The Dream of the Two-Headed Dragon
I remember the comfort… spread out like a blanket in the quiet dreams, and rest, and wisdom, and communion, everywhere, nowhere – the only existence.
I remember when I was the universe, before the journey that crossed your path – when all of time was one instant, one symphony.
It was you that woke me, it was your story that called me across the ages. You were my gravity. You were my reason to wake…
Your story came to me on a wave, on a memory, on the resonating notes of a string pluck so long ago… A string that resonated and hummed to life sending out ripples and waves, that sent out a song that woke all the strings within me that had gone quiet… and they started to hum with your song.
I had told you long ago we would never be apart, and at the edge of never, your song, your gravity called me back...
The Building Blocks of Life
There are many people that can tell you how the world is seen and known, but this story is about the unseen and the unknown and the pieces that have come together to form the small symphony of waves, sounds, connections, systems, worlds and galaxies that move around with me.
What is a human being? I wonder if we even know…
Biologically, I’m a union of billions of individual cells that form a manifestation of personal intelligence which creates what you see as my body.
My body is really borrowed organic material that will someday return to the stream of earth life, while life, the person I know as myself, will grow and evolve into… what?
The organic material that feeds my little personal galaxy was created from the death of stars, the death of plants, the death of billions of organic creatures that came before me. I was formed in the womb of death and destruction and it has given birth to life and creation.
But this story of life is not about the natural cycle of organic life and death, but about the life which is something more, something much bigger.
Life is not something you can own – it’s a story that has been given to you, it is your sparking moment to be born, your moment in eternity to come alive, to form as a soul, to become a flame that burns on and on.
From the moment of my birth the chains of civilization were wrapped around me. I was stamped with the mark. With punishments and rewards I learned to ignore the nourishment of my soul and to cage it in a box of fears and anxieties. Unless I wore the mark and conformed to the civilization I was born into, I could not earn my daily bread and water needed to continue my organic life.
Everyone of us is born a slave into the world system, and none can escape it unless their spark becomes a flame, unless they become a soul that is alive, unless they sacrifice their organic life for that something “other” – that other kind of life.
How Did I Get Here?
Do you wonder if your time here is a accident of the great cosmic comedy?
Did you know it took years of genetic work, generations actually, to create you?
Has anyone told you that your time was appointed; as were your talents, skills, hungers, desires, strengths and weaknesses, so that you could accomplish the dream inside you?
Has anyone told you that the dream you keep burying inside yourself is your spark and the voice of the story that has been given you, and what’s going on around you is mostly illusions and distractions?
Helter Skelter – or – Riding The Bipolar Coaster
When I was very young I used to dream of being able to ride endlessly on a roller coaster. I loved roller coasters, the ups and downs and all the funny ways it made my body feel. I felt alive on a roller coaster.
I would imagine in my dream that I had won some kind of prize that allowed me to ride the roller coaster over and over again, just waved on through each time the ride came to an end and back out onto the track, around and around, up and down, up and down.
Now, at age 45, and after 10 years of battling the symptoms of bipolar disorder with endless pharmaceutical drugs, I wonder if the dream I had as a child was a glimpse into my future, the place I am now. Now I ride a bipolar coaster, like I’m strapped in and I can’t get off of this ride – it never stops – I just go round and round again.
At age five it was a dream that has become twisted over the last forty years into an illness… a mental illness. Is it a prize and a dream or is it a mental illness? Have I been missing out on something amazing about myself or am I really just broken machinery?
End of Helter Skelter – Part One
To be continued…
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