I was standing in the living room, looking out across the lowlands, at all the trees gently swaying, the pines towering behind like green rocky mountains.... and being an artist, I began to pick out the patterns of color, denoting different stands of trees by species. They looked distantly like a latch-hook rug I'd seen once, maybe in my living room. That made me think of that living room and the parties I'd had when all my friends would come and have fun in my living room... and, of course I was still in a living room, if one included the trees, like my friends. Well, truth be told, I think of the trees as my friends, and now all my friends have children and their children and so forth and go forth.
So there's all these families out there, each doing their thing. There's a new kid, a weeping willow by the culvert, and he's getting big for his age. I kept trying to get one started on the other side nearest the house, but they never took. Probably the runoff from the road.
All those families just outside, each doing things and tossing off kids, all breathing in some way or another, and I hear sending out chemical patterns which could be communication. They were complex enough to carry as much information as a dolphin's sqeal. It could be a cacapohy of chemical, and maybe positional, communications, like the birds when the sun comes up. That's the best time of the day, when the dew is rising and the birds are just chattering away. But I digress.
It's the sight of all these faces, all these families, dependent upon one another for so much, and me, just over the rise, spreading my trash their direction. I have a leach field, which has got to gross.. or not. It may seem like a great vein of vitamen ore... vitamen O. Oh, I don't know.
But still, all those faces, like the faces of the people down in that city with bodies floating past and young men staying to save a pupy, sending his children ahead with his sweetheart.
Lately I have been finding myself introducing myself to various parts of my yard, carefully leaving behind evidence of my having been there in the form of breath, body heat, and vibration. If one was a true pagan working under the assuption of a Mother of Life, then I'm surrounded by siblings. There's a distinct possiblity of my proteins residing in the cells of those faces, like old photos of Belle Starr looking like my Dad in sepia skirts. "Yo, Bro! Nice, looking petals! Very nice." and so forth, and go forth.
So maybe waste going through the body of the Mother of Life Herself becomes Life for my brothers, sisters and others? Amazing, like shit flowing downhill will eventually become compost. Just don't eat the mushrooms. But there you see it, in both reality and symbol: Nawlins the great is dead. Anything coming after will be a pale, sickly, addled version of itelf. But the soil of the flesh of our mother is like the tides, ruled by the same forces and given to the same rages... things change, and they never can be what they were, but they will always be what they were, that's been done. Now we'll see if something can be done with the ripples.
Gee, if I hadn't been reading the Kyballion and watching the Pirates of the Caribbean, I woulda missed it. There's this scene where the gold coin of the Aztecs hits the water and a big "whooom" goes off, they show the wave going out thru the water and, apparently thru the air, it made me think of the 3 dimensional nature of the wave and the fact that I could Hear the wave, See the wave, in both waterous and airborne forms, but I could never see all the dimensions of the wave, because my Knowlege depends on my ability to Understand. Ya gotta think for knowlege to make sense. I guess that's why I keep thinking about it, and the idea that my grand dad Tate died from pneumonia he got after helping out in the flood of the Ohio.
And Dad gathering up the bodies in India, the boiled and torn bodies floating in the bay. And Nawlins got hit so hard all at once that there weren't even enough people to kill to satisfy the wind. So the Earth coughed up her dead again and now there newly dead are floating alongside the long dead, and just to show you that times have gotten worse, the long dead have nicer clothes! And a boat.
So my hands shake and I have to think but not think and not try to put myself in all those shoes, but...
looking out at all those families I wonder, I knew that when the flood came, the little valley would flood, but not my house. But all those familes would get drowned and uprooted. And they already have, all over the earth. It's call multi-dimensional transmigration and don't you worry about a thing! It's the natural Order of Things under the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics. Yup, the same Law which disproves evolution and by disproving evolution, things can only get worse from here and the dead shall walk again. Or just float by in a nice suit in a nice box. I am sure that in the long run it will be all sepia toned like an old photo of a family gathering. The last before the flood came or the turn of the century, or the turn of the screw...
There's a cricket in the basment, like a loudmouth Archie or not maybe he's saying something very significant, something in ascii and I've gone to gui. Gone to gooey. I get that when I wash too many dishes all at once. It's good to know when to stop.