Rich Paulsy is a Coward

Now, don't blame the messenger.

I sure as hell didn't put it up there, rip it off the side, convince it to run through town or take on a life of its own.

Let's move back, shall we.

Cold morning. Rain sheeting the windshield, but the ignition is off now. Just the radio and the fan to keep the steam off the inside of the windows while I wait for my train.

Early? No - false alarm, that's just a freight that rides a parallel line with mine.

They can be noisy bastards - come and watch the platform and see how many people have their hands over their ears as the screech of metal on metal gives the second and final notice that the train is HERE, get ready, all aboard kids.

But when they keep moving, all good, just a thumble runder of wheels on steel, load shifting as one two ten 100 cars go past, metal snake making its way left to right past to present to future. Lot of writing on the side, me thinks as I watch the beast trundle by.

And THAT's when the strange shite starts. Rich Paulsy is a coward. Straight and narrow script, stick letters, and as it moves from my present to the future (to my left, in front of me, to my right). And out of the periphery of my vision -(you know the space where ghosts and intuition tease you and flirt with each other) I see movement. Careful now so as not to derail the happenings - no pun intended. Peripheral vision happenings are very cat like - you know, the little feline coming down the hall, you approach with clippers and intent, and if that intent is borne of your headlight vision preceding you, the cat will pick up on it and take off. Same with the peripheral vision - if the happenings in that space even suspect you are about to focus full attention front and center on them, well, they just return to form and the shows over.

So I'm careful. Mood supports my intention, grace I guess, you can't control these things - sometimes it either works or it doesn't - but out of the side of my vision I can see the words start to peel off the side of the train - like one of those kids tattoos coming off of its backing and now its completely off, fluttering like a leaf towards than away from me and now

I can't help it, I've got to have me a look-see. And what I see is the words wrapping themselves into a running form - not exactly human, but close to, and running. Full out sprint now and I've been made. Rich Paulsy is a Coward makes eye contact with me (it's two 'i's lighting up and tracking me like a laser pointer) then disconnect and it runs as fast and as hard as it can into a building and

fuka

It's now up there. Same script, different location.

Train hasn't stopped moving throughout this whole event, I squint to see the container car it came from and it looks like the writing is gone there...

But this is one of those things that lives in the spaces, that can only be acknowledged by grace or luck (maybe luck IS just grace) and doesn't need to be quantified or verified - I just KNOW.

But, as if to underscore it, there's another performance. And another.

Letters are flying off of the train now, Heisenberg's graffiti cleaning service front and center and now they don't seem to give a rats ass if I watch or not.

It's a strange dance now, kids. The alphabet is out in front of me in a tornado whirl, a carnival merry go round of fantastic proportions, words forming and dissolving, a linguistic trinity creating sustaining and destroying (but never really destroyed, just back in the soup) and the colours are there, and the Sounds. The sounds of the mechanics of creation, a deep hum that is marching band and solitary voice and terrible thunder and falsetto cry of a bird on the wind all threaded together in a fantastic cacophony that finally

Explodes

And the letters with it. They DO know they've been made. By me and a couple of others with the i's to see. They explode and cascade down in the city, splattering against building sides and sidewalks and bins and cars.

I close my eyes to hold the vision and the bright burning after image is collapsing on itself into a single three lettered word that ties the city together north to south east to west

aum.

Happy?

Happy?

It's complicated.

Doesn't mean I can't find out for you. Let's have a look at the feeling factory. I've got the key, just stay behind and keep your safety belt near. What's that? Oh, just the usual - flashlight if things get dark, some cortisol and sugar if you get somewhere dangerous and want to go old-school on the monsters' ass. Couple of reminders of visualizations there for you too, but to be honest, they're a little like books in that if you get into a situation where you need them, if they're not already tucked away in your noggin then you probably won't have a chance to fully engage them.

Anyways, just stay close. It's my factory and the reporting lines are mostly respected.

Ok then, where's the light - oh there. Shit! Bulb's burned out. Pragma - you busy? You're never THAT busy, I know, cause if you were sector 7 - relationships and homebuilding - would be a lot less choppy than what it is. Listen - can you get a new bulb in there - thanks mate.

Ok. Let's see - where too first? Autonomic? That's a good place to start, get a real time view of what's going on. They're up the stairs here, follow me.

Phew, little out of breath - Hi Otto. Otto's world here is all about self-regulation, he monitors without getting involved too much. See that guage over there - vitals. It spiked as I came up the stairs there, settling back down now. That vat over there is fight or flight - always kept at a simmer, you never know. Not a lot happening here right now. Otto, can you let us in the lift there - thanks partner.

Ok, we're going downtown, mate. This is where the bad boys hang out. Id runs in and out of here like it's a public library; trying to get him secured better but its all about time isn't it.

Here, best idea is to look through the viewing window. WHOA big fella. Now here is a good example. Dread and fear. The big grey blob - that's dread; the blanket - well, it looks like a blanket anyways - that's fear. Real bedfellows those two.

What's that? Well, we're getting to your answer, but answers without context are like swallowed sneeze - tight, constrained, and pretty unfufilling. You really NEED the environment before you can paint the picture. We're almost done.

Look down - see all the gasses - well -that's the easiest way to picture them. Plexi floors give a pretty good show yah? The gasses are the good guys, delight, grace, freedom, and mixed together into a pastel powder blue - happiness. They're constantly mixed at a fundamental level, then they settle into the predominant shade. Hmmm? Yes, those are two way pipes between Otto, the Badboys, and the flooring. Happiness piped in calms and diffuses, Otto and the Badboys get aggressive, they can feed into the gasses and create a real shitstorm.

So. To answer your question. Yes, I'm happy. I'm also enraged and ecstatic. Manic and depressed. Grace filled and contracted. All depends on the timing mate.

Heraculitis.

Greater than the Pieces

Dbm and I were talking about the visceral collective energy that crackles through a funeral gathering. Ipup referenced it too; holding somebody who's heart is so utterly broken that they are literally suffering from every pore.

And now, the flip side. Listenting to Awake by Scala, and thinking of what can be created when voices join together and create something bigger than the separate parts.

Haunting, ethereal, collective union reaches in behind the throat and eyes and pulls the soul out in naked fragility, if only for a few moments.

Grace.

Hearts in Heart

Heart broken but awake. Keeping Rhea Johnny Roy Hoto David Cayden Jackie Wendy Pattie and a host of hearts in my heart

Islands in the Stream

So, in my kosmic geography (small k, Mr. Wilber, as it's everything in MY existence, which is clearly just a part of the great K Kosmic. Ultimately, there's no separation so there shouldn't be an issue), we have this stream:

(Underattachment in childhood -> search for meaning -> overattachment in first love relationship -> relationship breakdown -> existentialist drowning -> Getstalt dialogue-> Witness!)

Problem is, the endpoint of the stream is a state that comes and goes. When grace reveals it, I can identify with awareness and witness. But then contraction comes like a thief in the night, covers grace like a dark blanket, and I continue on in spite of mySelf.

The Integral Framework provides a map for navigating this topography. I will have states (witness) intersecting with stages in my life. And that stage is somewhere between postmodern and integral. Reaching for 2nd tier, at times touching some of its border lands, but not Realizing enough of what I've tasted to actually move into the new geography and say goodbye to the old for good.

It comes out so clean on paper - just do what it takes to move to a higher stage, continue the practices that will bring true realization of the states, and yowsah, you're there.

But it takes so little to come apart into a deconstructed mess.

Let's listen in, shall we, to the other stream, River Ego, exploring old canyons and inventing new ones in the internal eosystem.

pretty straight forward, all you have to do is take a quadrant approach, balance it through regular practice. simple! booya! Or is it, because the associative path to that is a stream towards needing a community to practice in, that should be a part of the quadrant approach should it not? Sangha? Community? And then you have Cohen and company, who at one glance seem credible and cutting edge, connected with Wilber for Gawd's sake - but on the other hand, just don't sit right at some level. He's violent with his student's egos - and on one hand it's needed but on the other hand, seems to lack compassion. And then what about just meditating and exercising, isn't that enough of the quadrant life to keep me moving, well, that would be without a teacher, and that doesn't seem right, or maybe the teacher is my group of teachers and readings throughout the years.

And through it all, failure. I've tried for permanent changes so many times, and always they have fallen short. Maybe this too has to be accepted, unconditionally.

So many books I've bought and haven't finished that I should finish. Any one of them could be the answer

Maybe that's the thing, maybe they are ALL the answer

But if they were, why would I still be searching and looking for the answer, for my purpose.

Maybe, mayhap, because I have discovered truth but not REALIZED it.

My ass hurts.