
~
Into the wild
I roam; my heart
broken wide open.
~

~
Into the wild
I roam; my heart
broken wide open.
~

~
Wonder Weaving
Threads of Sound
Round and Round and Round and Round
~
This is wonderful. An elderly man becomes animated when he hears music from his era...so moving! Enjoy!

Today I am thinking about Guilt. Almighty as God. Dangerous and smothering as thick pneumonic phlegm. The symptoms, disfigured delusions of omnipotence and self-righteousness. Both of which manifest as the belief that I am in some way responsible for any and everything that causes me or others distress. That I will then be afflicted by the horrible birth of said distress, for the rest of my life. In many people, especially women, the condition is terminal. So acute, they feel guilty for even thinking about things they think cause others pain and suffering.
I believe this scourge is directly related to the lie many of us were told about our supposed Mother, Eve. How her defiance, her selfish desire for knowledge and personal power are the cause of all of humanities suffering. How dare she ruin the paradise of God [those seeking power over her], by refusing to remain ignorant!
I have spent the last four years trying to unravel the snarly knots of my supposed transgressions. Indeed there are some mistakes for which I have deep and painful regret. Choices I wish I could make again. But when I started this journey I was ill with guilt. Diseased with the need to be punished. Tormented by a feeling that I was personally responsible for everything that had ever gone wrong.
Interestingly, in almost every case, these ‘missing the mark’ events came about because of my lack of personal power, freedom, knowledge and creative insight. Had I eaten from the tree of ‘what’s up with this good and evil stuff,’ my journey and choices would have been different. This is not to say that I will never make another mistake. That I will not unwittingly hurt myself or another. I am human; still learning and exploring. However it will not be because I’m trying to qualify for admittance into Heaven; that I allow this, refuse that. Stifle every intuitive impulse that strikes my heart. Strangle on all reasonable thinking, and follow rivers that rage with penitence.

So another of the wonderfully weird ideas that keeps popping into my mind, is that what my parents were thinking about when they conceived me, has a major effect on who I am. I am thinking of conception, the moment the sperm penetrates the egg, as being like an opera singer hitting a perfect pitch note.
While they were making love, or fucking, or whatever they were doing, every thought they had singing through their minds, both on conscious and unconscious levels, were like different instruments, orchestrating the melody of my life. The Song of Self born, in the hum of my electrical circuitry, when her egg and his sperm created a tiny big bang, and the universe of Me was conceived.
If it’s true that the animating ‘force’ of who we are is sound, like the belief that OM is the seed sound that created the universe, perhaps the tone of their thought waves are in part what helps in determining who I become. I imagine this as a wave of music, like an echo, it keeps repeating itself. Singing me into my minds ear.