the antidote to spirituality is living alive
not by fixed texts and stiff principles. but by experience
that breathes and burns and aches and waters
and thrives on attention.
it's life. it's experiencing.
it's feeling. it's noticing.
it's listening. it's observing.
it's seeing. it's understanding.
you don't just read texts
written by some authorities.
you write your own sacred texts
about your own existence and feeling and not knowing
and you ARE in it. it's as simple (=/= easy) as existence
with attention.
beauty
is not just in others' hands. yours are hands too.
and they can create most intimate testaments to your experience
to the whole that makes up you and your life. they can make love to your self
better than anyone else
because
they know you and see you and feel you.
that kind of beauty is not just pretty — it's deep and rich and potent.
the real value — we're chasing vainly in spirituality — is when you've found the connection
with yourself.
it's when you've been with and through
your joy
your tears
your anger
your fears
your bones
your blood
your flesh
your voice
your dreams
your lust
your curiosity
your trust
in something higher than the self
— in the depths of your very own brain.
it's when you've felt yourself on every level
and lost yourself and found yourself again
and again
and again
because fulfilment is life and life is alive. ever changing
wild and unpredictable like the ocean
deep and mysterious
waves and spirals.
fibonacci.
it's when you've recognized the truths of yourself outside of yourself
and found the you outside of what you knew.
nothing is more fulfilling
than telling spirituality "you're a lie of the sleeping"
and opening your eyes, getting naked, and feeling yourself
to death.
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.
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#1.5.23, updated 8.6.24
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Bawi mnie w [moim] mózgu wiele rzeczy. Np. to że powracam do pewnych wniosków co jakiś czas ale za każdym razem dochodzę do nich nieco inną drogą, od innej strony, i tak sobie to w końcu w pełni klika a ja się pytam CZEMU nie kliknęło wcześniej bo już wcześniej to zauważyłem/zrozumiałem. Eh.
Bałagan. I don't like it; but it's okay.
CZYTASZ
heart beats
Poesía~ poezje itp ~ w gruncie rzeczy, jesteśmy worami mięsa, kości, i flaków. ale w tym worze mieści się mózg, a mózg to wciąż niezbadana złożoność, która z prostego wora potrafi uczynić święty graal. the heart beats/heartbeats/heartbeat: serce bije, ser...
