Maybe it’s Animals
If speaking with humans means me being tired and sick…
Is it true?
June 22, 2022
I knew that it would happen eventually. People would start talking in my language and I would either feel grateful to be alike or annoyed to be sharing the light-space. Right now, I’m feeling a bit of both and everything in between.
I could say that’s mostly b/c the people I’m hearing it from are those I’ve said it to in the past and, now, hearing my words echoed back to me, I’m wondering how they can’t recognise me in that. But that’s simply the door into something bigger to explore.
Feeling the rub and wondering where I am in the recognition is the beginning of a cascade truth. I tumble through the door via the feeling and head down a hallway of options, each one offering to explain what’s going on in terms of “the world” vs. me. Then it stops. I realise where I am, almost as if the hallway itself is beckoning me toward something else, something greater, somewhere foreign or hidden.
Without stepping out of that space at all, I fall. All the hallways coalesce into a single path beneath me. My senses are overcome. It feels real, for a time; and, in that time, my experience of what-is floats above and about things that are not really going on for me but that pass through me the way grief and joy come to inhabit a body so completely there is nothing else, no other space left to occupy.
That’s cogitation, in a way. Except, perhaps, that my expression of self-nigrescent does not occupy the contemplation mind. Instead, there is a full bōgaha occurring; one I call allowing. I am consumed.
— Is it true? I ask myself.
— Is it real? Am I actually feeling slighted, feeling used and unseen?
The answer is never close by. The reply comes quickly, in successive bouts of feeling sensation. There is a flurry, then a pause. A moment to be consumed and another to breathe new life into what remains. That is how it happens for me.
