I always imagine Heaven as two scenarios: Conversation around a campfire, and Dancing in a ballroom. The atmosphere in the first is congenial and uplifting; the atmosphere in the second is thoughtful and philosophical. Both involve being personal and having fun.
_____________________________________________________________________ Congenial The Dance The ballroom scene is usually the same: I envision everyone dancing around, switching partners, having fun. The dancers are all happy people that I know from my life. We are all dancing around, having fun, but the key part is switching off partners, (the timing is always right), and there is a lot of smiling and laughing and getting to know one another. Like a soul-connect. The funnest part is switching off partners. Every time you dance with a new person, it’s different. Your moves change. Your vibe changes. And when you trade off and go on to the next person, it happens smoothly and unpredictably. Everything's in tandem. Random tandem. _____________________________________________________________________ Self-Discovery The Campfire The campfire scene is sort of similar, but it is centered around conversation. There is still the switching off part, but it involves people walking around, and sitting down next to new people to embark on a personal conversation with that person. The lighting is dim, and I imagine sparks crackling and embers flying off into the night sky. Just like the first vision, I am with people I have known in my life, and everyone is having fun. This one is a more serious scenario, but only because there are thoughtful and philosophical conversations going on. The conversations melt into the muted air just as the flying embers dissolve after breaking free from the fire. It is as if the fire is massaging people’s conversations and souls. There are secrets shared—or rather, just things that people have never shared. And there is acceptance--relief, and jesting within the atmosphere of different conversations. And the best part is, you can sit down anywhere.
0 Comments
The Grand Editor The Grand Editor sees things differently. When he gets done reading a book, he thinks about it a lot, almost living the characters, seeing how things could have gone differently, and wanting to write it out so that it doesn’t just live in his head, these alternate, more happy appropriate endings that he sees. He doesn’t want to be alone in his happiness. This makes him sad. So he set about to writing certain versions, certain renditions, adaptations, editions, of stories that he read, and hoped that other people liked his versions too. He wanted to help. If you see a house that is furnished, but you can see how something would help it to be even cozier, or even homier, then wouldn’t you want to add it, if you could? It’s hard finding your place in the world, because it often means finding how you stand alone—in some respects—and this can be a hard thing to come to terms with and accept. To accept that you see things a certain way, and to bring things to the table. But this is a very brave conclusion, and a mature decision (to act on this). Because if you turn your back on this, nobody is going to be there to pick up the slack, nobody is going to do your job, be you, for you. So you lose not only yourself, but all that could have spawned and spread from you being you. Other people, they might need your help. How do you help them? How does The Grand Editor know the worst pain but also the greatest security and happiness? And how does he spread the latter so that he can decrease the former in others, especially in people he cares about? There is something about an author that is special, about somebody who writes. The Grand Editor likes to speak with these people, if there are things to be said. And sometimes this requires grand editing. I say grand because sometimes the person might not be alive anymore, and so who knows? Only sometimes unfortunately are these people dead or deceased, and so your own comments may never be read or talked about with the actual originator. But isn’t this why many people set pen to paper in the first place? To create a conversation that later someone might relate to and add to? Yes, The Grand Editor hopes someone relates to this. Hopes that one day, someone else who sees things in a different light might take comfort in the fact that someone like them has existed before, and has already set out to do something which they may—knowing that steps have been trodden—continue to do without as much trepidation as its initiator. And with this put down, the Grand Editor began to write. . . . host 1 (hōst) n. 1. One who receives or entertains guests in a social or official capacity. 2. A person who manages an inn or hotel. 3. One that furnishes facilities and resources for a function or event Biology a. An organism on which or in which another organism lives. b. A cell that has been infected by a virus or other infective agent. Computers a. A computer or other device providing data or services that a remote computer can access by means of a network or modem. b. A computer that is connected to a TCP/IP network, such as the Internet. The Parasite
The thing about Parasites—they suck the life out of the organism they attach to. Does this make them inherently bad? Or evil? One has yet to fully conjecture towards an understanding. I do not know. But let’s say there are giant, soul parasites. Some that we have not even discovered yet? Things that would make ticks and leaches look like things of fairy tales. What’s blood when your very mind and heart and soul can be sucked out of you? Your own memory? Your own source of life beyond this one? It’s horrible, and these life suckers could be your very parents. They could be the State. The Government. Children, maybe. But always it would be a life-sucking experience. How does one find out that the very organism that gave it life and nourished it, then turns and begins to suck the life out of that same nourished one? How would that be beneficial to the life-sucker? --To create a bond with the organism who is getting its life sucked out. This way that organism feels obliged and sorry and thankful in certain ways toward the parasite—has developed a loving attachment—so that the parasite doesn’t even just have to rely on cruel mechanisms to keep its prey in sight. It does not even have to spin a web. It does not even have to take a limb and pin its prey down. It simply has to love it for a certain amount of time, provide that one essential thing that it is eventually going to take away (kind of how we plump pigs for slaughter), and then—BOOM—turn on its little loved one, and start sucking the life out of it. It gets more in return than it put in, and it begins to get greedy. It feeds and feeds and the past-loved one doesn’t know what to do. It keeps imagining that this turned-foe will someday return to its original self (a mechanism purely put into place by the parasite to ensure loyalty and a longer source of provided energy). But eventually, the victim will either realize, or perish. It will have a choice when it is almost drained to nothing (and this is a point that its parasite fears and dreads of, for how does one prepare for the drained victim to choose death over life? Can you prepare for that? When all that was given has been taken away by the giver, will there be anything left? If so, the parasite will gain the ultimate feast—but what would/will be in it for the poor little victim? Anything? Perhaps there is an energy that can’t be sucked, perhaps the parasite could never win because the host could never drain, and therefore there is no ultimate source of power. What’s the point of drinking til burst? Would a tick explode itself with blood, gorge until its very own body bursts---or would it have a stopping point? A relaxation point? Until at least it burns some of that new energy and needs to suckle more? These are all dark thoughts of the host. host 2 (hōst) n. 1. An army. 2. A great number; a multitude. host 3 also Host (hōst) n. Ecclesiastical The consecrated bread or wafer of the Eucharist. The Lonely Lighthouse
Sometimes the lighthouse gets lonely. It doesn’t realize how much light it has. But even when it knows that its own life is hard, yet still it knows that others have it harder. While this comforts the lighthouse, it also makes the lighthouse more stressed out. It's comforted, because it realizes that it does not have to feel so sorry for itself, but it's stressed out because it realizes that it has an obligation. An obligation that it is not yet living up to. So far it feels that it has only asked for others' help. When indeed it needs to help others. It realizes that even though it holds a light that it cannot see; others can. And so they know how bright it is. But it still isn’t sure how much light it has/needs to share. So it wonders how it can become more aware? How can it let the waves stop crashing upon itself, and start recognizing the beams that it is sending out? It realizes that others have it darker than it does. It does not know why. Or how. It is a mystery to the lighthouse. But the lighthouse can recognize how much light it gives out and has by how many boats come to it. Because the more boats, the less light there must be anywhere else for the boats to follow. So in seeing others come close to itself, the lighthouse realizes what it is for others. And because of this introspective realization, the lighthouse decides that it must continue to shine, because it realizes that its light is necessary. And luckily, by watching others be guided by its light, it suddenly does not feel so alone in the dark. I guess what better way to start "Random Ramblings" than by the forced, obligatory first comment underneath its heading....wassup weebly?
|