- Joined
- Jan 14, 2024
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- 174
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Riding thoughts and associated feelings
To unknown sensed ephemeral destinations
That are as fleating as the thought ridden.
Purple prose seems it's landmark,
Ever shifting
Until jumbled words link together
To share with another
Fragments
So they may have their own light journey.
I'm no poet, but I understand now why some mystics are drawn to lyrical forms of writing or speech.
What induced this state for me today was a memory that connected to another. The other memory was a deeper experience of the first. The last was a perfect moment that seems eternal. Looking out from a clean window of a 1970s cadillac. Mother driving on a midmorning summer day. Sun light reflecting off large vibrant green popular tree leaves gently shifting in a breeze.
The perfect few seconds is one of a collection of memories that my soul seems to naturally gather and holds on to with a passion. I've used this collection to enter states mentioned above in the purple prose. And the reason this is a journal entry is i realized these perfect moments are keys to between life memories my brain can use to bridge with my soul to a spiritual dimension.
The soul as i understand it is all of me as i am now and has ever been. The earthiness of being the spirit sings with it, through it.
The obelisk comes to mind. Reaching up, piercing the sky to touch, to be touched by sun or moon, as the popular tree's glossy leaves reflected the midmorning sun. Object and luminance. Flesh and spirit forming a soul.
As these moments happen, I'll make an entry.
Working with nostalgia in general and word depths got me here.
To unknown sensed ephemeral destinations
That are as fleating as the thought ridden.
Purple prose seems it's landmark,
Ever shifting
Until jumbled words link together
To share with another
Fragments
So they may have their own light journey.
I'm no poet, but I understand now why some mystics are drawn to lyrical forms of writing or speech.
What induced this state for me today was a memory that connected to another. The other memory was a deeper experience of the first. The last was a perfect moment that seems eternal. Looking out from a clean window of a 1970s cadillac. Mother driving on a midmorning summer day. Sun light reflecting off large vibrant green popular tree leaves gently shifting in a breeze.
The perfect few seconds is one of a collection of memories that my soul seems to naturally gather and holds on to with a passion. I've used this collection to enter states mentioned above in the purple prose. And the reason this is a journal entry is i realized these perfect moments are keys to between life memories my brain can use to bridge with my soul to a spiritual dimension.
The soul as i understand it is all of me as i am now and has ever been. The earthiness of being the spirit sings with it, through it.
The obelisk comes to mind. Reaching up, piercing the sky to touch, to be touched by sun or moon, as the popular tree's glossy leaves reflected the midmorning sun. Object and luminance. Flesh and spirit forming a soul.
As these moments happen, I'll make an entry.
Working with nostalgia in general and word depths got me here.