How do I get out?
“So strange, so strange, how something so unnatural has become our norm.” she mutters to herself in her head as she sits behind the wheel in bumper-to-bumper traffic on route 95. Other thoughts more worthy wash away like a good wave ashore as she preoccupies herself about remembering trivial things like where the dress was and why her memory stick keeps on running from her. She is interrupted by how half and half makes sense. It balances our coffee out like, in life, we need half of real-to-the-touch subjects and half strictly non-material functions to remain in balance. However, the 9-to-5 function is clearly not working, hence, the mentioned traffic. It does not evoke fluidity. It deserts what she and her fellow earthlings must take care of including their bodies. It makes things harder to keep balanced and, most of all, authentic. The funny thing is that she is not doing anything from 9-to-5. The imposed norm is just heavy in the air and she lives right off route 95. This slight parallelism lies in the cradle of ironies on a thin, filmy layer of existence, perhaps.
Clear your mind. Breathe your atmosphere. See what there is. Go back to your mind and ask what it has. Most of the time, the mind will not be listening to the given instructions. It has a mind of its own and forget it has layers like a Matryoshka doll.
She is in the bathtub lingering in the solace of being in water and the peace of having loose relations with gravity. Books on tuning in with Chakras and Kundalini lay on the handy, trusty wooden “bath desk” next to her with perfumes and hair tonics towering over her and the books. When candles sit alight in this environment, every little thing will line up in her head and make sense like a good library shelf filled with books on metaphysics. Letting Divinity in is quite a grasp of its own.
Give it a shot, scramble your words and try to tell your story differently each time. Choose a different topic each time. Idealize with your eyes closed holding your breath underwater. Think while eating the world’s best crumb cake. Write facing the afternoon sun. Read under a willow tree diagonal to the setting sun. Any way you might do it, chances are your story will unfold as it is. This points way to the illusion of change and how real evolution is. I am not talking about fish growing hair to protect themselves from crazy out-of-control pollution but the subtle but emerging changes from within. There is no getting lost except for thinking you are lost.