The farmers plant the fields ~ The chemists press the dyes ~ The weavers loom the fibers ~ The printers tile the patterns ~ The coutures sketch the shapes ~ The sewists stitch the seams ~ The agents book the backdrops ~ The models lend the bodies ~ The stylists paint the visions ~ The coiffeurs preen the mops ~ The gaffers bathe the lights ~ The shooters aim the eyes ~ The fingers pull the triggers ~ The shutters blink the nights ~ The purists patch the pores ~ The laptops push the pixels ~ The lovers click the links ~ The wallets vault the digits ~ The shippers cart the candies ~ The nudists dress the petals ~ The neighbors smell the flowers ~ The landfills clean the cities ~ The tempus kill the labors ~ The humus heal the farms ~
The ennui that figures feel is that they themselves are not the eternal perfection that the filmic moment most assuredly conveys them to be
If there is a rotten part of a banana, you cut it out, and you enjoy the banana. You donβt much bemoan the fact that you were given a rotten banana. That was only 1/10th true. But if youβre given a πππππ rotten banana. Then you take that right up with the giver
Cells replicate at a rate identical to the rotation of the earth. Altruism - thoughtless, self sacrifice - is central to their function. As a result. They are immediately reborn. Mirroring as each day, the earth itself, is reborn
True loss, is only ever the feeling of having lost the feeling of loss. That which is whole, can only ever understand loss as a facet of the temporal (not the eternal) experience of life. Yet this does not diminish the depth of its feeling. At its fullest, it is nothing if not the very shape of division. And that is not a feeling that the faculty of feeling itself can ever fully hold. That, is why it hurts. It must, be taken from us. It must be replaced by wholeness. It must be taken from us, but not torn. To tear it from us, is the birthplace of all trauma. Shock - its origin - is the sudden striking of a system. It is the glistening illustration of two (now) ruptured states. And this chasm, this gulf, this void, is different in every essential way from the nothingness of grace. It is grace that allows the rupture to exist, as it is, because it understands that it is an illusion. An infallibly convincing illusion. But still. One does not try to fix an illusion. No matter how convincing it appears to be. No matter how intensely it embodies the body. And the surest, and most effective, way to heal this void, is to enter it, with the absolute, and irrefutable, fullness of your being. And this entering itself, can be an act of rest. If you can occupy this state, then you become grace. And you come to recognize, and affirm, its healing power, as your essential nature. And you give that nature - your presence - as a gift, to all who are hurt. Who are hurting, and lost, in the chasmic rain of mirrors, known as maya