There was that hidden cavern, that cavity of capacity, unanticipated and unexpected, which filled and emptied with each impulse of breathing. Everyone and no one knows that surge of all of capacities, which is the very soul of living and of being alive. This in itself, is the magic and the mystery of the sacred crack between the worlds.
Each impulse to practice this sanctity, since that initial event, which first drew your attention to it, has become an increasingly vivid lesson in practicing. Your practice of this sacred impulse is going to entirely exhale or expire one day, and will eventually be no more. This is part of the circle of life, which is, is not, and then again is.
The sacred crack between the worlds is that magical, mystical place, that exists somewhere between the day and the night, between the night and the day, where a wayfarer can journey to a heart of gold, and perhaps meet the mescal one. These are all mysteries, to be sought electrically, on a surge of chocolate, which is very heavy and replete with electricity. A heart of gold can be seen, but not approached, not possessed, and it will surprise you, once you’re faced with it.
Traversing the sacred crack between the worlds, beneath eager feet. I witnessed a heart of gold and the mescal one, which was much to witness for my first journey. The mescal one had kaleidoscope eyes, telling me privately, endless stories to my eager soul. Years later, I had to wear a patch over my left eye, because it was a Kaleidoscope for my fearful heart. Nearly losing the efficacy of my sight, because of the electric chocolate of ages past, I refused to look at anything with the naked eye, for quite some time. In the fullness of time, I fully regain my sight, without medical treatment.
A musician growing up, I’ve had all my applause and all the limelight back in those days. Now I’m doing something for myself, since all that was actually done for someone else. I’d like to set up shop some place and sell my books, but I’m no salesman. My speech is too confounded for that. The silence, inactivity and my laptop are enough.
My social and professional circles would be watching. I could see myself, dressed in a two piece suit, going to an office job five days a week, expected to work my magic with a typewriter, producing endlessly creative copy, regularly. My lightheartedness and carefree state of being would be gone. Expectation would have me by the throat.
Under the gun, I’d be living under all the foregone conclusions behind office work, having to conform to standards everyone else would seem to already know. The perpetual conflict between conforming and rebellion would be whittling it’s way into the fabric of my existence, until my basic rebellion would have me in a death grip.
Alcohol already had me down for the count, by the time I was at university, and the behavior of my perpetual inebriation, was sundering me more surely by the every moment. To say that I was destroying myself was a gross understatement, and it was obvious that I was clueless about any of the expectations or requirements of life.
Time is arbitrary, that moments are cut out of a day or night, according to a toy, which is clock. The establishment has standardized the device, which divides the moments evenly. Now they have the financial calculator, to divide the time value of money, to confuse the unaided mind even more. The financial calculator considers five variables in each transaction. The time value of money calculates time, money, percentage, and two time variables, and without a calculator, one cannot understand. Now they have more than one way to steal money from an honest man. This is soon to be standard.
Using the time value of money for all loans, credit card use has become common. At first used with buying a house, then a car, then a common purchase, all purchases are becoming mortgages, which are payable over an unending lifetime, and people aren’t leaving their savings and investments to their heirs any longer. Next, the lenders will find a way to extend individual debt to survivors of the deceased. The telephone is expensive now, but never mind. You borrow it with the time value of money, and let someone else figure what’s owed and what’s paid. Trade it in every two years, like a car.
Memory disorders are a challenge. Who knows when things happen? I’m a time out of mind sort of guy, myself. I know the nurse came in through the dining room, when the main lights were off. It could’ve been last night, this morning, or even yesterday, for all I know. She came in through the bathroom window, like the song.
My friend went to the hospital after a seizure. Standard procedure, have a seizure, go to the ER. Now she can’t find her teeth. Standard procedure, have a seizure, remove the teeth. Here her teeth, there her teeth, nowhere her teeth, teeth. That’s why I like to have specific places for things. Want something, look specifically.
This issue is common place where I live. Most people have memory problems. I’ve gotten my heart out of the way. It’s no longer heartbreaking that Mildred can’t find her table in the dining room, or that she never knows what the room number is where she lives. This is assisted living/memory care. Of course we don’t remember.