FoOlRaNT IV w/DEvON

  What a vague term is the soul. What dried concepts we have attached to it - much like everything else in our lives: marshaled into convenient pragmatism.

  Speaking on the institution of conventional logic there is no room for such a "thing". The functions of soul is cataloged and dismissed by the functions of the brain. Fortunately the soul doesn’t give a damn about our explanations. Instead of asking what is the soul I ask what is logic? Useful yet suffocating - a very necessary tool that we forgot was just a tool. We carry the thing with us all day, clanking around in our heavy hand, jabbering on excessively.

  And for fuck sake if we happen to drop the damn thing what are we going to do?!? Who’s going to tighten the bolts and screws to keep our view of existence in tidy order?!?

  When your setting there with your delicious bowl of triple-fudge-peanut-butter-melt ice-cream and the little bastard keeps prattling on about something you heard last Tuesday. It's enough to make one yell: "Just leave me be! I want to be with this taste, this texture! Sometimes I just get on my last nerve with all my needs to shoe-horn everything into priorities, deafening with the self continuity.

  In moments of profound surrender, the mouthy midget tyrant shuts its cake hole, and judgment is suspended. And for a brief interlude I am blessed with a little peek. It is these times which I relish (what a word!) where I sip up the gossamer as though it were finely aged port. Without rhyme or design I am transported into the sacred, existing in an essence not of my own. If I concentrate I am able to change the channel. At first a torrent of new “feelings“ pours out, yet with a little adjustment of reception the new theme stabilizes. This is my special Solarium (or sanatorium, depending on whose reading this).

  We have all been here - tiny flickers. But we grasp at them and try to grapple them and make them our own. What remains is pinning, and the initial experience remembered as nothing more.

  I am certain if we stand completely naked, disrobed from all the silly veneers of separateness we can look upon the sleeves of ivy clambering through the sinews of mortar and in a blink become saturated within the embodiment of the very moment. A transcendence before the physicality of sensory shuffle.

  So to me, I am not concerned with what powers me, but with what moves me. Not concerned with where I’ll go but with where I am.

Lets get naked!
 

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