Signposts. Pointing silently.

Studying the matter, studying the spirit. As spiritual qualities manifest themselves in material symbols. The medium is the message. Observational techniques. How to observe, extract, become the knowledge locked inside of them. Absorb it into our own. Observe the patterns of nature. Work with them.

We recognise it as truth because we know it already inside. We forgot it. Life is a remembering.
Shedding, dissolving, expanding.

One day I'm going to build a shelter out of twigs and drift wood. With gaps to let the breeze through so my skin knows the sky better. I'll sleep on a bed of grass and wash myself in a river. I'll let fire radiate, imitate the sun on me. I'll chop wood. I'll sing to the vegetables. I'll put energy back into the earth instead of only taking it. I'll know things I could never dream of knowing. I'll converse with all things. Understand the symmetry inside a flowers mind. Understand how trees grow upwards, how spiders weave, caterpillars cocoon, how butterflies realise.
When I know these things I will paint the riddle in the sky with stars. Then lay on my back and laugh at how funny the whole thing really is.

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