A voyeur to the void

Listening to: Departure Songs by Hammock. 

This evening, after a call with a colleague in Thailand, I went out into the garden, played this album, looked up at the sky and felt the freedom of limitless possibility. Whenever I have this feeling, I'm instantly connected to the other moments that inspired the same feeling.  A time traveler in a sense, the way a smell can take you back to memories you don't remember keeping. It fascinates me that time can fold upon itself when examined through the mind's lens:

What is life, but a series of conscious moments? And what am I but a singular moment, observing itself?  A denizen looks skyward, up the skirt of the heavens, a voyeur to the void. The universe and I observe one another.

The horizon expands. My mind goes silent for the first time in days. I connect to more primal purposes and timeless moments where archetypes are born, destroyed, and born again, endlessly, like stars. The stars, the wind, the archetypes, always here.

I dream I'll find the stillness to learn myself, practice the arts and lose myself to something bigger. I can't outgrow the void, or the archetypes. Is this it? Yoginanda Paramhansa had it. Alan Watts had it.

Its simplicity is dissolved by idiosyncrasies as the music conducts the cantor of the mind. My thoughts are redirected through the aqueducts of conscious and down into the dark well where ideas stir in longing to be received.

M.iris

Listening to Departure Songs by Hammock.