touching infinity when we sleep
free flowing while we dream
isn’t creating something new
but a bridge
between the multi-verse and you
(like math and reality are skewed)
1 + 1 mathematically equals 2
and then the reality is 1 + 1 = 3 or 4 too
not mutually exclusive
but slivers of the same truth
separate but together
depicting a more complex view
we didn’t know we already knew
through fortune cookie comments
from our subconscious
connecting outer and inner contents
free of being cautious
a turn of neuropathic events
quietly assuring us
somewhere… it all makes sense
when touching infinity while we sleep
free flowing intangible cosmic strings
#infinity #streamofconsciousness #dreams #prose #subconscious #meditation #nonfiction #truestory #inspiration
Living in a space with no windows
only one door to the outside
and there is a crack along the frame
letting in a teasing stream of light
and this is how I know what time it is...
Outside we saved seven pines
pull weeds and wayward grass
to avoid use of herbicides
-oh, but the butterflies!
Yellow, orange, blue, white
and other colors that shine
as they flit from flower (weed)
to flower (weed) (for now)
rising like towers in the sky
when the grass is your line of eye
Nevermind the stage of the sky
offering a new show ever hour
shifting in cloud cover and color
suspended in the observers mind
Yes, the bunker is imperfect
dark, damp, and without good internet
but everything else makes it worth it!
ONE COSMOS #149
created without limits
wrapping their minds around surplus- but
mind parasites tolerate one another
overcome individual possessions-
of our own minds
the whole of existence
the discarnate entities
The Future on the Tip of My Tongue
because I feel like I’ve lost the ability to communicate meaningfully.
This is not the first,
nor I imagine the last time I will feel this way,
but knowing that doesn’t seem to make it any easier to adjust.
My life is perpetually having the future on the tip of my tongue,
so tangible and real, yet I cannot seem to get it out and beyond
the notions locked inside me.
I’m no da Vinci or Einstein, no Tesla or Rife,
I’m the Muse in the shadow of their minds,
the unseen catalyst for great thinkers,
a dot on a timeline of history that never gets written,
and I’m okay with this.
I just wish- no, I work harder every day than the day before
to grasp my own meanings in terms that will make sense
to everyone else;
all the better to reach those specific individuals,
the innovators and revolutionaries
born to lead by example
and not pretty pretenses
paraded around by propaganda.
Here's to growing in a desert.
The Invisible Wall
it goes both ways
most days I know which side I'm on
but then, that'd be on top
with a view of all
and no intent to choose
just half of one
because from where I stand
there is only one side
that's been consciously separated
by all the mes in you
and all the yous in me
putting you and me on opposite sides
of an imaginary line
that makes one choose a side
believing the other side
is off limits
but that's not what I asked
and still I can't judge
because I lie just the same
in truths you can't dispute
every time I say "I'm fine"
with just enough
to sound genuine
despite the tears choking me inside
do we think we're helping each other?
do our truth-lies bridge the divide?
does it help to think we're on separate sides?
What are we missing?
The invisible wall...
Bloody Mary Mother Earth
[Chapter 1: raw; beginning and end excerpts by M.E. (201705310044)]
☼This isn’t like borrowing some Yuppie’s vacation home for a few days. It’s not even like the NASA break-in to test our moon-walk theory! THIS is going head-to-head with the F.B.I., no take-backs, no appeals, no extra-lives, and no save-point-do-overs. They have our face now, and we might know the right hands to hack and erase digital traces and burn carbon-based pages, but we can’t erase memories…☼ Florida-Lynn warned.
°Are you ready for round two, Lynn?° Iceland-Lynn inquired.
The answer was no, but inmate Anne-Marie Lynn Vaun-Wesscott was in F.B.I. custody anyway. She sat within a windowless interview room in an undisclosed field office and waited for “the specialist” to return to finish her interview. “Interview” was just a polite word for interrogation, but at least there hadn’t been any water-boarding, beatings, sleep deprivation, or electrical torture yet.
In fact, the worst of her treatment so far included not being afforded a comb or brush to handle the mop atop her head, post shower that had washed off the blood she'd been wearing when arrested. She’d only been wearing the blood when they arrested her and now they had her in a disgustingly bright yellow jump suit with federal prison issued skivvies for her questioning. It was a fashion crime, sure, but Lynn knew she couldn’t count it as cruel and unusual punishment, especially since she hadn’t request a lawyer present.
☼Murderers need lawyers, Lynn. We are Lady Justice and Justice doesn’t murder, Justice corrects the imbalances.☼
As surely as Ann-Marie Lynn Vaun-Wesscott was in the cold interrogation room, the killer was also in a warm bath in °Iceland°, and enjoying a gentle sunset in ☼Florida☼.
Since she was seventeen, she’d discovered she could in fact, be in two places at once. She could be in…three…four…five…six places at once!
Lynn had re-defined her reality in the last twenty years through the exploration of being in over a dozen places at one synchronized moment in time, but there were a slew of catches.
☼I don’t like it, Lynn. I think you should abort and we shoul-☼
°Don’t be a coward, he’s only holding your hands.°
No, it’s more than that, his grip- he’s not letting me go!
☼Abort!☼ °We don’t have the name yet!°
He’s in here.
In my mind, our mind, can’t you feel him?!
No! He’s- I don’t know, he’s wading in it, in me, my…woah…no, no,no,no,nononono-
He sees. Lady Justice. Us.
°Not all of us, Lynn, hold it together, ignore Florida, find him.°
It was too late, before she knew it, he’d found Iceland. Somewhere in his view of her mind he saw a window on the other side of a mirror in the bathroom her other self was bathing within in, occupying an otherwise abandoned Castle in Iceland. Somehow, his mind reached through- no, pushed through the thin barrier between her manifestations and invaded her most debauched of minds.
Alarmed, the inmate could do nothing but endure, unless she was willing to submit to Florida’s continued insistence she abort and they regroup. If she broke their connection to the Specialist by blinking out, she’d never know what he was doing, or what freedom his mind would allow when not observed by the F.B.I.; she'd never know why he went deeper into her mind.
Iceland was not prepared for her mind to be invaded by the Specialist, and from her perspective, the version of him she’d been imagining simply walked backwards to the mirror to meet his mental manifestation. He was real in her mind, and that made him so real she could feel him standing there on the other side of the tub as surely as she felt through Inmate-Lynn that he was still physically there and holding her hands.
°You’re a telepath.° Not a question, even if she was still questioning it herself. °Why did you come here, to me?° He’d had three minds of the same serial killer to choose from, of course the one he chose wanted to know why her.
Before the Specialist could reply, everything in Anne-Marie Lynn Vaun-Wesscott’s mind was deafened by a Pipe Organ submerged in a lava flow and played by a serpent that could reach every key at the same bloody time. They were joined and overwhelmed by raw power and raw consciousness on a level neither the Specialist, nor any version of Lynn had ever felt before.
Like a surfer caught in a sudden Tsunami, the Specialist’s mind was swept up in Lynn’s unique ability as the foreign consciousness overtook all three of her manifestations and doubled them.
Inside the interview room there were suddenly two identical inmate Lynn’s, except one was cuffed to the table and the other standing in bewilderment near the only exit, both avoiding seeing the other in her peripheral.
In Iceland, there was a manifestation of Lynn in the tub where the Specialist had found her, but another manifested just outside the bathroom on the balcony.
Florida was the first to outright close her eyes despite the sudden lack of power to stop another self from manifesting right there alongside her.
Somehow, even six Lynn’s couldn’t hold the foreign consciousness with any coherency. The original Inmate couldn’t un-see the sudden seizure that overtook the body of the Specialist, almost breaking her fingers in his mindless death-grip. She'd lost track of his consciousness, and felt only a tendril of herself in her other selves as what seemed like raw power ran the show.
Six became twelve. With a new understanding of Lynn’s ability, the foreign consciousness made more of her in totally new locations and twelve Lynn's jumped to seventeen; two in safe locations, three in bad locations.
The second she was observed in London, Tokyo, and Washington D.C. at the same time, the matrix of manifested Lynn’s began to collapse and there was nothing she could do about it. Lynn could be in as many places as she wanted, as long as she was only observed in one. She had no idea why, but that's how it was, and seeing herself be seen in four places at once ☼three, the Specialist can’t see anything, this is probably going to kill him…☼ collapsed all of the Lynn’s into one single location. At once, she blinked out of existence everywhere but one solitary location.
The location she was most consciously present in.
Florida forced Lynn to realize in the last second, she didn’t want the Specialist to die. Even knowing she’d end up in the yellow jump suit with handcuffs and ankle shackles complete with belly chain of limited mobility, she collapsed into the interview room.
The Specialist jolted back, flipping over the chair he’d abandoned, and ended up on the floor where she couldn’t see him. They'd only known one another for all of twenty minutes but Lynn couldn't bare to think he wouldn't survive. He has to survive. His touch to her was broken and she couldn’t even be sure he had his consciousness back in him when she had -
♀Gia. We are Gia. Mother Earth. Mother Nature. We must go from this place. We have work to do.♀
The killer didn't have a choice, Mother Earth had more conscious mojo and enough working knowledge of her ability to manifest a duplicate version of herself back to the Iceland Castle, and then blinked out of the interview room while the Specialist was still convulsing.
Your Soul & A Light-bulb
"I had an epiphany! I think I finally figured out how to convey what I was trying to say, in the simplest way possible!" I almost cheerfully declared poking my head through the doorless threshold between the kitchen and dinning room turned everything-but-dinner-room...
"So, in the most basic of basic terms, you see a light-bulb, you can touch it, even break it! It's a physical thing. Put an electrical current through it and it shines light! Light that reaches well beyond the bulb!"
"Right! So... your soul, inside your body, is like the light inside the light-bulb... it's your soul, your 'emotional current' that shines the light, but it shines outside your body just as the light shines outside of the bulb."
"So when I said you effect me with your negativity, I'm not saying you have power to control me. -I- get to choose what to do with how you effect me, just like I can choose to put a shade on a lamp to lesson the light that shines into a room, or walk out of the room to ignore it... that doesn't stop the light from shining, and it doesn't negate that we still effect each other to begin with."
"Awesome! So, when you turn a positive, uplifting conversation into a negative because you're thinking negatively, that's twice the 'negative' light because it's there whether you said it or not, and then you said it and gave it more power. That effects me twice, because it's there, and then you gave it more power.
"The hardest part is, you don't even know that your negative thoughts are true, in my experience 90% of them are not, and that gives the negativity even more false power because the only thing fueling it is your belief; so, by the time I feel it in your mood and again when you say it out loud, I'm being hit with stadium lighting of negativity from you, it's in your soul not mine, but it does effect me and that's why I walk away."
"Yeah... so, I made a stick-figure info-graphic... I'm going to put it on the fridge, you can think on it or I will. It wont happen over-night, communication is an infinitely evolving thing, we'll keep working on it." I concluded, wiggling the single pocket-sized sheet of paper before disappearing into the kitchen to do as promised...then, back to my passion; art.
waiting for paint to dry
shift the flow of infinity
reach the soul
neither created nor destroyed
but constantly expanding
distilled and authored
in a measure of collective
conceivable human mind
in empty space
-conduit of imagination
stroked in established words
valued by interpretive definitions
shades and shadows
layering intent and possible meanings
lead-lines and outlines
waiting for paint to dry
then, it's back to
(Artwork by Daniel Loveday : link below)
"Not quite knowing how they got here,
Humanity mans the machine day in and day out;
going in the same direction without stopping,
therefore never realizing it's self-perpetuating,
this cycle of consumption and the decimation left in it's wake.
More troubling still,
Humanity's head's down,
they've got their backs breaking
into the manned momentum of the machine,
and while they have a peripheral awareness
of the carousel they're supporting,
they never look up and never look out,
never to see what it's all really about.
They feel the gears grinding but they don't know why,
the heat is unbearable but they have to "Get by"
so, they man the machine and power the Elite.
The Elite hold themselves separate from the rest of Humanity,
content in collecting their interests and gadgetry,
living in the excesses of luxury,
above the heat and grease of the grinding gears of their strategy
as if untouched by the set-in-motion inevitability
it can't last forever, certainly...
Work IS play up here,
and the Elite intend to be fixed in the hierarchy indefinitely.
they represent the worst of the worst in greed, lust, pride, and gluttony;
akin to the four horseman (War, Famine, Death, and Pestilence)
perched on the carousel of consciousness-castrating consumerism and conditioning.
What's sin when you're the demi-gods of human society?
And then there's reality,
even over the heads of the Elite;
this carefully crafted carousel society
is in a planetary fishbowl of diversity
well beyond the nuances of Humanity.
Tragically, everything the Elite orchestrates
and Humanity operates manning the machine,
also effects animal and plant life...
more and more often right down to extinction.
It's counter clockwise to the natural order,
but only Humanity (not the Elite)
has the power to stop the machine,
to break it down and rebuild in the spirit of co-existing...
if only they'd look up and look out,
if only Humanity would see the big picture of their carousel society...
If you've been following me, you know I'm an Artist. Daniel Loveday is a fellow Artist (new) on Vangoart.co and posted in the Vango Community Board asking for a group critique. Specifically, he was asking (or interested to know) if the image meaning came through without a textual explanation. To prove that it does translate all on it's own, I wrote this prose while "reading" his artwork from the bottom up. I loved it so much I wanted to post it here with his Artwork (and he gave me permission).
Click the link to see the entire artwork (SOOOOO Worth it!!!) on Daniel's Vango Portfolio, or search "Daniel Loveday" [Artists] on the Vango Art App for apple devices.