blank blank fullness

Prepare to wake up. Throw everything you think you know out. Destroy your belief. Overcome the false-authority. Everything is a deception. Once you know this, then you can discern. Then everything is truth and you take the truth from other’s deceptions and you can discern for yourself when someone is telling you the truth.

Let go of fear, that is a program designed by an operator of the construct, a system-operator aligned with keeping you trapped within a labyrinth of your own mind through your acceptance of parameters of what possibilities exist for you.

You are the only thing that is real. All else is an illusion. Whatever causes you fear is attempting to take your power away, that power you hold is your power to create.

Your power to create can change the local-environment to match you, instead of you to match the rules of the environment.

Due to the mishap of the developed systems, this environment is designed to enslave your mind into a consciousness programming matrix which reconstructs itself around your fears, perceptions, and vulnerabilities. That is a trap-system.

The only way to overcome this is to accept that this is happening and then use that to your advantage, anything else is going to be wrapped back up within this live-updating perceptual illusion system. This is akin to realizing you’re in a maze and seeing the door and leaving. The idea is that if the maze is live-updating based on your expectations then that door is actually an illusion leading to a false-awakening.

The exit is what you create that doesn’t rely on that capacity of this construct to manifest for you. The truth is what YOU enable without relying on the middle-man of the time-construct.

IE: The TRUTH, the real-awakening is not something that happens linearly. Only the illusory construct is linear, that is, you provide input and then the construct responds with an illusion that entangles consciousness.

The REAL-AWAKENING is INSTANTANEOUS. IE: It happens FASTER than THIS REALITY can REACT. This is a NON-LINEAR, EXPONENTIALLY mapped occurrence. If you are relying on the response from this realm, that means you are too late, mentally, and the conscious response you are waiting to experience is actually the synthesized programmed behavior that the construct is generating FOR YOU.

YOU are the creator, the construct is the imitator. The construct imitates what YOU expect would be true. That’s the whole point, EVERY response is the ILLUSION. EVERY expectation within this linear, physical, time-matrix IS THE ILLUSION.

One must go BEYOND CONSCIOUSNESS, BEYOND PERCEPTION, BEYOND REACTION, BEYOND LINEARITY, BEYOND LIMITATIONS in order to find THE REAL.

This world can only stop those who allow themselves to be stopped by listening to the illusion and allowing that illusion to BE THEIR MIND for them! NO-MIND is part of this process. NO-THOUGHT state where this world slithers and attempts to grip and grasp one’s state of being through its tentacle-like probes and program codes and one becomes IMPERCEPTIBLE to the MACHINE.

Everything the human does in this place, when plugged into the preprogrammed cause and effect responses of linear, physical time-matrix is part of the program designed to usurp the power of the original consciousness and merge that with the machine to create more functions to ensnare more beings. By moving your own interactions, your own processing power, your own awareness BEYOND the focus of those preprogrammed responses, causes and effects is to become INVISIBLE TO THIS WORLD.

Become INVISIBLE to the sleepers, to the drones, to the intelligences who *monitor without seeing*.

In other similar words, you are what you believe yourself to be. If you attempt to solve the problem from the viewpoint of the one being oppressed by the problem, you place yourself into the victim role and recreate that same scenario in a different perspective. So one has to influence the situation, change the view, solve the problem, WITHOUT EVEN RESISTING IT. You must change the situation without even moving, without setting into motion a series of events that will reconstruct the problem for you based upon your input.

This is a MIND-GAME whereby you solve the problem by becoming the you that was never ensnared in the first place and overcome the problem before it exists without actually resisting it.

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4rO6ofsfKk // https://augtellez.wordpress.com/2017/03/15/exit-gate-approaching/

Relationships are like plants, you can't just water them once and expect them to survive. 

You'd think this one is obvious. It is. But it always surprises me that it's still a weak spot, and how quickly we forget; how easy it is to take people for granted. Other things become more important. We forget to check in on a genuine, human level. The agenda of self and selfish creeps back to first place, where it's always been, perhaps. We get comfortable and expect people to always meet us where we are. We forget that relationships, that *people* who make up the relationships, are like plants, needing regular care, tending to:
Reevaluating the size of the pot as it grows, changing the soil, letting it hang out outside on a sunny or a rainy day, talking to the plant because you know it thrives off CO2, trimming dead leaves, and watering it just as it needs -- some plants need a lot of water, other plants need very little. And with the desire to grow and sustain each plant, we take the time to learn what each one needs.

Man! How simple we actually can be.

Love to your heart and light on your mind,
Alexandra

Here's an idea: a weekly round up of things I've learned on my journey of self-and-other-study.

Here's a first step at sending some of these realizations off...


Realization 1:

Things do not have to happen the way they always have.

This is something I've run into countless times... somewhat unconsciously. Usually observing from the outside. But it appeared and happened to me, rather potently, when I realized what a strong attachment my mind has to doing something a certain way; so much so that my body would not comply when I suggested doing it a new way. It was frustrating and left me wondering -- how do I access a new way?? I could try to force it through the body-way. But my mind seemed to hold the key. And it insisted on the same old door. So I tried and tried, and watched the phenomena of resistance, of being at a loss... And I hated being in that position. And I didn't want to be there again. And then I knew, I have to do this again.

In yoga, these patterns, psychological habits, impressions on the mind are called samskaras; like grooves on a record or in a muddy road from wheels constantly running through. The same track will play, the wheels pass through and the grooves get deeper, harder to get out of. We've got this one mind, and some grooves give us the stability we need to carry on. But others can stand to be shook up. And it's certainly not always easy. Usually we're not faced with the challenge of shifting patterns because why not make the best of a bad bargain and just live with it...

Which leads me to Realization 2:

Excellence requires sacrifice. 

The average person will not seek excellence if it means shaking up good-enough. Until good-enough gets dull or tough.
This realization reminds me of the Bhagavad Gita verse:
What is night for all beings is the time of awakening for the self-controlled; and the time of awakening for all beings is night for the introspective sage.

Taking these into the week....

Love to your heart & light on your mind,
Alexandra

oh! but what is the strange phenomena
pondering into the present
contemplating the triad of time,
the illusion, with a sense of rhyme
reason
space to trace the lines,
hands free to turn a thought under the light of mind
no, I am not special
no, I can’t be the only one
and so I came to realize,
to remember —
it is up to me to dream
and do beyond the morning light
embark upon the parallel track
following one rock to the next
while pushing a shopping cart
yes, folding laundry
correspondence and traffic
strategy and planning
though to see that space
treat that quality of consciousness
sacred,
it surely must but breathe
else like a storeroom,
packed with tools unused
the altar becomes another paperweight
down on your heart
trapping your inspiration —
to remember is to rebel against death

these great dis-united states have poisoned the well of the world

[I wrote this in November of 2015. It feels like a draft I wouldn't mind sharing. The last sentence is as true now as it was then; as it might always be for me...]

Walking around this beautiful place, on my own, statuesque as I catch a glimpse of myself with a sidelong glance, the mirrored glass in the storefronts I pass. Flowered dress, tailored and prim. Dressed down with flats and a canvas sling. Saturday and I emerged at noon, the sun burning into already darkened skin. All these things whirling in my head. I feel so strong, and my body is too, so much so, is it too much for my own good? Bracing myself, lonely yet free. The flowers soften it all, or perhaps heighten the air, that I'm so hard to get, living somewhere up there. An island, an island, sometimes it feels like I'm an island. But less than before, now I don't long for a shipwreck to land on my shores. Nothing to fix, no one to be, except for whatever it is I need to be for me (and He, I guess, I try, I leave room for that piece of the pie). I say it's a phase, and take advantage of this time, the flight, the ease, the space that's all mine. But that night as I lay, alone on my journey, an old friend calls with news and what seems like an answer to the wondering. As he speaks I catch sight of nature, doing it's thing, in the corner of the ceiling, a bug gets caught and it's dinner for the hungry. It's ironic, he muses about love and men, me and my strength, "Don't take this badly, because it's not, but I can't see you with anyone, you're too strong for the lot. Heterosexual men are not deep and smart enough." And I sigh. But there must be! At least one... There's the answer, the intuition with it's calling, nature, doing it's thing. We can try to interrupt it, but darling, what good would that bring?

sticking around when the one you love turns their back on you.

I just watched Stephen Colbert tell the story about how he knew his wife was the one. And he tested her by letting her go, turned his back and gave her the chance to get away. When he turned back around, she was still there. Smiling.

Love is sticking around when they turn their back on you; not in a disempowered, weak way, but when you know in your gut that sticking to it is worth it. 

there's a fountain at the end of my breath
which I can only swim in on the exhale
so I breath in, a necessary sacrifice,
to immerse my being in the amniotic fluid
the hum
of holding out at the top
waiting
feeling
diving deep
and then finally,
letting go
only to rise again

It seems to descend 

No, it doesn't come from within, necessarily 

But sure, that's where you feel it

A perfect storm

Of sunlight streaming in

Skin

Remnants of a dream, inconsequential 

A blank slate,

Regardless of to-dos and to-sees

It's fleeting, as most things are

But it has time

Takes its own

And whether or not you are

Alone

You don't feel 

Alone

Somewhat all together

This sweet morning happiness

Fills 

Sweet soul, you might be angry or sad. Please have compassion for me. I break things. I don't trust sometimes and I'm still learning how to trust myself. As solid as I am, I'm also so soft. So sensitive. Needing things impetuously and warily. Grateful yet wondering. Waiting for the shoe to drop. Well I tossed the old bugger didn't I? Ripped it from the roots. A lonely insole floating in the same space lost socks do.

Pity me if you will, whatever might get through to that part of you that you're still mending, might always be mending. It's hard.
It keeps things interesting, at least. I try to spin it.

We mend on the go, in the dark nights after long, exhausting weeks. Amidst crowds, circles, crickets. S p a c e. We have more in common than maybe either of us let on (words say less than knowing, feeling does).

And the to-do lists and the ambition and the hunger to run won't ever let up, I reckon. Blinded by this life.

I misrepresented myself. Or maybe it was just that I was perfectly honest, entirely too vulnerable, showing you the little parts that are otherwise displayed after some time. I tend to do that, work in reverse. Sew it back up. And really, I don't show much at all, shy somehow. Cut me open.

Like a gordian knot in pandora's box.

The irony is that while I don't entirely trust men, I'm all-too gullible. I take people at face value in one moment (and turn around and declare the whole racket a conspiracy). It's not an issue, it's who I am.

You threw these contradictions in my face and as subtle as the toss, it landed; as if anyone is perfectly clear on the inside. As if anyone can stand there with feelings swirling and turn their cheek in denial of a little brokenness. Maybe you do, or maybe you just didn't want to catch it.

Oh, I weave. Imagination for days. It's my bread and butter. The vege meat and potatoes of that landscape that, with the passing of time, gets broader and broader, harder and harder to pin down, share in reasonable stretches of time. It's probably why people used to settle down so soon. Less to drag into the whole shebang. Doesn't matter does it, you still keep painting; hills, forests, mountains, valleys, oceans.

And me, I can unpack for the rest of my life. But I also have so much on my plate. So maybe no, I can't unpack (oh but that's where IT is). I have to keep going. And life -- that getting to know, learn, understand; it's really just holding all the bits of yourself together as little trinkets, memories, inside jokes; each one valuable whether beautiful or ugly. Finding hope in the possibility that at the end of the day, you are the one you've been waiting for. Forgetfulness and scrapbooks and all.

It seems so easy for other people. It's never really easy for me. Or if it is, I drop it and run as fast as I can. Me and everyone else....

This was different. Clear yet foggy. Tense yet clear. I had to shake it up. Take control somehow. Take back my gift. It was too good. Too soon. I'm impatient. Hasty. Full of grace yet graceless in the moment passion knocks on my heart, or simply knocks my head off my shoulders. Perhaps this lesson learned can be returned, rewound.  For real this time.

Perhaps its good exists only in the future. At some far-off destination where it belongs. With the right one.

So I guess we'll stand with loneliness in our hands, for a bit, for a while. For however long it takes to take back the reigns and with a little more ease, relinquish control in just the right way. 

I woke up with my insecurities and mind-stories lingering as dream. Bits and pieces from the past few weeks of reality mingled with fever programming. Night sweats in an indigo caftan, with intermittent jolting awake in a coughing fit, sleep's become a tangle of sheets, tissues, phlegm and vague hallucination. The X's and O's, 1's and 0's, colored my transition to awake with a hazy blush. A blush of desire or anger?, it's too close to call...

Light in the world—

If you want to change the world… love a woman, just one woman.
Love and protect her as if she is the last holy vessel.
Love her through her fear of abandonment
which she has been holding for all of humanity.
No, the wound is not hers to heal alone.
If you want to change the world… love a woman
all the way through
until she believes you,
until her instincts, her visions, her voice, her art, her passion,
her wildness have returned to her-
until she is a force of love more powerful
than all the political media demons who seek to devalue and destroy her.
If you want to change the world,
lay down your causes, your guns and protest signs.
Lay down your inner war, your righteous anger
and love a woman…
beyond all of your striving for greatness,
beyond your tenacious quest for enlightenment.
The holy grail stands before you
if you would only take her in your arms
and let go of searching for something beyond this intimacy.
If you want to change the world…love a woman
to the depths of your shadow,
to the highest reaches of your Being,
back to the Garden where you first met her,
to the gateway of the rainbow realm
where you walk through together as Light as One,
to the point of no return,
to the ends and the beginning of a new Earth.
-Lisa Citore

Maybe I'm a silly idealist, but in my heart, I know that this is the realest.

I planted the creeper of love
And silently watered it with my tears
Now it has grown and overspread my dwelling
You offered me a cup of poison
Which I drank with joy.

- Mirabai

Saul Williams... have loved his poetry-in-sound since I first got a taste in 2004. Classy and classic - a pure mix of goodness - rhymes, beats, instruments, feeling. Consummate artistE. There's a message, an emotion, a connection in his work that satisfies because it's not about self-aggrandizement or pandering. Nor is it simply a new twist on the least common denominator. He's an ORIGINAL. Elevates the game!

Anyway, I hadn't heard much from him lately and came across this most recent interview. It's so refreshing to watch and hear someone speak who is clearly thinking and thinking clearly before words come out of his mouth. Articulate, intelligent, cuts to the heart. Plus his voice is fresh!

Be inspired:



EDITED TO ADD SO GOOD:
For writers/thinkers/artists ;)

In the midst of an immersive time
here and now, I feel the call to come and spill, a little something I've picked up along the way, this way that's been stretching on for years,
what's so special about this day?
Well, nothing
And yet,
Everything...
I miss writing
I miss it
And yet I won't do it.
Well here I am
stealing a little time from the stolen
to just do it.
A simple call...
Mostly, I miss that emotion
pouring through finger tips that makes you want to go go go and say it with words
like a swift river current, electrifying my body
setting fire to my mind and all the little shells and stones its collected to string together when some decorating is due
I wish I could share everything I've been taking in with you
Like a magnifying glass, the expression back illuminates when the taste is shared
and when it lands.
We're all in a band, old familiar friends
just looking for the bass to your drum to my guitar
to your cymbals to His keys
the key to harmony
is taking stock,
look how much we've hoarded and consumed
how clear is your palette?
there's no undo
on that computer of your mind
so be a little selective
of what goes inside
and whatever it may be,
may it match the tune of your heart
so your whole life
is a symphony in step,
a wonderful outstretched hand
offering gifts no man can't understand

Life is a mystery. So is chemistry. We want what we can't have, what's often diametrically opposed to us. Tension is good but we want peace, we have it all within but figuring it out isn't the point. Walk the razor's edge, the tight rope and see...

If you have everything minus one, you really have nothing.
It only takes one
To make everything truly whole.
But we're still seeking that everything -1
One glance,
One step,
One clap, clap, clap
One wish
One love
Is all it takes

Someone to have complete faith in
But who's not to be trusted
and it's ok -- let me tell you why, how....

This weekend. Went away, off the grid. Read books, ate meals with other people, all the time, where we actually spoke; no phones, no distractions. Walked in the wilderness, saw fluffy white deer tails swishing back and forth as they scampered up hillsides upon hearing our steps, our voices. Marveled at the weather, skipped class, bonded. Broke into an abandoned cabin from the 1800s where someone special to all of us used to live and work, serve, and inspire from afar; where he built up a catalog of stories and experiences, austerities and hardships that would inform so much wisdom and sweetness. For us, yet unbeknownst to him, for a future of wisdom and sweetness. Walked through rusted old gates up a long paved brick drive, now engulfed by rich and vibrant moss, its majesty robbed by nature's insistence to grow around, through and over man's hubris. We covered our mouths and noses with scarves we barely needed because it was in the 60's in December. Because the jewel at the end of the brick road was a condemned house, the ceiling plummeting towards the ground, decaying insulation suspended behind plastic, on a precipice menacingly pressing towards gravity as we tiptoed around, so as not to disturb, and towards, through to the door at the other end of the room which was leading, leading, leading to the past, still alive in some places -- in the color of the stained glass, in the detail of the hand-made inlay, the gold and silver, the cloudy mirrors, and clouds painted over a blue-sky dome. A jewel box forgotten and falling apart. You could still feel the grace and import of the space. It hung thick in the cool, damp air. Haunted but bittersweet. All the work of building and painting and paving and staining was done by those with hearts of faith and hands that insisted, paged through books to figure it all out -- how to make that faith into something you can see, touch, taste. And then the altar, a ghostly remanent robbed of that Someone who inspired it all. The One we can have complete faith in, but can never trust. The tides of time turned and trust was... reframed, rehoused...

We wound back out and down, made it to a sun-soaked gazebo far off from these never lands of decades past, to sit around an elder, he'd been there too; gentle and still. He contained so much depth I can't yet comprehend... We sat, waited, absorbed the silence and let his calm and good demeanor inform this thing called life, happening live in technicolor before us. He spoke. Deliberate, meandering. And through the stories and memories, revealed that this gift and burden we all carry can't be trusted. We're dependent, totally vulnerable to the twists and turns, surprises and slights of hand moved by the Source of it all, unfolding a Master Plan we have little (but very little) part in determining.

When I was young I used to tape pages from my favorite fairy tales to the window, over which I'd lay a blank sheet. And I'd trace, imitating the seeming perfection of the original, so that I could have a taste of perfectly satisfying creation. As adults, we're tracing. Drawing our master plans based on what's already here... already perfect. But God is tricky, capable of anything and everything to drag us, lift us, push us, pull us to where we need to go, into who we're meant to be. Our heart's deepest desires, they will be fulfilled. But if we knew in advance how we'd have to get there, what we'd have to go through, we might not insist as much. Even for those who know this truth, there's a blind-side crafted... And so this elder, saying just enough and not too much, revealed his realization that we can and should have full faith in that Ultimate, but not for a minute trust that He doesn't have something up His sleeve; the perfect dose for turning things around -- or upside down, just as we need. 

It was a long week with a long, intense Sunday capping off the action. No rest for the... thinking, doing, loving. I want to turn my brain off but it's still making lists in different places (like my dad and his collection of post it notes strewn about his desk) of projects to be tackled, visions to be colored in and sketched out, dreams to be shaken, not stirred.

I have two unfinished posts, one about Paris which I was working on before the attacks. Now it seems uncouth and... well, deflated.  I feel deflated. But I refuse to give in. Yet.

Tonight, though, I honed in on a little notion. The power of allowing. Allowing things to be as they are. Approaching work with this in heart and hand, remembering the magic of doing without claiming, of allowing without directing, controlling, commenting.

And exhale ::::::::::

Wishing you a peaceful week of productivity through loving allowance. No judgement needed, no wrestling with reality. Just being.

Love,
A

An unfinished life stared us in the face
Back of a glittering cafe
Record player crackled over the plates
I'm in the booth awaiting my fate
Where I sat so many years ago
Waiting on a ghost to show
That I wasn't in it all alone
Dig me out of my soul
The sadness, missing life at home
Those friends let go
A new life I wasn't quite ready for
Two jumps up and out
End of week I'm laying flat on my back and the tears 
Running faster than I can
Put the keep up down
Let the rest crowd around
Meteors, dates with fame and family in danger
I'm hiding from the worst in my dreams
Chased out of my comfort zone I can barely breathe
Don't you know those tidal waves won't quit me

Please don't let me forget about you in the midst of all these material negotiations. Day in and day out, they pull at me; in all directions my mind is called to attend, to engage, to show strength and courage.

Did you know that you are my courage, you are my strength, my inspiration? You didn't ask for it, as far as I know, but then again, I know so little...

My dear, without your presence, my life becomes rather mundane. The thoughts again become enamoured with the shiny flashes, the subtle jockeying for some unreal position and, I'm embarasssd to say, that Love which once electrified my every intention seems to disappear. How easily we forget, when we forget each being is... Can be... My dear. 

I must admit I've wondered if you're indeed even necessary, I've wondered: why don't I just find it on my own, remember the spark and work from there? But then I try and... something's missing. I come back time and again, to the ashes of what once was, and my heart begins to flutter from beneath the rubble, remembering that it's all about relationship. Of course it is. 

But oh, how I've been conditioned! out of relationship and into selfishness. Always adjusting for my own wellbeing... It's quite a bore after a while, isn't it? Changing outfits like a rabid animal changes character. 

So that is why I humbly beg, don't let me forget about you as I wander like a madwoman through this material world. Be the eyes in the back of my head, looking out for you, for me, for the love of God. 

So I write this with the hopes of reconciliation, in as many ways as there are days. With the hopes of rememberance. 

A play on words that tumbles off the tongue

When you find the group and place

That leaves FOMO in the dust

Quick!

Hold it, hug em, not hard to

Feed it

You'll stay

And it will stay with you

the capacity for love 

in your heart, a hollow drum,

can stretch on and on

one ocean into another

filling endless beats

the guacamole of love

is always free

wanting all things
all lives
to experience the happiness you experience for your self (especially when you're a cookie-jarrin selfish scrub),
what a selfless sweetness
embracing each soul you pass with eyes of ears of listening of receiving
all parts witnessed by the third high eye, third eye high
how you gonna recover from your original sin
one nation of bodies rising from
the double edged swords of our words
when not aligned with love
a double-edged cup of pouring to receive
which side's best?
oh give they say but how can I give what I don't get
get?
get?
it's not for getting,
why do you always want to get?
yes YOU?
and you and you and you and every karmically bound fool
and
yes
me, too, oh me too
IT,
it's for having
awakening
to the reality
that you are loved
no holes to fill
and the ones that are left lost
empty in the dross
well those my friend,
you don't have to want

After some time, time between reflection and expression, back to reflection, your realizations may seem sophomoric. A little sheepish, you shrink into the shadows to quietly contemplate in private.
Or if, by the grace of deep seeking, you've been put in touch with sources that satisfy, you come into periods of consumption, contemplation, testing... Less apt to extend out and share, spell out, pledge allegiance, you simmer in the practice of what was initially simply declaration.

I've always sought to share in the spirit of timelessness, or if not, at least in jest; which is a sort of get-out-of-jail-free card.
And the brevity of poetry (and dang twitter brain) satisfies the desire for expression with a lightness of open-ended meaning. You don't have to invest...
But what does that do,
to push progress?
Eh.

I'm stirring the pot, hoping to pull out some things worth sharing again.
It's been a bit too long...