Here's something you might be interested in.
I b right on Brighton... Brighton Avenue alley and late Sunday afternoon and our Universe's Heart, the Lantern for a Milky Way is a raging Fireball of Orange... Warmth for those of us on varied paths, crossing paths with its path... And its path is falling back into an exit point of horizon and into an entry point of horizon... Sunset and Sunrise, switch positions like Kama Sutra lovers and reflect off of OB homes windows and doors, windchimes, and the rearview mirrors and windshields of parked cars along the street. Kaleidoscopic... A Clockwork of Orange... A world's wax melting into the flickering Candleholders of Light...
Three kids with dirty faces... The two oldest are 8 or 9, the small one, 6 or 7... They're playing with play pistols, Dirty Harry's, Little Rascals, you, before Conditioned Existence stomped your imagination out like a campfire, a shred of decency, a different idea of Being, since no one thought Being up, a Kent State protest, a 60's Revolution, a Wal-mart greeter opening an X-mas shopping season, a dude named Jesus, who only asked for folks to be kind to one another, a slaves 401K plan, an 'illegal lodger lodging and a cop just doing his JOB, a question 'why', an answer, if you were lucky enough to your original question 'why', a life, as a life attempted to end another life with a gun and a different flag... A different flag?
So yah... The two older boys are shooting pretend bullets, from behind the cover of a parked car at the youngest ones's head. It's the only part of his body you can see and this because it's barely poking up over the top of a sagging wooden fence enclosing his sandlot backyard.
The little fellow, the talking head, is blasting back. His eyes wide shut. All of their tiny hands, forearms, foreheads tensed and all of them having fun and spit flying through the air like confetti as the words 'your it', 'no you it' richochet back and forth with the pretend bullets bouncing between an alley of separation.
The little rascal's name is Louie. He looks like the kid who played the young Luke Skywalker. I suppose the moment has been an effect and cause for pause because I just don't see many kids playing outdoors these days. Let alone using their imaginations, regardless of a bullet-blossoming from out of the Flower Of Conditioned Existence.
"You're it"!
"Nuh uh... You're it"!
"Your it"!
"No... You're it"!
And now I can understand why moms have probably kicked sons out of houses to play. Mothers and sons. Fathers and daughters. Light Life sentences on Death Row. The little guy, especially, has 'Got Lungs' . Those screaming lungs, that cause permanent parental hearing loss. I'm okay... I'm covered by His health insurance... I haven't grown up and so I have no premiums or monthly payments to make toward the Policy. I don't even have an address that they could be mailed too. Yes, it's fool coverage and I need only keep this Blessed Life's essence in His Will.
"You are it and we get a 35 second head start."
"Thirty-five seconds..."
Louie's words get slowly drawn out, like our schooling, like another brick in the wall and only serve to buy him some time to swallow the rules and passive-aggressively object to the scheme of things.
"Yeppers... It's 35 seconds a life and we shot you first the last time. So you are still it."
And that was it! A little brother saving moment. I, a witness, could not be a witness to the older boys ganging up on the grubby tike. So I pop off my own round, saying to Louie,
"I'll bet... That you are always it Lou..." And then I look at the other two and say,
"And what's this 35 seconds a life headstart thing all about"?
My three new amigos heads all turn like I'm the driver of the surreal singing ice cream truck passing thru or a WII commercial that's just flashed across the television. Louie's nodding his head yes and the two older thugs feel their case beginning to slip away. The dark haired one busts out with a spirited damage control,
"Louie's it! And he got shot first. So that means we get a 35 second headstart."
His partner nods his head, confirming the laws that govern little boy world's. It's simple arithmetic, 2 versus 1, and the consensus has homefield advantage here. It's no different than the world of grown-ups. It's their Reality and it's also another where ever 2 or 3 are gathered in His name game of bullsh$t. It's the latest Divine Comedy in Dante Aligheri's, 'Para-dizzy-O' and the Spell is spinning it as real as real gets in little-boy-land.
I shrug my shoulders like it's Catholic school all over again and the good Sister has just 'answered' my question. Louie shrugs his too and they sprout up over the fence like weeds or ideas... And I begin a Christopher walking up the the alley all mysterious like as Louie starts counting. The 'law-makers' run past me and one goes into a neighbors garage, who may or may not know that their a neighbors garage. The other one runs to almost the end of the alley and crouch's behind a blue bin of wonder like a tiger who's now a hidden dragon. Louie's counting voice doesn't fade as the numbers grow higher like a System of a Down's concert decibel level. Just like the little ones birthdays and thus their ages will climb as they get the programming required to survive a reality where they will no longer have the 'numbers' for play-games but more than enough consensus to play JOB for 50 or so weeks a year with maybe 2 for themselves. See how simple the math stays in our evolving world...
As I'm walking I wonder how things would roll if our life expectancies were a mere 35 seconds at any given moment and then I realize, THEY ARE! It's only that flimsy 'reality' card we keep playing against ourselves that's making the rules of the game up. It's only Cartesian-Newtonian ideology. It's only what goes up must come down. It's only the early bird that catchs the worm. It's only 2 wrongs that don't make a right but what if that right, made you the early bird catching the worm?
I walk past the crouching tiger as Louie continues counting, continues murdering shrieked numbers in a murder by numbers game of hide and seek.
"33, 34, 35..."
I slowly turn back around. Ah... Once again, like the 'homeless' gig, I find myself back behind the scenes of the game. I'm back to doing all one can seemingly do if seeking a larger reality. I'm witnessing. I'm simply witnessing how it all plays out. Louie holds his pistol with the barrel pointed toward a darkening sky. A natural born killer begins flashing his gun and his eyes around empty spaces of OB. I silently, to myself, begin doing my own math. I begin thinking this all out on my own. Some might call it being a troublemaker or even goes as far to suggest anarchy and we can't have any of that here in consensus land. Cause what goes up, must again, come down and doesn't a bear poop in the woods? And the grass, greener on the other side but what if the power of belief, which has created everything we know, or psychic energy kept something suspended in mid air and that bear pooped on the other side? Would the grass still be greener?
And there is absolutely no doubt that anarchy, now, in this reality, with the present state Good Citizen awareness being what it is, to unquestionably result in catastrophic chaos of epic proportion but I wonder or should I say, I Lennon-like Imagine that with a different awareness, say higher... With some different numbers and a different ideology, free of say money and fear if anarchy, or each of us playing God wouldn't just work out all Jim Dandy. I mean isn't it a lot like only the strong, or the rich, surviving now? Sure seems like it...
So Louie is clueless... 35 seconds a life has turned into a lifetime for our little hero, our young Skywalker... Where could they be? And then it hits me like a ton of love. I'm not playing their game. I'm wandering around OB like a loose thread, and like Jesus might have with no home or job or any of that God's only begotten son bullsh$t and thus the resulting separation from God Bamboozlement. I'm playing God. I'm witnessing Him every moment, watching them, Gods, regardless of the flimsy reality with the even flimsier rules that have been created here by fear and numbers.
I am right Here in that moment and I'm perfect and unlimited. I can do whatever I want joyously. I can tie this thing up. I can tie a knot in this reality right now and make it 2 to 2. So I dig down deep into my own screaming lungs and I FK'ING SCREAM....
"Louie! Louie! He's right here! Behind the blue trash can! Right here! Right Now Louie"!
Louie smiles for the first time since I've joined this mix and he comes running with a gun justa blazing. The Hide n Seek game is almost finished... 35 seconds a life... They could only keep hiding from themselves for so long...
I b right on Brighton... Brighton Avenue alley and late Sunday afternoon and our Universe's Heart, the Lantern for a Milky Way is a raging Fireball of Orange... Warmth for those of us on varied paths, crossing paths with its path... And its path is falling back into an exit point of horizon and into an entry point of horizon... Sunset and Sunrise, switch positions like Kama Sutra lovers and reflect off of OB homes windows and doors, windchimes, and the rearview mirrors and windshields of parked cars along the street. Kaleidoscopic... A Clockwork of Orange... A world's wax melting into the flickering Candleholders of Light...
Three kids with dirty faces... The two oldest are 8 or 9, the small one, 6 or 7... They're playing with play pistols, Dirty Harry's, Little Rascals, you, before Conditioned Existence stomped your imagination out like a campfire, a shred of decency, a different idea of Being, since no one thought Being up, a Kent State protest, a 60's Revolution, a Wal-mart greeter opening an X-mas shopping season, a dude named Jesus, who only asked for folks to be kind to one another, a slaves 401K plan, an 'illegal lodger lodging and a cop just doing his JOB, a question 'why', an answer, if you were lucky enough to your original question 'why', a life, as a life attempted to end another life with a gun and a different flag... A different flag?
So yah... The two older boys are shooting pretend bullets, from behind the cover of a parked car at the youngest ones's head. It's the only part of his body you can see and this because it's barely poking up over the top of a sagging wooden fence enclosing his sandlot backyard.
The little fellow, the talking head, is blasting back. His eyes wide shut. All of their tiny hands, forearms, foreheads tensed and all of them having fun and spit flying through the air like confetti as the words 'your it', 'no you it' richochet back and forth with the pretend bullets bouncing between an alley of separation.
The little rascal's name is Louie. He looks like the kid who played the young Luke Skywalker. I suppose the moment has been an effect and cause for pause because I just don't see many kids playing outdoors these days. Let alone using their imaginations, regardless of a bullet-blossoming from out of the Flower Of Conditioned Existence.
"You're it"!
"Nuh uh... You're it"!
"Your it"!
"No... You're it"!
And now I can understand why moms have probably kicked sons out of houses to play. Mothers and sons. Fathers and daughters. Light Life sentences on Death Row. The little guy, especially, has 'Got Lungs' . Those screaming lungs, that cause permanent parental hearing loss. I'm okay... I'm covered by His health insurance... I haven't grown up and so I have no premiums or monthly payments to make toward the Policy. I don't even have an address that they could be mailed too. Yes, it's fool coverage and I need only keep this Blessed Life's essence in His Will.
"You are it and we get a 35 second head start."
"Thirty-five seconds..."
Louie's words get slowly drawn out, like our schooling, like another brick in the wall and only serve to buy him some time to swallow the rules and passive-aggressively object to the scheme of things.
"Yeppers... It's 35 seconds a life and we shot you first the last time. So you are still it."
And that was it! A little brother saving moment. I, a witness, could not be a witness to the older boys ganging up on the grubby tike. So I pop off my own round, saying to Louie,
"I'll bet... That you are always it Lou..." And then I look at the other two and say,
"And what's this 35 seconds a life headstart thing all about"?
My three new amigos heads all turn like I'm the driver of the surreal singing ice cream truck passing thru or a WII commercial that's just flashed across the television. Louie's nodding his head yes and the two older thugs feel their case beginning to slip away. The dark haired one busts out with a spirited damage control,
"Louie's it! And he got shot first. So that means we get a 35 second headstart."
His partner nods his head, confirming the laws that govern little boy world's. It's simple arithmetic, 2 versus 1, and the consensus has homefield advantage here. It's no different than the world of grown-ups. It's their Reality and it's also another where ever 2 or 3 are gathered in His name game of bullsh$t. It's the latest Divine Comedy in Dante Aligheri's, 'Para-dizzy-O' and the Spell is spinning it as real as real gets in little-boy-land.
I shrug my shoulders like it's Catholic school all over again and the good Sister has just 'answered' my question. Louie shrugs his too and they sprout up over the fence like weeds or ideas... And I begin a Christopher walking up the the alley all mysterious like as Louie starts counting. The 'law-makers' run past me and one goes into a neighbors garage, who may or may not know that their a neighbors garage. The other one runs to almost the end of the alley and crouch's behind a blue bin of wonder like a tiger who's now a hidden dragon. Louie's counting voice doesn't fade as the numbers grow higher like a System of a Down's concert decibel level. Just like the little ones birthdays and thus their ages will climb as they get the programming required to survive a reality where they will no longer have the 'numbers' for play-games but more than enough consensus to play JOB for 50 or so weeks a year with maybe 2 for themselves. See how simple the math stays in our evolving world...
As I'm walking I wonder how things would roll if our life expectancies were a mere 35 seconds at any given moment and then I realize, THEY ARE! It's only that flimsy 'reality' card we keep playing against ourselves that's making the rules of the game up. It's only Cartesian-Newtonian ideology. It's only what goes up must come down. It's only the early bird that catchs the worm. It's only 2 wrongs that don't make a right but what if that right, made you the early bird catching the worm?
I walk past the crouching tiger as Louie continues counting, continues murdering shrieked numbers in a murder by numbers game of hide and seek.
"33, 34, 35..."
I slowly turn back around. Ah... Once again, like the 'homeless' gig, I find myself back behind the scenes of the game. I'm back to doing all one can seemingly do if seeking a larger reality. I'm witnessing. I'm simply witnessing how it all plays out. Louie holds his pistol with the barrel pointed toward a darkening sky. A natural born killer begins flashing his gun and his eyes around empty spaces of OB. I silently, to myself, begin doing my own math. I begin thinking this all out on my own. Some might call it being a troublemaker or even goes as far to suggest anarchy and we can't have any of that here in consensus land. Cause what goes up, must again, come down and doesn't a bear poop in the woods? And the grass, greener on the other side but what if the power of belief, which has created everything we know, or psychic energy kept something suspended in mid air and that bear pooped on the other side? Would the grass still be greener?
And there is absolutely no doubt that anarchy, now, in this reality, with the present state Good Citizen awareness being what it is, to unquestionably result in catastrophic chaos of epic proportion but I wonder or should I say, I Lennon-like Imagine that with a different awareness, say higher... With some different numbers and a different ideology, free of say money and fear if anarchy, or each of us playing God wouldn't just work out all Jim Dandy. I mean isn't it a lot like only the strong, or the rich, surviving now? Sure seems like it...
So Louie is clueless... 35 seconds a life has turned into a lifetime for our little hero, our young Skywalker... Where could they be? And then it hits me like a ton of love. I'm not playing their game. I'm wandering around OB like a loose thread, and like Jesus might have with no home or job or any of that God's only begotten son bullsh$t and thus the resulting separation from God Bamboozlement. I'm playing God. I'm witnessing Him every moment, watching them, Gods, regardless of the flimsy reality with the even flimsier rules that have been created here by fear and numbers.
I am right Here in that moment and I'm perfect and unlimited. I can do whatever I want joyously. I can tie this thing up. I can tie a knot in this reality right now and make it 2 to 2. So I dig down deep into my own screaming lungs and I FK'ING SCREAM....
"Louie! Louie! He's right here! Behind the blue trash can! Right here! Right Now Louie"!
Louie smiles for the first time since I've joined this mix and he comes running with a gun justa blazing. The Hide n Seek game is almost finished... 35 seconds a life... They could only keep hiding from themselves for so long...