“I am a meditator and psychonaut the world is windy and kinda frightening the world is windy and kinda frightening.”
Those words are what my phone predicted to say next. I don’t ever remember saying that so that my phone should save it as a prediction, but there it is. Ah, how this keyboard thinks for me. Ah, how confused one should be if they hadn’t a clue about phone keyboards.
“The keyboard predicted those words? A madman! We have a madman in our clutches!”
Yes, yes, simmer down.
Whoop. Am I talking to myself again? Perhaps. I do this. I’m a writer… aren’t we writers told to talk to ourselves?
Who tells us?
Why then is it an odd thing to do? What are you that you are not me? You that should be of yourself but are instead of me? I, who is of you, that I should be me and myself indefinitely. Me? You ask. I say. But when I say, you are answering yourself. Ask again and you are talking to yourself.
Ask me now, these words that are me, and you should realize that it is not I who am talking to myself, but you, dear reader. This is your voice, not mine. Am I writing these words, or are you reading them then? Which comes first?
Let us sink in silent revelry for not having the answers. A day where I do not even have the questions. Oh, but to be without questions is to be without interest. I don’t care. I forgave my apathy, so therefore I condone it. I misunderstood my waking up this morning. I fell asleep as soon as I ceased dreaming. I fell asleep as soon as I swung my legs over the end of the bed.
And all day I have been asleep, wandering from here, thinking, and then wandering back. All the time moving sticks and objects, calling this organizing. Getting muddy and calling it work. Going insane over the fact that I’m sane today. Getting angry at my urge to be angry. Telling myself hateful things for having thought hateful thoughts toward somebody who was probably hating themselves for hating somebody else.
Do we not love any more?
What is love but the absence of uncertainty?
What is success but the absence of clumsiness?
I don’t know, why don’t you ask the cold what the absence of heat is.
Why don’t you ask the stars where in the world your mind is.
Ask the moon for a glimpse at the sun.
And your thoughts for the rhythm of words.
Ask ask ask, for then you can love.
Love love love, for then you can live.
Live , but be careful, you may be still asleep.