Between Devoted and Devoid
Wherein I am a reed to many streams of life...
Between Devoted and Devoid
Generous Lotus Eaters
Party culture inevitably found me, a homeless teen, where I'm squirreled away by community (a few times!). In the corners of their lives: me. Young, vibrant, pocket-sized, I became furniture for a number of recreational pharma users, of various make. To many bad trips of all kinds, from all people, I arrive and tend. I am sought, over time, to tend to people. Blanket, tea, a curious sense, and practical, level observations soothe most.
Always happy to be one to stick to plants, at doses plants find respectable, I remain happy to grow with plants as they find their voice (through hybridization, or other words) - than I am to dive in, with recreational pharma.
Ending up in a dimension with nothing (spiritual) to eat, to starve, my body left servant to a loser g-d never curious toward metabolism or plants' offerings. Yet demand is there, seeing billionaires, pyramids, agriculture, the rest of extraction minted on the daily, with fresh loser g-ds on the way, packing their own dimensions.
Lonely G-d Syndrome
Entities borne from extraction thrive off those who dimension-hop and don't need a spiritual practice beyond "I sing; so exist." So these entities just strawbeak soul juice until that life is a kink. Richer soil, longer conversation, substancial wanting, a sense to see ritual in place calls me. I watch each g-d in their own dimension treat loneliness through myriad lotus eating practices. It's fun!
People're fun. They leave their babies where the forest starts, as blessing. I walk by the baby, write a haiku, keep walking. It's wild! People are reeds to all sorts of rivers. People aren't just those who make reeds stronger - burning reeds so they grow hearty enough to make strong baskets (bringing nutrients to the river beds), people are the reeds. They clean the river, substanciate the banks of the river. People are places the small creatues with nowhere else to go thrive. People are the ribcage of all rare, soft pleasures of the river. Delicacy generators.
If anyone ever asks what a human is, I hope the above cell comes to mind. As the cell below, I have the hots for that cell and want them to do naughty things to me. They conclude sweetly, and every word feels like they found their place. We grow together and learn together as the drafts flow over us, chanfing us, but our shared messages remain. All this coming from the earth.
Media Organ
Having never developed an organ to process print-run, scaled, editorated Material, printed words share much of the avoidance I have with recreational pharma. Like eating bamboo, reading printed work. My loved ones works and that of the larger world who don't go through the synthetics of binding context to known agents and chelating the cover with author blurbs "tastemakers." Desire paths through thought my neighbors offer (or ephemeral podcast voices) grow in my mind and I go over and over what they share until it's smooth stone (alive as fermented food and just as easy on the stomach!).
I am feeling resolve to look up some podcasts on reeds where I live, and the human-reed relationship. The desire has fired in me nicely and will serve for the material finding me. Talk of river-beings has me remember studies on this one phrase I can across: celestial shorelines. I reflect on what I remember of them, below.
As if river, celestial shorelines exist in talk with neither physics nor chemistry (neither heat nor memory). Neither vacuum nor starlight play the outsized roll in what gets talked about. In an entropic sense, process gets to rest. All small things and large things stop vying for shallower and shallower pools and just sit, in conversation with rotation (with transformation), with tide.
...
These tidepools of entropy, where a starfish walks from pool to pool (or a planet walks from climate to climate), a crab giving up a life full and fulfilled in the quiet angles of their pool's light being received by the starfish. The starfish regurgitates their stomach, beginning to break down the life of the crab into what becomes starfish and what becomes something else.
In this pool Anemone unfurl and tuck in like spring and autumn, or perihelion and aphelion, or solar maximum and solar minimum. Between two high-speed actions generated by rotation (or transformation), tidepools survive as a product of waste energy. How a pet survives off of the product of high-speed actions of their human's starting and ending tended days.