God will return when there's nothing new to see anymore

Right when you're about to dissolve into "all knowing" hubris

You shunned all experiences you couldn't mindlessly scroll through

So the mission to enrich part of the universal with unique temporality
has ended

Both God and man incapable of judging this as good or bad

More proof the organs of the body are limiters rather than perceivers:

Dementia onset grandma sees all time at once unfold to her
in the hospital
I am her grandson, son, father, and brother in scattered fragments

The brother amid a manic schizoid crisis can read
your thoughts and see auras
despite my practiced techniques of staying stonefaced and neutral


Eternal Recurrence
Is this where you want to be when YOU come back?

Numbing our faculties with drink and smoke to
forget the faults of our individuality
Unconsciously strive for death
the hallowed and forbidden no man's land of
some universal hum


Forgive all your past
because we're all faulty radios seeking to
receive that same AM static

They used to say to be like the ocean
who can take in polluted rivers, but not be polluted itself
Now the ocean's dying

We achieved an unthinkable number of polluted rivers
It's high time us kind folk dry themselves off and
stop the apocalyptic Millerites from killing us all
prematurely

We need to convince ourselves we're blameless to
grow a backbone and point a collective finger at
the selfish flimflammers we've let rule us so long

From seed, to stalk, to sheave;
Like acorn, root, trunk, branch, leaf -
What are these
If not too living things?
Are us animals
Truly the only conscious beings?

Verily, they must experience;
And so it is only a logical inference
That everything must 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 existence.

That everything exists to experience,
That existence experiences everything,
That experience exists in everything.

That the universe itself must be conscious,
That consciousness is universal.

Yet, conscience is not?
Is not compassion & patience?

A seed too must crack its shell -
As like the bird & its egg,
So too like the ***** swims to fertilize.

Ignorance is universal,
As is logic.
The autochthonics.
Arrogance is universal,
As is virtue.
The migrants.

We who were of origin regardless all natives,
Yet by cataclysm made refugees.

We who have toiled have tempered;
We who too came from soil,
We who grew to learn to grow different.
We who found freedom,
In awareness of existence
By perception of perspective.
By guidance of
Time & Nature.

From labor after labor,
From fluctuation to fluctuation.
It is Evolution
Who is the savior.

It is we who purpose
Is balance & liberation.

Falling in love
When that’s what it feels like:
Falling
You know you’ll hit the ground eventually and break all your bones
Just for the floor the come out from under you
And                             Fall                             Again

Let me tell you a story:
A life unfolds, layered and vast,
Haunted by shadows, shaped by the past.
A spirit resilient, striving to be strong,
Carrying burdens we’ve all borne too long.

Dreams of creating, of tales untold,
A pen in hand, a heart seeking gold.
Yet whispers of doubt, relentless and slight,
Echo, "You’re not enough," in the still of the night.

Through love and loss, through joy and pain,
We weather storms, again and again.
Our hearts, battlefields; our minds, a maze,
Still searching for beauty in shadowed haze.

Families fracture; the pieces retreat,
Strength is forged where chaos meets defeat.
The yearning for love, for something secure,
A place where our souls might finally endure.

Our voices speak of longing, of finding our way,
Of nights spent alone, of hopes for the day.
Shadow work deepens; truths come to light,
Healing old wounds in the quiet of night.

We love with hearts both tender and fierce,
Though doubts linger on, and old wounds pierce.
In small, quiet moments, joy does reside—
A sunrise, a friend, a pet by our side.

We seek no labels, no rigid mold,
Just freedom to live, to grow, to unfold.
We are not broken; we are wonderfully real,
Tapestries woven of all that we feel.

Our stories are ours, messy and bright,
Dances between darkness and chasing the light.
Though questions remain, we’re carving our way,
Souls ever growing, day by day.

Music's universal language,
Buckethead best translator,
there is, a silent orator.

mind scrammbles
quantity narrator
heart decodes
quality mentor

breaks logic
all's lone mind
sounds valid
one's line mine

We live in an nonsensical world Of Happiness, time and importance.
.. us. we you. we build with clay We time our day and we pray for happiness every night
But all we do is move dirt back and forth
Slaves of soil, rock, and gold of Earth
Our design keeps us and we keep it, delicate and beautiful
illusions of our fancy And aimlessly prancing
For what we are we are not, but what are for isn't for you, us, or we but l a unity without the gravity of purpose,
I, propose no importance, happiness or even time For this couldn't be any more contradictory of infinity.
So she guides us with her soft touch into an endless endeavor of moving the Earth

when is is all there is where isn't was
and all the sky's inside a blue balloon
and everywhat is known to be because
too good is God to be believed too soon

then breathing breath doth verily become
(in spite of all the sayers saying nay)
a joy exploding all the threats of doom
since every doomsday dies before its day

It's humbling to look
Up at the stars, the
Gorgeous night sky.
Humbling to think,
Someone revoling one of those stars
Is staring back at me.