Becoming…

To begin; I wonder where we end.

I crave the answers to questions I may never see solved.

We’re asking less and presuming more.

Disconnected assumptions are replacing the panels of cognition where thoughts are weaved into an intricately patterned shape.

Action isn’t advised. Sedation is the standard.

Listen, but don’t interpret.

React, but don’t retaliate.

Submit to the conditions forced upon us from the consequences of judicial and congressional apathy.

We’re marked for death. Not a literal, individual death, rather, the conclusion of social parameters that could have been so broad, expansive, infinite in scope.

Too many have exchanged their opportunities to embark on journeys throughout the world for wholly secular and isolated individuality.

We bartered with con-artists who sold us digital evolution as barrier-breaking, boundaryless opportunities to see, speak, hear, and understand others we may not have met otherwise.

Now the lines are drawn and filled in with color from a palette we didn’t assemble for the canvas we seek to draw upon.

A canvas once open to interpretation through the oscillating nature of universal experiences pinpointed by the glimmering crystals of perception.

The conspirator will say our hands were guided to pen the lines that have segregated our species.

An irrational thinker will refract their image as an opportunity to blame someone else’s reflection.

A rational mind has already considered how we respond with the hand we’ve been dealt is one to be reckoned with earnestly, honestly, and truthfully.

To have the ability to speak at all is one of life’s greatest gifts, but if we speak through the passages of someone else’s lies, through a prism designed to filter light onto expenses while shading out the lives of others, we are no longer speaking in a tongue that favors the totality of human life. The sanctity of life is to pursue and preserve the fullness of it, in all of its forms from the most privileged, to the burdens of lingering hardship anchoring those who would just like to see the baseline as a place that could be experienced rather than imagined.

If we have the ability to unsheathe the keys to release others from the shackles that have bound them to a life of physical and economical sorrow perpetrated by the financiers and manufacturers of sin, we must release the locks forged in industrial fires with the grace of our spirit.

The contrast between what is manufactured to be and our natural becoming then exposes the fullness of the human spirit from all angles when we dismantle the vices of a social unbecoming.

For a moment this realization will glare with a sharpness too bright for our eyes to initially perceive as anything other than intrusive, obstructive, or harmful to our previous conceptions of a life lived without those who now join us.

The action doesn’t stop there.

We attune our senses to shape conversation around lived-in experiences.

Our minds now capable of absorbing the sense of other-ness we seek to achieve in this life or after.

Colors exist more vibrantly.

Mindfully we move matter beyond the preconceived limits of the space we inhabit now that we better understand it together.

We’ve manifested a human experience as one no longer imagined, but fully lived in as a reality beyond the platforms of constructs and social contracts manipulating the significance of such a moment into trivial details. Which is to say, poison. The very chemical of the social engineers that once sedated us into believing nirvana was an impossibility.

The life of industry and enterprise, the false propheteering of commerce being a finite resource as a means of enslaving the mind - and subsequently the body - into a perpetual cycle of work feels like an eternity ago.

The catharsis.

The bliss.

The open-aired freedom of clear-eyed imagination built through emotional outreach is contextualized further by the very art we envision in our deepest dreams, our mindful escapes spontaneously intervening throughout the routine that once bound our spirit to a nation as a slave rather than the universe's manifestation of the molecular materializing thoughts spurred from the depths of the subliminal quadrants of the mind as a definitive reconstruction of possibility.

We shouldn’t have to work so hard to achieve it if we were simply allowed to be it as frequently as we’d like.

If we can dream it, does that not mean we have the ability to see it?

Perhaps not as clearly as we see this moment, but there is truly little effort in lifting the veil that once obscured that which we can see through feeling.

And inevitably that which we feel can materialize into the ‘seen’...

The ‘experienced’...

The ‘gathering’...

The ultimate ‘becoming’...

So, then, we end up recollecting from whence we came.

During that time, we don’t dream of the past - we can’t - but we consider how this journey began and how we learned from its contexts to completely understand how the past bleeds with patterns that decorated the palette we were forced to paint with.

With all the time in the world to freely move across the surface of the blank canvas with those colors, we can fully observe the gravity of the anguish across all dimensions of consciousness.

Now, more than it ever could have been then, the fullness of the human experience is totally realized as one to be seen.

Sown.

Sung.

Shared all along.

We need not worry where our tears may fall when we get there. The Earth will receive the salt of our bodies to quench the thirst it yearns for.

She will receive, and reciprocate, that which we have shown her we are capable of becoming…