Pygmies in the Background
When the two become as one, then & only then, will you enter the Kingdom of God.
-Jesus, The Gospel of Thomas
So, I wrote most of a post a couple of days ago that was blatantly unnecessary. Covering emotions. This online blogging thing is odd. You get an audience in your head, an imagined audience. Purely speculative. I feel a responsibility to go against convention. While the phrase what man has not encountered he has not destroyed is true on a certain level, what man has not brought to a conscious level he has not fully integrated into his soul. Journal writing, which I have done sparely, I've always fancied as this romantic, confessional vessel for the underpinnings. The lassoes of threads supporting the obviously viewed fabric. The editor-critic looms of course, everyone needs a functioning bullshit detector. I've kept a lot of my necessitous grime on the wayside, my daily loops with my crushaholic moods, my social anxieties, little joys that I might write in a private journal but that would lose their special flavor if put on display.
Since Amy reads this, I'm aware of her. Mars. Ahniwa. Maybe Alexis. The forest ranger dude who commented but in my hermeticism I didn't respond to, even though his blog is quite nice. Since reading that I've thought I might like to be a forest ranger since I lose my taste for the city the longer I interact with concrete & witness the scarcity of trees. Light looks better in a natural environment. Few things are more basic to a personal existence than a quality of space. The greener I get year by year the more apparent it is that I will have to find a means to own & steward a piece of land. How I dream of owning a dog! One of my prime motivations. Even with this willfulness of purposeful writing I have the responsibility to chronicle some of my shit. The main ticket on the hollywood sign has most often been my dealing with the Rachael debacle. Sometimes I feel chained to that distasteful content, & thus liberate myself with new topics. Grief work is a tricky piece of commerce, you set a treaty with yourself somewhere then act like Andrew Jackson with the Spade of Manifest Destiny in your hands & break with your word. Defining boundaries is ongoing. New information revisions every story that came before, that would come after. Only myth is true.
I seek out the world within the world. The elusive one that I would have be born. The paradise that blossoms with each humane gesture. The funny little authenticities of children, the complex awareness of a measured but still somehow natural multi-layered voice, the syncronicities of thought applied to action. Deep Forest may, as my friend Horatio said, always have pygmies in the background but to get deep in the forest we need to open our eyes to the atrocity & the gift simultaneously. I'm sure I'm a drag & a hoot sometimes. Whatever. I may seem manic. Whatever. I think too much some people say. To paraphrase, Amy said, "You get up on your soapbox too often." I couldn't disagree more. A difference of opinions or dialectic. Personally, the image of the angelic childhood I had, the subsequent adventures with so many wonderful-amazing people, the hours of solitude honing my awareness & trying to shake my inherited mindsets by seeking out the roots & the applications, must be married to an image if not a full realization (a striving towards) aged wisdom. The wise man with the hearthfire whose smile carries experiences & simple kindness, the quietude that allows for listening.
What I'm trying to say in my free write style rambling is I have a lot more that I want to say that I don't say in these entries. The mindset here is to change the approach & cover more of the happenings in the future in a chronicler's fashion with glimpses of past & future interlaced. A context, perpective. The equivalances identified to an extent so that the harmony, the rhythm is partially translated.
Since the aborted entry relayed a version of my last trip to Olywa, I'll probably start from there sometime soon & brush up the faultiness of my last composition.
Love y'all,
Jason
-Jesus, The Gospel of Thomas
So, I wrote most of a post a couple of days ago that was blatantly unnecessary. Covering emotions. This online blogging thing is odd. You get an audience in your head, an imagined audience. Purely speculative. I feel a responsibility to go against convention. While the phrase what man has not encountered he has not destroyed is true on a certain level, what man has not brought to a conscious level he has not fully integrated into his soul. Journal writing, which I have done sparely, I've always fancied as this romantic, confessional vessel for the underpinnings. The lassoes of threads supporting the obviously viewed fabric. The editor-critic looms of course, everyone needs a functioning bullshit detector. I've kept a lot of my necessitous grime on the wayside, my daily loops with my crushaholic moods, my social anxieties, little joys that I might write in a private journal but that would lose their special flavor if put on display.
Since Amy reads this, I'm aware of her. Mars. Ahniwa. Maybe Alexis. The forest ranger dude who commented but in my hermeticism I didn't respond to, even though his blog is quite nice. Since reading that I've thought I might like to be a forest ranger since I lose my taste for the city the longer I interact with concrete & witness the scarcity of trees. Light looks better in a natural environment. Few things are more basic to a personal existence than a quality of space. The greener I get year by year the more apparent it is that I will have to find a means to own & steward a piece of land. How I dream of owning a dog! One of my prime motivations. Even with this willfulness of purposeful writing I have the responsibility to chronicle some of my shit. The main ticket on the hollywood sign has most often been my dealing with the Rachael debacle. Sometimes I feel chained to that distasteful content, & thus liberate myself with new topics. Grief work is a tricky piece of commerce, you set a treaty with yourself somewhere then act like Andrew Jackson with the Spade of Manifest Destiny in your hands & break with your word. Defining boundaries is ongoing. New information revisions every story that came before, that would come after. Only myth is true.
I seek out the world within the world. The elusive one that I would have be born. The paradise that blossoms with each humane gesture. The funny little authenticities of children, the complex awareness of a measured but still somehow natural multi-layered voice, the syncronicities of thought applied to action. Deep Forest may, as my friend Horatio said, always have pygmies in the background but to get deep in the forest we need to open our eyes to the atrocity & the gift simultaneously. I'm sure I'm a drag & a hoot sometimes. Whatever. I may seem manic. Whatever. I think too much some people say. To paraphrase, Amy said, "You get up on your soapbox too often." I couldn't disagree more. A difference of opinions or dialectic. Personally, the image of the angelic childhood I had, the subsequent adventures with so many wonderful-amazing people, the hours of solitude honing my awareness & trying to shake my inherited mindsets by seeking out the roots & the applications, must be married to an image if not a full realization (a striving towards) aged wisdom. The wise man with the hearthfire whose smile carries experiences & simple kindness, the quietude that allows for listening.
What I'm trying to say in my free write style rambling is I have a lot more that I want to say that I don't say in these entries. The mindset here is to change the approach & cover more of the happenings in the future in a chronicler's fashion with glimpses of past & future interlaced. A context, perpective. The equivalances identified to an extent so that the harmony, the rhythm is partially translated.
Since the aborted entry relayed a version of my last trip to Olywa, I'll probably start from there sometime soon & brush up the faultiness of my last composition.
Love y'all,
Jason
posted by Jason @ 9:27 AM
1 comments
