reflections from the wrong side of the glass

i like to stare out windows, at ceilings, walls, people. the mindlessness of it. the longing of it. of watching something happen outside of you, almost opens a portal to the infinite longing that lives within. i find myself wanting so many things, craving so many things, longing.

there’s a tree outside of this window, a big apartment building. all of the apartment windows have three rectangles up and down and double panes. i can’t see through, just some pieces of furniture in some windows. most are empty, waiting for people with their hammers and nails to come in and make it into something. the tree is just there, sometimes the leaves sway, sometimes not. the cars pass by and the people skate, bike, walk. most don’t even notice i’m watching them. the gate opens and closes and i can’t see anyone coming in or out, i just assume they are because the gate is opening, and closing.

but it’s quite possible that there’s no one coming in or out. that it’s simply opening or closing because it’s a malfunction, or an illusion- the way the light hits the gate. i also don’t know where any of the people are going, or where they came from or if they’re even human. i’m sure most of you have noticed the rise of the robot. modern day transformers. except they stay robots and forget their human origins. i can hear them in the background as i watch the tree deciding to sway, or not.

they sound like clones, obsessively speaking about falsities taken to be realities. synthetic. i can hear the malfunctions in their voice, the periods of silence where they don’t know what else to choke up. constant chatter, constant noise fills the looking glass. as it’s reflections divert away from the image it so poignantly places on display.

but on the other side of the glass… it’s quiet, slow, contemplative. nuanced, generalized. mindless. shapeless. all left to interpretation. to illusion. to imagination.

i want to live inside the glass. cross the threshold to the other side. live amongst the nuance, fully embrace the mindlessness. sway with the trees, contemplate coming and going with the cars and the bikes. walk in the peace. i don’t want to be on this side anymore with it’s loudness and empty chatter. i want to be on the other side.

the cyclical nature of creation

reading helps me find my voice. just as “ello poppet” helps me speak a british accent. and “pulling a string” on my body helps me to create a character in improv. for every creation there is a model. if this is true then who created the first model? did the originators of all creations model their creations after anything other than the visions in their heads?

reading helps me find my voice. picks me up and places me into a world where there are only words, there is only literature. all else is white noise to the soundtrack of the writer. i read and words flow to me like i am the shore and the words are the ocean. endlessly crashing into me, seemingly retreating but always coming back to caress my feet. words are truly magical, they create nations and burn them down. they light the fires of love and give meaning to the days and nights. what would the world be without words? what would we use to express, how would we communicate? what other universal form of interaction would we create? would all be music? art? and without a universal model, would there be endless originality? endless creation? or is all creativity recycled at some point in time?

it seems an absolute truth to me that without eachother we can not create. however it also seems to me a truth that with eachother we can not create. something of a yin and yang this thought. that in order to create there must be a certain cyclical element specific to the art of creation and a certain linear element specific to the creator.

my mind spins with ideas. i am rich in ideas yet so so poor in creation. ideas are only ideas if they are not put to action. i could drown in a sea of ideas before i ever build a raft. however when i allow myself to look around the sea, maybe dive below and explore the carcasses of the past. i am overcome with ideas, with inspiration. i could build a million rafts from simply seeing that one raft was built one million years ago. there is something comforting in the knowledge that one of the mystery humans of the past has had similar ideas and of them created a raft with which to float amongst them.

all this to say, when we save ourselves, we save others. when we allow ourselves to create, to be; when we have the courage to create a model, a blueprint of a raft in which to float the sea of life. we create a portal into the minds of others, which they can tap into for centuries to come.

this is the cyclical nature of creation.

i love u

“the visible is a shadow cast by the invisible” ~ plato

I keep “The Measure of a Man” by Dr. Martin Luther King JR. on my desk. I just picked it up and opened to a page that revealed to me the true poetic nature of Dr. King.

He writes:

“Something should remind us once more that the great things in the universe are things that we never see. You walk out at night and look up at the beautiful stars as they bedeck the heavens like swinging lanterns of eternity, and you think you can see all. Oh, no. You can never see the law of gravitation that holds them there. You walk around this vast campus and you probably have a great esthetic experience as I have had walking about and looking at the beautiful buildings, and you think you see all. Oh, no. You can never see the mind of the architect who drew the blueprint. You can never see the love and the faith and the hope of the individuals who made it so. You look at me and you think you see Martin Luther King. You don’t see Martin Luther King; you see my body, but, you must understand, my body can’t think, my body can’t reason. You don’t see the me that makes me me. You can never see my personality. In a real sense everything we see a shadow cast by that which we do not see.”

Dr. Martin Luther King JR.

Dr. King was a man of a deep rooted faith. A strong argument could be created that he believed in the unseen more than anyone else of his time. For it was because of his blind faith and infinite vision that he was able to lead us to the mountaintop. He had seen the promised land, whether it be in a vision or in his dreams. He had seen something which no one else had seen, and he believed in it wholeheartedly. He fought for this vision so graciously and so righteously that he convinced an entire nation of people to walk behind him. Many of which, including me, still do; years after his passing.

I share this today to redirect us to the connectivity and oneness of all things. The computer i’m typing on originated in the mind of a fellow human. But i will never see the courage with which he built it, the determination he had when creating it. All i see is the product of this. I see the final vision. The same is true for traffic lights, pens, television, art, music, etc. The same is true for all that we see in this current moment. All that we see is made possible due to all we can not and will never see.

It is very important to pay attention to every moment. For we do not know which moments are the invisible ones that will give birth to the visions of eternity, we do not know which thoughts, moments, ideas are the mothers of the future. We must nurture ourselves and love ourselves. Follow our deepest passions with the purest form of love and diligence fathomable. We are blind at the feet of feeling, of experience. So why then is it so difficult for us to trust, to believe in the things we can not see. We do this all the time subconsciously. We accept so many shadows of the invisible as true, as facts. So what is it that blocks us from extending this same trust to our conscious daily life?

All has come from another, an invisible source. Even we. So, I pose these follow-up questions for reflection: If we can see the product of the source, isn’t that testament that the source exists? For without a source, there is no existence?

For all creations there must be a creator.

thank u for reading my beloved humans on the other end of the internet void. i love u.