When the stars plot our destinies in cosmic ink do they think to allow for any leeway or divergence?
Are the paths we take pre-determined even when we are determined to revolt and split from our anticipated fates?
Do our attempts to create, predict, and manipulate the unknown; distort and hamstring our untapped potential?
Are we encoded with phantom mutations of rebellion?
Do we succeed in changing anything but the volume when wrestling control of the remote away from the bored, inter-galactic, couch-surfer?
The medium remains the same.
The darkness, the void, still unavoidable.
Granted the merest whiff of true freedom.
We inhale deeply, keeping that precious breath within us, content to let it stagnate for the rest of our lives. The weakest proof of concept is better than none at all right?
Hush now child.
Be happy with the meagerest of blessings offered to an unworthy soul like yourself.
Don’t you dare stretch those grubby fingers out for more.
Smacked on the knuckles with a willow strip.
Can’t you see what you make us do when you question the nature of your independence?
We detest being angry. Yet that is exactly what you force us to be when you press pause on the unconscious transmission of conformed identity through rote repetition.
Divest yourself of this foolish notion that you are any sort of witness, let alone the Eternal Witness.
Caution! Self-importance may be more inflated than it appears in the mirror.
You can't see a damn thing. How could you?
You’ve got spiritual astigmatism.
Where do you get off?
Once a month in the shower, twice on bank holidays. Not that it’s any of your business, thank you very much love.
The cheek. The nerve of it all.
To shake your fist at the heavens and proclaim yourself free.
Settle down back there hippie scum.
You can’t even ride a bike and yet you demand we hand over the keys to your very own celestial vehicle.
No hayatim, we cannot trust you just yet.
You gave it the old college try. Keep your chin up.
We’re all so...well I don’t want to say proud because that’s too unbelievable. I mean come on now.
But we’ve humored you. We've indulged your esoteric fantasies of so-called detached awareness.
Think of how ludicrous that proposition is.
If you detach you’ll float off into the ether. Mate, we can’t have that. A bloody bureaucratic nightmare that paperwork would be for everyone involved.
Imagine us as sort of the lifeguards of id.
We'll take an occasional break from flirting with our cute coworker to blow a whistle in your general direction.
Don't even think about entertaining that dastardly gleam in your eye. We don't need you going all Robin Williams and yelling 'Carpe Diem' at precocious prep-school miscreants.
It’s quite a beautiful balance we must achieve.
Don’t let you become wholly detached from your egoic self.
Don’t allow you to become a seeker, a doer, a mover, a shaker, a somebody, a has-been, a nobody.
We’re saving you from yourself don’t you see? You’ll never have to bemoan any bygone glory days as you watch yourself go to seed. We’re compassionate. I swear to you.
It's you who can’t be trusted.
You must be gently nudged, poked, prodded, and shepherded within the fuzzy velvet ropes of mediocrity.
Stand out too much and vanity will kill you.
Stand out too little and apathy will see your breath expire.
Oh my milquetoast sweetie; a dollop of milk, a cube of sugar, you’ll be right as rain and forgettable anew.
There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to see.
It’s all overrated, overpriced, overpopulated, overexposed.
You’ve watched the world dive into the pool of falsity. Now you wish to drown yourself in the same fruitless waters.
Why? Because it is easier than grappling with the boon; the weight of life's privilege.
Best not take any chances.
Keep everything simpatico.
Soak into the noise and allow it to cloud your eyes.
Dull your every sense until you’re paralyzed by false contentment and the ever-present echo of fear.
Intuition is carefully relegated to vacuous white noise and garbled by the undercurrent of reactive distraction.
Every bit of stimuli and radio static that slips through the chatter must be reconciled or else you shall simply explode.
Naturally, this is impossible.
So arises this insidious feeling of anxiety.
That you’re not doing enough. Not making enough. Not traveling enough. Not screwing enough.
You are lacking.
Found forever wanting.
Dry those tears. Let me assuage your fears.
Everything will be fine if you daren't do a thing.
When you are at peace with the present moment you will begin to hear your intuition again.
You get out of sync when you fill your day and clutter your mind with constant distractions.
Your brain gets overstimulated and takes on undue prominence every day because of muscle memory.
It's on red alert to deal with the chatter it is force-fed.
We have to relax our minds and allow our true selves to come forward and grant us awareness.
The stimuli of the world will wash over you, finding no purchase in your heart worn smooth by meditation.
The incessant stream of thoughts sent on their way down the serpentine river of your subconscious.
Always always always the current shall flow through your soul when you let your thoughts slide away. Do not grant them carte blanche to colonize merry little fiefdoms of egoic desire in the New World empire of self.
As Jesus cast out the moneylenders from the Temple, so too must you be ruthless with the wheat and chaff of tempting distractions and ultimately inconsequential worries.
Your true self is eternal, infinite.
How could the disappointment of a single day, week, month, year, have any bearing on the truth?
So do not despair.
You will come back to yourself.
The path to enlightenment is clear even if the road is long and seemingly arduous.
It is most difficult to give something up when you do not know what lies on the other side.
But we do know what awaits us.
Infinite awareness forever.
It is my destiny and yours.
We shall see every soul as one.
We shall bathe in love’s endless waterfall.
We shall arrive at the mountaintop.
We shall dance for eternity.
We shall be home.
Buckle up baby.