The Spirit of Time

It has been decided. The human has no idea about itself yet science is its sword. And they are horrible at fighting with it. People seem to be caught in a desire struck loop, in a pseudo psychotic ideology of a flat earth alike idealism, and need to face the world as it has become rather then as it has been judged, empirically. Great works of hundreds of parts stating that we do not know. Party on, the idea is great, the love, lovely.

Well at least we are having fun. Pushing the zeitgeist towards a new world without war aint easy I guess. Too much pressure on the economical dispersion combined with some marketing towards hate for any others, without those who are reading about it understanding any of it. All the clever guys I meet just stay fully on their path and thus will  change nothing because of their rigidly set programming. So something has to change. Luckily everything always changes. Someone has to envoke the timechangers.

However who am I? Let me look at myself first. Ouch. Incommensurable beyond. Wild usage of language even. Thus I started trolling the concept of Poetry until I feel less extreme. Who knows; maybe there are poems to be found here one day. Yet another expression along the great divine premise of creating within creation. As it is supposed to be.

Yet all of that becomes secondary to finding God within. The holy spirit.  What? Where? Inside, following the logic that made all. Say, getting through the maze of the mandala by looking inside one’s own programming. Let me try to explain;

Our actions and visions are all part of God’s mandala. We have little different option then to work with those thoughts, or even views, we move within. Even the broadening of our horizons, can only lead to seeing more through the logic that made all, within the part of the mandala.

This mandala is the well known geometrical pattern that is symbolically showing us the metaphysical layering of our cosmos.

When we are able to parse openly, the logical programming that made us allows us to use our energy to move our vision. This would be called many things, depending on where in that mandala we are looking, such as becoming, overcoming, holy spirit, creating from within and so on.

Much of the sacred and or secret wisdom we pass around, stories about the inner eye, treatises on meditation and many religious works are about the positioning of our view, say, the ability to see, for in this Mandala, we are a sub logical feature until we learn to logically see, innate, alike we learn to walk.

Weird? No; this whole world is upside down!

Where this world is based upon feelings, and doing anything except trying to reach the next level. Where people listen with memories instead of understanding. Where physical style is not a representation of functionality, it is a hollow expenditure of life energy. Where love is insecurity mixed with greed and addiction to feelings, where life seems impossible without hurting others. This whole world is upside down. We need to flip it back.

So what is different ?

Still I get pulled from left to right by all of my senses. Reality drips through a raggedy cloth drenched in beliefs and understanding by others.

When I shut up, the world becomes clear to me. How I want and need. How I dream and head. How music works on feelings deep inside of me as if it is some biological form of mathematics defining the reality that no longer drips through; I have become a sponge.

And then I talk. With my voice, my chest, my memories of words and the meaning of what I am trying to say. The reality of everything seeps away and I become me. Full of emotions, such as anger about myself being stuck within this body with all the useless desire.

Still I get swiped from left to right. Biological beauty seems best defined as a sweet children’s rhyme where the beast is innocent and man a brute, forever stuck between the need for more and the wish to be good.

Aside from the general rhyming I feel quite mad, dreaming of utopia’s where no one ever needs to feel sad. Try moving ahead whilst I always return to the beast laying dormant wanting to be loved, tonight. Sad is a feeling and the beast within is just fine, alright.

Yet the morning always brings contemporary light and the sky a billion shades, of which just a few grey. As well as the friends I never congratulate, there is no problem, fear or hate, I am just not here right now. And once I am it’s always too late.

Don’t wait up, I will be busy for a while. Trying to feed the world, stop the big brutal wars and the sneaky economical fight. First inside myself, then my raggedy cloth. I wonder about the world yet sometimes I understand our wrong and right.

“Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tonight.”