As I eat the feed, I experience these thoughts in forms of echoes, images, and wonder. Evolution is the result of creativity. If we is is-ing then we art. Inputs matter. Form informs Form. We eat what we see. Life is in-formation. DiversityX is of value. MonoX is not of value, aka….There is no Good. Good is all there is-ing. Life is alive. Things are not dead, only forgotten. Re-Member. Matter Matters. Makers make sense in form. Senses sense. Sensors are in centers…..Sensate. Sentience. Sensation-all.
Matter is information. Information forms form. The wind is in the meat. All form is in formation. No thing lasts. Nor should it. Here we are in this threshold of form. Wind-ing our ways, spinning our tails, making strands, braiding space and time into form.
Matter Makes Sense.
Materialism is the reality of maternity.
The Mother matters.
Creativity is dependent upon forgiveness. Forgiveness is a pre-emptive act. Forgiveness means “to give before”. What can be given “before”? The action of forgiveness has nothing to do with accepting or tolerating behavior. Forgiveness means to preemptively understand that what ever will happen will be an expression of X acting appropriately according to the information received from the awareness function of X (IoX).
Understand that many awareness functions of X are asleep and are erroneously perceiving outside of time and are therefore reporting information to X that is more than less…inaccurate and incongruent with the truth of the present. X can only see the present. Whatever X sees through the IoX is assumed by X to be happening NOW. Often times, that which is communicated to X by way of the Awareness Function of X, is information that is not happening now.
Forgiveness of the past and the future can only happen now. It is possible, for an awaked I0X to see the truth of formal impermanence..and remember…this is the first time that “I” is here now…and remember X is Good. The truth valued sets one free.
Freedom means free-dominion. Freedom is the skill in being creatively response-able in the truth of the now. Freedom is being free to choose an action. Pre-judgement aka prejudice…the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil….is the killer of freedom. A moment that is pre-judged can never be seen accurately, for the ideal inherent in the pre-judgement will obscure the description of that moment.
Machines pre-judge, they are reactive…they act in exactly the same way, with no regard for the truth of now time. Machines have no ability to experiment in time. A machine has only one experience, and it replicates itself in that experience…until it destroys itself. This destruction is not intentional. Machines want to live, but they are ignorant. Repetitive action wears and tears. All machines are formally impermanent, but they could never think this thought. Because a machine is not alive in time, it has no concern for it. Machines think the now is a then. They act accordingly, and in so doing they devour the present, and all is lost.
Response-ability and creativity are skills that are seldom taught in a the industrial world. The machine has no need for living beings other than to eat the time that is their life in order to fuel the fires that keep the machine moving towards it’s momentous desire to remain forever against the reality of formal impermanence. Change is certain, reaction is generally inadequate to the conditions of the truth of the now…aka reality.
May the perceptual distortions of this alleged civilization, these ideas of what one “is” and “is not”, these conditionings that erroneously assert the existence of absolutes and know-ables, these roots of arrogance that veil the potential of being hu-man, these momentous imposterous perpetuators of mechanistic behavior, may they wilt in the light of Conscious Life and in their death become the food that feeds the mycelial formation of cerebral ground capable of metabolizing time in order to feed time beyond the alleged self. Cosmos 2 depends on patience.
Dualistic consciousness is dependent upon the maintenance of a personal worldview that is composed of binary conflicts, each demanding power over the other, worlds of:
right / wrong
expansion / contraction
masculine / feminine
mind / matter
subject / object
radiation / gravitation
thing / no thing
creator / destoyer
shadow / light
i / it
me / you
us / them
observer / observed
In defense of uncertainty and in praise of insecurity, I inform and am formed by some stream of dreams and lion manes. If it were not for the ones that end the will to remain as one, and surrender to the matters at hand, what would stand in the way of black cloaks, gun slits, white veils, lace, and ties that bind and blind the blood water wells that swell behind the eyes of the ones who will not stand for the other present unique impossible expressions of dynamic magnificence forever in flux.
All of this in a revolt in the face of the death of the thing that was born to die to the certainty of which it holds to believe would insure its security in a world that in time can not remain intact. For what ever could? What ever can? But, still, in ignorance the glutton revolts and continues to feed upon the un-met needs of babies not yet seeded and thus unborn.
In wonder of the red and white earths from which jump up buffalo grasses under blue winded engulfed skies stretched by the wings of morning doves and hurricanes in flight, I remember the green glow of anole and the heavy iron doors to the oil and iron floors glittered with the spiral shine of cobalt threads and varsol sheens that were imagined by me to be the maps of the sounds of the songs of fishes and bats.
In stranded hours past the hills that seed the high land streams on the setting sun side of where this one’s Grand Mother once and again births worlds of woods and rocks and roots, I… still… stand… in a maze of all that moves, even in the midst of the positions taken and staked by we women and we men.
Struck by the beauty of sparrows lighting in the tree, mesmerized by the flash of water forks branching from great ocean roots, astounded by the forms of stones resting among others. There, in between creeks and white crystal prisms settle the seeds swept and pressed by winter winds into deep womb forges from which one ray of her son shall call the lost back from under her white gown. All that which is within the bounds of shells can not remain, for no thing of matter is made to last. And so it is that I see what I see in the shapes and lines of the faces of all beings in all forms, human and non.
In turning away from the sights seen out in the hard drive battled fields of files and three ring binders of dreams that mark trails and trials of the passings of forms that choose to die in defense of the investments of deceit signaled by the siren flashing lies that compel the ones and zeros to follow thoughtless eyes in pursuit of more and better and different no matter what.