Another
Kick - Day 25
This is about me
forming a new circle, sphere around the circle, sphere of life that has formed
and nurtured me. The symbolism is real
here if I so choose to make it real.
In a way I am
creating another level, another peel of an onion skin around the first
nurturing atmosphere of life on earth. Now I am creating or at least
discovering and trying to sustain a growing layer, skin, peel in a growing
accommodating environment.
I am growing
here.
I look all
around me and see light and forms melt away.
The outer skin
of a box is taking shape into a sphere.
Another kick.
This is like birth again and all over again.
It is my own
awareness taking shape in this new strange environment.
Like the
diagnostics of a fetus’ brain making test runs of electric current to growing
flesh and muscle, another kick.
I am forming
into some final shape or substance to jump into another brave new existence.
I must continue
to peel back more layers and examine that other place before I can continue
here adding more layers to my evolving nature.
Kick. Kick. I
hear my own heartbeat. And I heard a
greater heartbeat of the universe, beyond, sustaining and urging me ever
forward.
The thoughts
fade and I must return to some final reckonings.
DNA
- Day 26
DNA?
From a single
tear drop?
Am I crying?
Am I aware; awaring?
I would have
thought that they might find a piece of truth, the truth and fact of me, the
once living breathing wonderful entity of me in some bone spec.
I can remember
those relic things. An older cousin had
borrowed one and showed it to me. It was
like small glass enclosed medallion with a piece of paper in the middle with a
spec of dust, a dark spot on the paper.
That’s a piece
of a saint? What is the point of all that anyway?
In my case, if
that is all that is left of me to certify my death, then so be it. Half is
better than whole. One ten billionth of
me is still me or at least part of me.
Aware in that
other world that some certification of my end has been clarified. The specifics
do not matter here.
(But if
specifics do matter to some. The lab
technician that had practiced their art over and over again to find D.N.A. out
of the primordial like soup mess left at the WTC, they catalogued the source of
my DNA as probably saliva off the bit of paper, a fragment of a paper coffee recovered
and not pounded into cosmic dust like so much other stuff on that day.
If the truth be
told in some cosmic verifiable way, my certifiable DNA from a body fluid was
not saliva but from a tear. That in a split second of reality, between the
reality of life and the certain reality of death, I probably was trying to piss
and shit myself, but there was no time.
There was however a tear drop falling from my face that it hit the rim
of the paper coffee cup on the desk in front of me at the final moment.
And
in a symbolic, metaphoric, philosophical, and perhaps spiritual sense that one
tear drop represented the thousands of tears shed by the victims at their last
moments of mortal existence and of the millions and billions of tears shed not
just for one human tragedy but the tragedy of that moment that had turned the
whole human race in a different direction. A direction that race had not yet
become aware of.)
And
I am aware that when I leave here I will go back in time if that is the correct
turn of phrase and be at my memorial service or at least observe it in safe
distance and in a proper perspective of it as I transition from life to
afterlife in this quarantine dimension.
Then I will see
the face of my wife and child. The
images, direct and abstract still elude me. For some reason, my new essence
with perhaps on next level have to deal more directly with the tragedy of the
end of my life within the context of those who I had in my immediate comfort
zone of love.
Another level?
That is so gravitational in perspective?
So there have
always been the many layers, perhaps spherical wrappings, between one world of
the living and the final world of the dead.
The number seven
comes to mind. The human race finds a
good number and then keeps it to tell many stories. Seven levels or spheres outward of heaven?
In a way, seven
levels, of seven segregated heavens, seven stepping stones all come to mind.
Is this whole
temporary experience just one level above the sphere of the living world? Do I have to graduate from here to go onto
six other levels?
Let’s stop
here. This is all sounding like some
dogma shit. All of a sudden a dozen Ph.D.’s
in divinity are going to show up and tell me how I am to experience the here
and now and then try and sell me a ticket to the next level?
No way Jose.
I do have the
thought that if there are seven levels of heaven in terms of a journey up to
seven plateaus up a mountain to speak, than I wonder if those seven places are
not unlike my need to raise eight dark corners around my life into one sphere
layer.
Perhaps these
eight corners are microcosm of the greater journey. But eight is not seven.
I must think.
In an instant I
envision that seven journeys, seven levels toward truth is a whole. If it is a
whole, it is something.
Falling back on
my previous thoughts, I surmise that the seven levels of heaven in fact could
be the hand of God.
And the eighth
part is a separate whole. That I am the
eighth part. I must respond to the clap of one hand containing seven heavens
and I must clap back in correct coordination to signify completion of some
task.
So be it. I will
deal with it when I have to.
So much of my
thoughts learned in life get too intertwined with things that may or may not
matter. That long term planning is
always a good idea.
But inch by
inch, life is a cinch. Mile by mile is a
trial.
This is
definitely a long mile. Stick with one
thought at a time.
A distracting
thought from the past, the living past.
Did I visit here
once before in an earthy dream?
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