The world always feels volatile and it’s not fully clear if that’s something that has always been at play or a force that has fortified itself through years and years of re-calibration.
I don’t believe a thing can ever be fully promised. Boundless dimensionality; keeping life as we know it any bit exciting. No regard for security. No space for assurance.
The world has always felt volatile.
And in accordance, the forces that take life from deep in its core have replicated this feeling of temporary structure - making the unimaginable feel within reasonable reach.
Simultaneously, casting a shade of doubt on even the most institutional fixtures.
Every art piece, piece of writing or musical composition, government policy, generational family practice or facet of being becomes a refection of temporary structure.
Like every well oiled system, the beauty takes root from the duality and room for continuity that which is anything but permanent.
The keen knowing that at any given moment, life as we know it could delve into unseated territory and evolve forever.
Whenever I feel disconnected from my core, music is one of the few things that puts me back in alignment.
The true markers of the mind’s alignment lie in the soundscape built by each individual fragment of emotion.
With each note, each beat, each chord or progression or what have you, creating room for smooth, untethered continuity.
As we have already established, we either feel unstoppable or cautious in response to the dimensionality that keeps our journey into endless happenstance alive.
I started play listing music in a bid to create some sort of artificial alignment to combat this dimensionality that discreetly rules our orb.
But creating an optimally soothing playlist, like painting a bold art piece or designing the perfect collection, is very much like conceptualizing and wielding an entire universe to the furthest depths necessary.
And creating a new universe is nothing short of chaos and agony, like a dream within a dream.
Endings never fully realized but one thing remains - the beauty in the effortless continuity.
It is so difficult to be creative because creativity upsets the natural terrain of our smooth continuity to an overflowing and infinite forever.
Creatives and their products are agents of upheaval and are constantly vouching for a wrench in the works whether they know it or not.
Combining and alienating both phases associated with the orb’s immature dimensionality.
A new child born to an adult with childlike sensibilities, bound to suffer and freeze bone-dry back to the ashes.
The “lucky” ones have to come from a strong place of depth, truth and reflection such that their chaos is the new order.
And If they are truly primed, their impassioned transience becomes a well ordained paradox that can subtly swing into the orb’s gears creating yet another agent for our continuity in singularity.
I do not fraternize. I do not subscribe. I do not get personal.
The war on vulnerability was waged and lost a long time ago.
But my secret garden, my utopia of staccato sweet mementos, remains a myth to pitchfork-ready onlookers - ready to be woefully indulged by its last bits of purity.
These tears I hold back have a certain magic to them, I never want to lose that magic.
What a dilemma it is to crave visibility but despise attention. To seek understanding but never soul bruising affirmation.
Indeed a difficult line to walk, a perilous shadow land yet to be fully discovered and exploited. The desire to transmute rather than subject.
The solution? People want to be subjected whether they realize it or not.
As I sit subconsciously, I resolve that I am the furthest I have ever been from my core but at the same time, the most actualized. It’s a transition.
Sustained isolation birthed a new hyperspace in our emotional repositories, offsetting the natural balance.
A new multiverse of emotional responses. New dimensions rich with reinvented love languages. Expertly mastered for a future in desolation.
With the war on vulnerability lost and the orb’s energies invariably shifting, what possibly lay ahead?
A tumultuous transition within a transition warped within a cloud of interference, stretching over the horizon as it pleases. Impending Doom?!
I could not see myself and no one else could see me. Hollow in my being, non-existent in my projections.
This was not the time to see. This was the time to be. Not the time to be seen either but time to embrace the sweet purity that was me and mine.
It was time to turn at the hip, head first back to the deep corners of where it all started.
Anything from the exterior would alter the sequence at this crucial time and better me than anyone else to know that was the worst advice to give man in isolation.
What is good for the flesh may never suffice the soul’s serpentine multi layers.
So with the last piece of my ego’s dignity, I buried my pride and put my search for inflated affirmation to a halt.
And just like that, the soul corruption combusted into a cloud of nothingness making way for a new love garden. One which bloomed with truth, fate and the soul eternal.
Like a lost prodigal son after years of calamity, I ousted the temporary idols of satisfaction.
And my soul, like a doting father, welcomed me back with open arms. Father and son, truth and seeker, God and spirit reuniting. Existing together. One Entity.
Together at the center of creation and at the epicenter of forever. Never Ending