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Intellect on a date with intuition
|Following the shifting contours of the day|
from flooded ruts
gorging on blood
function as needles
sewing strands of DNA
into the food chain
|Roots in the ground and petals to the sky|
|Two things fitting together in an unpredictable way|
Sunny days with a crisp edge - autumn making her presence felt
|Into the fold|
|Separation of Earth and sky|
|Clear day late summer|
|Night catching up to day|
|Built on transience|
|Emerging or enmeshed?|
|Waking up under a pile|
The insect is asking for another story.
This story is easy to tell because it only involves saying what is happening in this moment and allowing all the threads to weave the scene.
Mostly the story is about being: being here, being now, being cool, colorful, together, anxious, rational, strong, weak, passive, indifferent, and constantly accumulating stimulus, irritation, pleasure, and desire while everything cascades into a sustained chord called me.
And so here I am, a fountain of words.
Once upon a time, an expanded entity felt fear, wanted to move, reached a limit, and instinctively tried to strengthen its center. This story begins with contraction, clamming up, protecting, concentrating, gathering together, accreting, becoming smaller, shorter, tighter, resting at the end of an inhaled breath, fetal position, eyes closed, attention on one point.
A story like this could last a billion years, beyond space, outside of time, open until the contraction starts and the world begins. Or this kind of tale might be over in a picosecond, as fast as an electron orbital decay, the speed of a photon, the fusion of hydrogen; all that energy in a single spot giving rise to everything else in a bang.
Materials are all around us, unorganized, chaotic, natural, and we wait with anticipation to see what will emerge.
Expansion follows contraction like inhale follows exhale.
Our cyclical story repeats with no beginning or end. Where do we start? With our memories? Our earliest self reflection? We were alive before that. Conception? We didn't emerge into a vacuum. The atoms and energy that make up our bodies came from somewhere and that came from somewhere and all the way back it goes; same never ending chain into the future, too.
What breaks up this seamless circular background? A few details grounded in the moment: the light above me is humming, the air is colder as autumn asserts herself, the rain smells like New Orleans, and the inner hole grows larger by the day.
I am an emergent property of informational flow, I am multitudes in motion, I am what persists.
My story is dynamic, page after page, accumulating, being read, and filtered away. I continually drop new data into hungry minds that, just as quickly, forget it all.
You may be waiting for names, places, actions, descriptions, all sorts of amusing details and I will give you those as a way to ground the story and concretize the concepts but please keep in mind that the main character, me, is meta.
Meta musings from our meta character:
Wishing to know itself, flow divides
Flow encountering flow arises.
Arising flow manifests a universe and precipitates material.
Material combines, separates, interacts, forms structures, contracts, expands, concentrates, ignites, and dissolves.
Structure houses flow, is directed by flow, and is made of flow.