won’t you play that song again for me
about my lover, my lover in the grass, yeah, alright
you’ve told me about my destiny
I’ve had an intense weekend.
I was trying to explain to Evan the other night about what or who I am. I don’t know how to tell it. I can tell him that people confess to me daily; they tell me their sins, their fears, they ask me to provide fertile ground for their dreams, amorphous and fragile, as only intentions can be.
Often the people who confess to me are looking for God (a concept I am intellectually aware of but do not actually see in play in the Universe) so I try instead to be something like an angel, acting as a frequency modulator, helping them match the wavelength of their desire to their physical reality. Either can flex to meet the other, I can help.
I think of myself as a channel, a conducting fluid, made of the dust of the Universe. It’s not that I don’t have original ideas; I am made entirely of original ideas; I create my life in front of me as I walk; it is frankly astonishing and I don’t know two things about it: how to explain it, and why everyone else doesn’t do it too. I never know what to say to people who stubbornly refuse to create anything, even an original thought.
Now that I can see relationals (I’m not sure what else to call the lines I see connecting all things) it’s easy to see what’s structure.
Constructs can be swept away with a single word, if the word is the right shape.
Structure must be factored into all calculations. There are many tools at our disposal, such as scaling, which feels very Alice In Wonderlandy. Scale yourself down, or scale the material up, or step further away or move closer in; the math changes on everything as you move the pieces. Sometimes very slight adjustments will bring a system into balance.
A system in balance produces, a system out of balance consumes.