Seeing, blinking, coming to light

My partner and I have spent a lot of time trying to recall what it was that changed everything for us. We’ve considered the obvious options: backing away from media influence, fostering open-mindedness, understanding our upbringing. We’ve thought maybe it was just turning off the goddamn propaganda machine. Of course, all of these all carry some water. Some more than others. Here is one we had completely forgotten:


Back when we first had this inclination that the things we’d been taught had some poison, some bad, some big hole in them. Back when we were first started searching, trying, scrabbling after some kind of understanding of what the point of it all was. Back when we were desperate to know  what could be done. I had these dreams. I haven’t looked at them since I recalled one in PDX. Mostly, because along with their religious symbols – I’ve thrown them out.

And yet. These “end of the world” dreams helped to spark it all. Turned my attention to something I had not seen. Caught my eye and made me think. At the time, they were unavoidable. I wrote them all down in a little notebook by the side of the bed.
They are, for your edification, here: Screeching Brakes.

Naturally, they are steeped heavily in the images I was familiar with at the time. This, I believe now, only gave me access to them. What were they for? Only the blossoming of the thought that led us down the road we are on now. A lonely country road where we sometimes walk together, sometimes walk alone. For what they’re worth, they were worth a world to me.

Like tarot is now.*

Do you remember how much we talked about heaven and death, doce?Because I do. It took a hell of a long time to come to the realisation that a heaven full of trillions upon trillions, increasing exponentially every single generation – just makes no sense. Cram that many individuals into anything and what do you get: mayhem.

Over time, we discarded the concepts of heaven. It was hard. We had been taught to love them. Life without them was a waste. Oh, what a waste.

With those, quickly, went religion. But, never mysticism for me. Never that magical edge of it. There’s something there. Myths, I swear to god, all connect at critical points. I haven’t been able to find them all, yet. I’m looking. I’ll unify it – you’ll see.

The hunt is a strange one. And how often did I dream of having to do this alone?
We, minha amai, are alone. It has been a feeling we had been trying to circumvent. We tried to edge past it. We tried to counteract. And yet-

It is better than unnumbered nights staring at a singular star, hoping I’d go supernova.
Knowing, without a goddamn doubt, that I was cursed. Done for. Written out.

Fuck all that.
What’s wrong with me is wrong with all of us.
What breaks in me breaks in you, too.
What blame I carry is the curse of my own inability to aim, and the training the past gave me to show me how that was okay.

We did kill Able, siblings. Call Able the giants and maybe you gain access to a different thought. Call it Neanderthal and maybe you see a better angle. Does it glitter? Does it shine?

No. That blood’s still on us.
Can we ignore that we are not peace-loving, non-violent anything? Can we pretend that our story is not a string of endless fighting, one-upping, death and destruction?
Did you think you could pull that from your veins?

Ha. We are the deceivers. The liars and the cheats. We are the dead, lost, stabbed through with black hearts. We are selfish, disjointed, suffering only from our own delusion of such grandeur we impose.

Oh, life could be simple, mean, basic – and yet “good”. We could take life for whatever it is, let it pass through us, and breathe in again at some later stage. We would, if nothing else, do less harm. Oh, but we can’t fucking let it alone, can we minha amigos?

Seiko ney. Exactly no.

So, we thrash and drown and stare at singular stars, praying to non-existent gods that we will – for once – go supernova.

I haven’t yet. I don’t expect it’s coming.
In the end, I’ll probably be terrified of my own end, and then die.

This is the reality of life.
You life for a while and you die.
Then the living life eats you up and you live forever.

Do words elude these concepts? Always.
They come before the structure, the thought before the language, the wind before the sign. And so, our attempts to reach them are like scientific theory without equations. You can approach, but never delve within. We only ever traverse the surface.

Like a circle talking about a sphere.

*On that note, recall:
The Moon, Page of Pentacles, Two of Wands — Five of Wands


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