Dear journal. We meet again. Yeah, one of those moments. It’s been months, and I forgot you existed. I’m sorry. And only just now I remember those times we’ve been together. We’ve been places. Usually we depart when things are going well for me, and we rejoice when the clouds make their way in. We spent our time at different times and in different places, and while I just got older, you are still your calm self. My friend, my companion. I dread the moment we depart from one another for good. A strange thought it is indeed that the essence, or part of it at least, of what we’ve been through together will remain inside of you. Who knows for how long. Dear journal, I wish you the best.
I recently found out that nothing can be explained. Perhaps some things. Some parts of things. And parts of those parts. Well atleast nothing that leads to wisdom. We both know that information is plentiful, maybe it’s even infinite, we should’ve asked dr. Hawking, but it least it is prevalent. It’s everywhere, and maybe everything. But also nothing. Wisdom, yes, says something about perspective. A view. To actually see something you need focus, an optical lens to focus with. If you lack focus, you’ll likely drown. Drown in vibrational chaos. Yes… I can tell you, drowing isn’t great. They torture people with drowning. Even, most people torture themselves with drowning. People drown all the time. Everywhere. If you look out your window you see people drowning. Some people don’t even know it. I might be drowning. I am probably drowning, or partly drowning, why would I be here with you otherwise. How to come up for air is the question. Which way is up? And which way is down that is. Drooling is the answer if you’re stuck in snow. But what about air?
No. Those optical lenses that shape some order from that disharmonious buzz for one to find wisdom. You would say there is harmony everywhere. Everything is connected they say. Might be true. It could even be the Truth. Capital T. Big truth you see. The biggest. Nothing beats it, not even the Pope. But it is the same as to saying that white noise consists of all the existing master pieces of Chopin, Mozart, Beethoven, you know those guys, combined. The Final Master Piece. It doesn’t sound like anything. Haven’t tried to really listen though. Might try some day.
Talking optical lenses, they are crafted physically and it mostly starts by melting sand. Sand is just dust, powdered earth. It gets between your toes. Besides raising childhood memories it just gives headaches. Today it is even used to create consciousness. Can you imagine? Who could’ve predicted that! So it all starts with a tremendous amount of heat. You could say a hellish amount of heat. A proper devilish passion. So much heat that the dirt merges with other dirt and forms some super alignment with itself, and becomes clear and uniform. It unites in harmony and shares a common order, some divine accord to be as one.
So yes, you could argue that the process of seeing begins with a trip through the underground. And after some grinding and tweaking and shaping and molding, the work is put in to give one a perspective. Let’s start with that.
The Realm of Indifference 