The Great Divide

Morality, savagery, hate, love, sex, marriage, dignity, disparity. In our ordinary lives, we are faced with stresses. Taking care of the children. Making money. Paying for a car. Being stylish. Having fame. Having fortune. Being liked. Being cared about. Being paid attention to. Being seen. Having the power and influence over others. The craven lust and desire of sex , devotion, and satisfaction. We live moment by moment. Wishing it could be better. Sacred of what’s it going to be. We lose ourselves in the things that we are after. We begin on journeys, and become people that we barely recognize, and do things that we thought we would never do. We mill around the world, with a practiced demeanor and act the way that you think are supposed to. Within an endless turmoil of decisions, memories, feelings of failure and satisfaction, self-loathing, jealously, and fear. We strive to remove that fear. We strive to receive satisfaction. Time progresses forward, but the mind has its own time. The past married to the present. The present determining the future. Every experience has an impact, however subtle or obvious. Yet, in it all, we move too fast.

We move adrift in an ocean, while neglecting to recognize the ocean that buoys your ship. The winds blow, and the waves bow. Tossed a tumult and always unfamiliar seas. Is it because we are afraid of what remains bellow? So vast, so mysterious, and seemingly unknowable. We rather battle the surface without knowing the depths of existence. In concrete and glass, we are disconnected to the plants, animals, flora, fauna, fungus, and detritus that squishes bellow your feet. A venture into a tamed forest, a hit of relaxation and crystallized memories. Go back to the job. Go back to the cubicle we call a room. Where is the rumination?

Beyond the chapel, yoga mat, crystals around your neck, the small pony tail on your head. What is this story, this tapestry that we weave? Each of us a story that is seeded to believe. Feeling left out, feeling without devotion and appetite, we feel as if we are utterly alone in the world. An island drifting into that unknowable sea. We want to be a part of it. I want that joy. Give it to me. I want that connection to another. There’s a being in me. What do they see? What am I missing in what is to be seen? There’s the feeling to enjoy and explore another. Will it give us peace? Will it quite it, the unwavering mind? Consumer products and polo tees, a world of finesse and prosperity. How do we regard each other? Beyond quaint pleasantries, narrow gazes, and conversations in which no words are spoken. It is fixed. There are expectations.

We desire the connection, in an unconnected world. Mixed up in a global diaspora, no one is found. We seek to finally find ourselves in another, that’s where I’ll be. An escape of the unfulfilling and vengeful deity, we still cling to the supernatural in some amorphous form. There has to be more out there, I know it to be true. There’s a void within me, and I require magic and rigidity. Cordoned off gyres, we create our own gods, our own beliefs, our own catechisms to recite and preach. A competition of zealotry takes sound reasoning and the cries of the oppressed to lose all grounds in between. My god demands these commandments, or face vengeance. Dedicated to the unspoken rules, the justice that we seek is ruled out. We aim to protect. We aim to amplify. We aim to deconstruct. We have fury and pain. We seek refuge and acclaim in each other. I will be the most rigid in the phrases that we were fed to me as the truth, as it will provide the change that I seek.

In the end, my ego is full, but not the mouths that need to be fed.

Such an imbalance, wrought out as an imbalance in the world. The things that we have always craved, and will continue to crave is that resonance with the cosmos, and the life that inhabits this planet. Trees, leaves, frogs, and marmosets are not important because of what they serve, what they give, what they provide. It is that we are life forms on a living planet. Mushrooms, thc, ayahuasca, tobacco were the keys of the shaman to give us sight. Now we take them on our own delight, because the old shamans have been eradicated and forgotten. We forget our communion and communication with the natural world. And list around unaware of the cosmic energy, that pervades and connects everything. Those gods, religions, deities were only place holders, figure heads, wrapped metaphors, to give semblance to what we feel deep inside. Somewhere in between religion and disparity, where are we in relation to the cosmic energy.

The machines continue the paths that we set them on. Profit is what they seek. They think power and influence will buy them everything they need. Old and weary, the machines are required to keep churning. Damage, devastation, and oppression are traded for luxury. “Weather rich or poor we all arrive at the gates of heaven.” There are no gates. There is no heaven. It is a deep understanding of reality.