Tag: Musings

Different Flavors of a Wave

On By Alex V. WeirIn Philosophy, Psychology, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for fractal wave

On top of my refrigerator there is a fire extinguisher in a cardboard box. The side I just happened to glance at said something in Spanish about incidio. There was a picture of some onions on a chopping board in a nice kitchen.

I just kind of looked at it for a bit.

I’d been playing guitar. Music isn’t my native medium or. But it is a modality for experience.

As I was looking at the onion on the chopping board I was thinking about how I interface with reality.

How my wordy writer’s brain creates thematic stories interlacing facts, ideas, memories, and feelings in a very ready way.

I’d mused on this many times. Though if pressed, I wouldn’t be able to say if it was before, or after I heard Terrence McKenna speak about seers and readers; that I formalized my ideas about the endless Eden of immortal perception.

Thanks to the availability of instruments, books, and teachers I’ve been able to take the child’s interest of dabbling in everything just a tad further. So I know what it is to slip between modalities of perception purposefully.

I have to pause here to say that I am not attempting to make any sort of veiled boast. I was just very fortunate to be in a time and place where my energies found fertile fields. Where I could learn to surf the ‘great whatever’ in more ways than just one.

What I observed there, as I watched myself observing, was the variable nature of the wave. I would say waves but many waves can really be thought of as one grand wave. If one is aware, becomes aware, or stumbles on awareness of the various ripples of the wave, he can see that we are each sitting (or choosing to sit) on any given one.

I for instance am currently sloshing about between my native intake method of word wise ‘post hoc’ integration and the foreign instrument of wrapping round life with sounds.

I guess what I am getting at is that life is infinitely interesting because within each wave there is a wave. If you get weary of looking at ‘familiar faces, worn out places’ try reading them instead.

Or use somebody’s smile to compose a melody.

Crowded Souls

On By Alex V. WeirIn Philosophy, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for street clock

The feeling was headlong. It was like a vertical river rushing madly into some subterranean sea. That’s how I felt about the distance between her and I.

It felt stupid. It was like I wanted to meld into the girl. The stupid stupid girl with the wheat colored hair.

She of course could have been any girl or any friend or any of the dead that are the subject of longing.

But in that moment. In the cool breeze of evening with the amber autumn playing round me I was completely staggered.

The crunching of the leaves beneath my feet would never happen again. The old style clock on the corner of the sidewalk would turn just that way but this once. And then heaven or hell or who cares whatever finality there is still the now, noW, NOW.

I watched the faces of the fools, beauties, monsters, and saints behind their various windshields. Ensconced in mobile armor they regarded me in turn with the curiosity that a pedestrian comes to expect from the chronically commuting.

Such a perfect evening and my head so full of lovely things to say. Yet tonight I couldn’t see her. Couldn’t find her. Then when another evening comes I won’t have these things to say. I’ll be different. It’s always so.

Some Saxon shot me a condescending look as I rounded one of the churches littering the streets like discarded alien gloves pointing to a rose hued sky. I paused abruptly. And just looked with a blank expression at the driver. It was a favorite trick.

The cocky grin turned to confusion and I felt the silver SUV zip past. Cheap thrills for him and I.

Was he smirking because he knew that I’d return to a well appointed home but be unable to enjoy a single thing? All my books, and instruments, all my notes and papers would be of no avail to stop the sucking pain of being away from her for THIS one evening.

My victory now seeming hollow I increased my walking rate. But not so as to seem to feel too hurried. The phone in my pocket might ring. But if it did and it was her. Who cares? I don’t want to see the one person I want to see.

Doesn’t she understand that we will never happen again? Don’t any of these people understand that? Immortal souls or not. These souls. The souls of NOW will never happen again, and we just let our petals fall; till wilted in the end of some future evening, we go to ground, wondering where all the scattered parts now lie!

We crowded souls longing to fall into one another but ever slipping past like wet elusive drops of ocean.