[How tiring to be weaving wings from the feathers of freedom while grinding the ground out from under my feet with the shovel of shame]

The dream was an overwhelming consensus (thriving, even, within the head) of Seba stood and stared at the uppermost top hat as the windmills spun with some volition beyond his eye's comprehension. The patterns of colors flashing above the smokestack black of each hat's flat top whirled with the wisdom only color can lend to some thing in formation. He sunk so low into the poem of colors that he missed the first part of whatever the third top hat's mouth was ending with "and damn divinity for creating in us the imaginings of perfection while being bound by our faults from calling it forth."

So here we have our intrepid adventurer admiring him's elf in the mirror of the mind. Abstracting the void into shapes or devouring the frantic becomings that arch out of the fathomless deep beginnings disguised as antipathy to our fragile fleshy kind. He's not devious, even if the faces he is practicing blend into danger where his eyes' receivers mesh with the emotional mechanism - down there be a squeltering admission of faith in the process. All the emotive clusters of twinges and tickles bellow the same deep breath - 'Tantilize us!" No matter the defeats his ego has clamored away as memories to rot into food for angels assigned to clean up after our haphazard paths plowed thru this glorious creation. They are barred from all but watching and singing some.

Seba's more aware of his emotions than most bipeds, but he's still attached to naming them, like pets or any type of color, forgetting even the dismal shreds of boundaries all such labels apply upon things that then are rooted in time, say, or space. The space of his heart doesn't often remind him of his head, though the reverse is often the case; until his heart finds space among all the straws grasped and piled to breathe between. Hollering in thumps it can easily drive awareness to the outer body, by raising temperatures and squeezing the lungs with a tightness least often found lying around after sex or, more likely, in the cracked open vein of a secret. That is what is rising in Seba's mystery - the intuition of what time has seen fit to obscure until what will soon be now. The dreams are all jumping towards the sky in the hopes that the sun's warmth will take them up to leave him cooler.

This world holds a thousand fascinations such as one extreme making a calm way for its spectrum's specter, its opposition in force or freedom, the unmaking is never undone. Seba's cloak of wishes sewn from a thousand mid-day desperate decisions only warms him with enough hope that the world will drift apart with nary a squeal, only serve to weigh him down long enough to walk, but such disparate desires never really carry one in a particular direction so much as draw out the deepest farces of emotion. The emotions tinged with fright are often found rising to the top because of these antiquated flesh sacs' need to keep in functioning order and the flavor of fear being so bitter as to drive action up from the marrow. Looking about him he's seeing how the whole of the world shatters whenever he blinks but there's no clue as to how existence is re-crafted with as much speed as it takes his mind to sharpen the colors of his eye back into shapes its grown comfortable operating among. Such dilemmas have brought Seba to the brink of laying down for a breather but even his practiced breath holds only onto the relative shallows of the deepest pocket inside his core - which is barely keeping afloat as an outlying orbital around the truer, centerer, center.

"Love fits in here" the airs whisper as if pointing, but look where he may the flatness of gravity still seems to keep even the roundest surfaces without love-shaped holes that it seems all of everything burrows towards the sun in search of filling. Seba plugs his ears to better taste the air's waste and let some fashion of electricity pass between his ears. Not knowing how his hands become encharged with the very pulse of the universe has yet to stop beings from harnessing the divinest forms of form or is it energies of energy?

None can be unsure of anything enough to really divest the soul from its previous struggles. Yet we try to remember our past as if it were a part of our future though where, in the dankest slices of self, can the last thing you were hold forth without its meaning being churned by the ever-nowing spin of one's perspective moving into the eternal horizon? Here on the cusp of everything the distances fall away creating space for an entire being to unfold all its corners of self-assumed functions, everything from draining the life from nutrimentations to the vanities every glance implants in a mirror. There's nothing different within us from anywhere else, so long as you can step back from your own head long enough to circumnavigate the currents fed from the well-spring into anything that you have yet to be in this world among each of us. The divinity we so desperately wish to touch us is beyond our grasp because it arises from within each of us. And for some damned reason inversion of the emotions may be played, but inversion of the self takes so much of a lifetime as to render the practice of anything else moot with the decay time wafts behind like an odor but even sharper in the skin than the nostrils.

Seba's lungs were never up to the task of breathing in life, which makes it handy his body can run on oxygen clustered among nitrogen. It never has been death that woke fear but often the fear of time itself and its deliberate wiggling in between each and every portion of the world he has come to move his head around or his heart towards. But the rules of this world bear little resemblance to the ideals (for calling them ideas carries not enough emphasis upon their innate desire to occur which fills Seba's head as he thoughtfully welcomes them) he would have arranged a life such as this around.

Having awoken with such distances between all the happinesses he had known and where he finds his noggin often spinning our explorer into the cyclone of the past spent in futilities, intuition is tried and he charges his guts with treason. Intuition doesn't exist in the past so much as gets blamed or congratulated as the present. So to attach his head back on right this morning, after it rolled through the valley of dreams, requires aiming it in a different direction - a direction of unexpectationalism where the past has no bearing on this next future but serves as iconic portraits his brain has painted in its best attempts to digest the times he's made it through and to better able him to share him's elf with all the others' elves wandering among what are called sunbeams, but desire to be known as God.

Looking with this new headirection with nothing but him's elf to see in the world he explodes in the realization that God felt the same way in order to begin the universe: to have company! The worlds forms and functions viewed under this light reveal entire dimensions that are unsealable without the soul's recognition of purpose beyond it's elf. "There's nothing here but mes" he's yelling off the balcony at a street waddling to and from. Heads turn, undoubtedly, to scoop up some particle of perspective on this occurrence so as to better report it to whomever will listen over the next coffee; but Seba is not able to see such actions partitioned among fleshes because it is the very colors re- flected and -fracted from beyond everything as color as touched and fed by the sun's proximate light.

Toned down for mortal consumption

I just can't do it. The thoughts come so fast that I have been guzzling beer in an attempt to slow things down, but the practiced tolerance of drinking for 2008 (for honest, I have averaged, AVERAGED, 7 alcoholic drinks per day - I can drink two bottles of wine and then wake up and do it again the next day, hangovers are non-existant and somehow I can still eat one full meal throughout the day, keeping my weight at the sultry 125lbs.) has left my attempts flat on the brain lag and too expensive to continue without more income.

So the last couple of days, playing The Financier have left me face to face with the fear that i have wasted the last 8 years of my life trying to learn the game that rules the world; and now that I have no upward option but to get back into finance and accounting and making money from numbers; I can see the future: it involves me drooling in a straight jacket. Have you seen the movie Quill? All I want is ink and a pen. All I have is a calculator and a new haircut.

The desire of my soul is to dive into psychology. The bent of my mind is to think of philosophy. But the skill of my training is the opposite of these.

I thought I could reconcile all opposites in myself by playing along with them but have found I am only human, though I don't seem to have a human mind, for it dreams of things that are not in this world. How can I have ideas that are not compatible with the present situation of the world? Do the dreams that drive me mad tumble into the psychic compost for more determined minds to grow from? Is my role that of the pioneer and then to be forgotten? What do I care if it is? I won't be making it out of here alive, be it in a coffin or legends, its death all the way down.

I don't want to reproduce because I could never give possibility to these sorts of pains in the heart and head. I have seen that most people admire my ability to think, but can I tell you what a curse it is? This seeing the extremes of all these worlds that make up our variance; this obsession to explain the feelings that posess this damned body of mine. And the knowledge that there are things worth this pain and rewards worth the troubles, but from this troubled mindstate, I can easily discard them to make room for more of the sharpest feelings that I know, those of the extremest of extremes. Sometimes a loving hug draws me, but in truth its no more interesting to me (although to my biology is another story entirely) than a funny tv show...so says the downside.

How i've tried to speak with professional mind-explainers and verify that I am human, but to my chagrin i know more about the mind than those who have received papers saying they know more about the mind. Its not like I am a genius because I don't know how to apply all these marvelous thoughts I live for, but there is undoubtedly some intelligence that is beyond the normal, or at least, habitual, human comprehension - leaving me to rot under the glory of my imaginings.

(I will likely regret posting this later, but its not stopping me...)

Experiences in Buoyancy

The first time in the last decade found me floating freely in the ocean. I still don't float even with the salinity contributing its buoyancy beneath and along my spindly fleshings. I have to wave my legs along the currents, and arms when the swells come for my head. This unsettles me because I picture the afternoon sun and shade splattered across the sea, catching the lights as glitter on its rippled waters, scattering shine all around my silhouetted wafting - lazy along the swells. Even if I don't look tasty, sharks will often take a bite of something, and their amazing in-mouth receptors can analyze the basic nutriment content to determine whether it is worth eating before they even swallow it; hence many people get bit and survive because the sharks don't like what they taste. But it doesn't stop them from tasting.

The sharks never leave the rider's head.

Rising and dropping with the swellings breaking into waves somewhere behind my head direction releases my mind from its grasp on the sharks its inviviating, from the motions to keep my face in the air, lets go of the sunburn, saltburn and burning deep in the heart. Into these spaces wash the full sensation of buoyancy, and here not my heartlove, but the part of the body where it can touch the breeze and love the autumn chill, rises and falls into love with this deep sensation. The mind folds around closing the eyes, releasing that kind of hold on the world. Release.

I've held with many things over the life thus far: hands have held books - first true touch of love - and the eyes held in thrall of such mystery of words handed them to the heart and imagination. I've held music with my ears and my soul; it was my first contact with god and why i'm in this thing deep. I've not been able to set down things such as desire, facts, money, dreams and love all to different ends. So here i am asking the sea to hold me for the subtle thrill of floatingish. The oceanwater laps into my ears whispering of whence the blood of mine came and where i will return it to when its done with me.


Speaking of Blackness, we've tried the Mindfold in the sea, and the waves laughed it off our faces no matter our techniques; also it held saltwater in the eyepockets and that stings (so I am thinking to get a pair of goggles and painting them black).


El Capitan and I are now playing with the waves. Diving into body surfing or diving into the oncoming waves. It makes no difference as we are tossed about no matter which direction we flow. We refine a game which I will refer to as Dancing Foundation, and El Capitan calls Wave Bashing, and so go the techniques, where you must set one foot into the sand -- such a step for me to take thinking of all the creepy crawlies who undoubtedly drift on the fringes of land and sea above, surely a crab will think my foot appetizing -- and the rest of the body is free to move as wanted, but that one foot must stay in that place (pivoting is allowed). We stand on the edge of the invisible chain that jerks back on the waves, causing them to break and tumble over our miniscularity.

In the face of an oncoming wall of water I hear El Capitan holler to charge his ball of energy against the inevitable and as the wave tumbles me around my pivot foot but I hold my toehold in the sand and he's yelling the same when we can get our heads back out of the water, I breathe in the fresh air and the realization there is no way I could have experienced the expansion i've incorporealated in this Ecuadorian Escapade without being guided by a Rogue Therapist (stay tuned for variations on this theme).

Thank you El Capitan for your parts in this!

Piscean

...Beach of Canoa












[As I sit to write all this in my journal, I have put on this George Harrison album, Brainwashed, which I have never tasted, the first song has hooked me:
"If you don't know where you are going
Any road'll take you there"]

I headed into the ocean with my backpack and shirt and sunscreen underneath and stood for ten mental minutes at least, bandanna'd and all; allowing the motions of all other beachgoers to wash away from me as the waters waved across my ankles, slipping the sand out from under the feet and my heels sank into the sand much quicker than the fronts of my feet as I gave my time and legs to the sea. It lapped across my decisive steadfastness, sampled my flesh and footmind; things were whetted and wetted and like sinking into the sand, my mind sinks into my inclinations and past -- into my depths.

[As I am writing this in my journal, George Harrison is singing
"I’m a Pisces fish and the river runs through my soul
I’m a Pisces fish and the river runs through my soul

And I’ll be swimming until I can find those waters
That’s the one unbounded ocean of bliss
That’s flowing through your parents, sons and daughters
But still an easy thing for us to miss

Sometimes my life it feels like fiction
Some of the days it’s really quite serene
I’m a living proof of all life’s contradictions
One half’s going where the other half’s just been

I’m a Pisces fish and the river runs through my soul
I’m a Pisces fish and the river runs through my soul"]

The Ocean wants me Today, Mr. Waits.

I strip down to my swimmies, stow my pack and wade into the shallows. This is the smoothest beach i've been to, so few shells and rocks and things to confound my feet into feeling the old fears; feet, the awarest part of the Piscean body (Pisces signs: Sun, rising, Mercury and Venus...sorry I was late being born mom, but I had to time it right!) I dig deep into the stillness in my depths and see that under the crashing craziness of the uppermost ocean is a deep stillness I can feel with my feet. I lift them from the seabed with bouyancy and armstrokes. I speed the swimming as a wave comes at my face, and I dive down into the realm of Neptune's mysteries. Coming back up beyind the wave shows me an oceanfull of them. I start catching them with my body, kicking quickly to grab something beyond hold -- to be grabbed by the velocities of the waters caught up in the wave -- and am churned and flipped. My bouyancy acting as insitgator of lost upness. Not even the Mindfolding i've done has prepared me for this type of unseeing.

I have swallowed water many times, but this time was to the chagrin of my lungs and I had to take a breather from holding my breath. But, even with a stomach of salty waters I re-commit to riding The Waves with El Capitan coming into the water late in his latest shorts concoction of sewing the legs of his pants up underrolledneath. We fought the waves by standing strong and even punching palmfulls of energyballs into overhead crashing waters that could crush us at wrong angles. We body-surfed the flows, and many times I had to duck out early as I was too far up the crest of the wave for fear of going over with the foam, into the crashings. But this fear is a real, rational fear that I am kinesthetically determining in the moment; not the fear i've been carrying over the last 10 years or so...that of the Deeps as exhibited by me quavering at just the idea of frolicking in rivers and lakes even, let alone Mother Ocean, anywhere I could not see my feet, is the best way I can calssify it; imagining the beasties and creepy crawlie feelings to be snakes, nibbling animals and the most marvelous of all, Sharks. This was the way I both pushed away my Piscean nature and feared for its existence against the jaws of the deep.

I am floating on my back, laughing as a child- receiving flashes of my life's pleasures and committing a re-orientation of mind via this delicious Buoyancy, my body's disengaging from the gravity, even if ever so slightly and the power of the ocean's waves, goodness and my o my...
I have Rode the Shark into the deep beyond. My path is clear (not determined, but open), my self is reunified, my mind has folded and Grace is salty and floats me with immense swells where the sky opens up and drops away suddenly, and I shudder and sometimes there is a crash and I may get upended with sand in my caw; but I am healing in tune to the pulsings of the worldflow.

I felt little difference as the change occurred within me, because it wasn't an immediate flip of a switch, but the culmination of times spent, most recently with El Capitan Rogue Therapizing me into Mindfolding the falls of Mindo, the waves, the spent slick surfaces of bubbles finally making their energies' way to the shore of this beautiful town, to wash my feet, my piscean pleasure and pain of fear of the Ocean's deeps. My deeps getting released from the dam behind which i've trapped some of the more powerful methods of living I could incorporealate. The change completes into my soul. So the simple act of bringing this all into focus with the every of my senses brought my soul back to me. I find surprise in how recognizable this integration feels.


["You've got me between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" comes on David's ipod. George Harrison is in the room with me. This is beyond me. Even I am at awe at this concretization of thoughticles; and Teilhard de Chardin laughs from the corner of the Noosphere]


When we got back to David sitting by the coconut cart where they will hack a coconut to just the right spot where a straw can be stuck into the milkhole, 50 centavos for the freshest and most nutritious drink on earth, El Capitan saw he had missed a phone call on his cell so he needs to get his computer to the internet.

Later, at a beachfront 'staurant just behind the ramadas, my face burns, though the rest of me seems to have absorbed the sunblock properly. El Capitan is servicing a client in the States from an internet cafe just down the road from this beach. I am staring at this magnificent ocean that I have walked along a thousand times as a thousand different people, and here it is the same ocean as Always.

My's elf & mind & soul all folded together today.

We met in the waters of the Ecuadorian pacific and put the past behind me. For so long now i've proclaimed my greatest fear to be Sharks and the devils of the deep blue sea; in fact many times i've said it is my Only Fear.
So if i've broken through this fear...will others rush in to fill me?
Am I washed free of fear?
Is my acceptance of the world's deep an increase of the complexity of integration into the psychic matrix of Being nearering my soul to the centrality of eternal Love and heartRending bliss through the immersion in the fires of my own fear?
Will this meta-fear, into which I've poured all my urgings away-from-harm, burst open as a pinata and scatter all the little fearlings of my soul into the world again?

I care not as I am with the Sea again.


[a note on the usage of the word Psyche (and its derivatives such as Psychic or other words I makeupify using it as the root)
"The dream is a little hidden door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul, opening into that cosmic night which was psyche long before there was any ego-consciousness, and which will remain psyche no matter how far our ego-consciousness extends."--CG Jung
"The deeper 'layers' of the psyche lose their individual uniqueness as they retreat further and further into darkness. . . . they become increasingly collective until they are universalized and extinguished in the body's materiality. . . . Hence 'at bottom' the psyche is simply 'world.'"--CG Jung
Just so you know I'm not talking about mind-reading...more like Mindfulliving]

Las Cascadas

(Yáll will have to forgive me, this computer is not fast enough to upload the mentioned videos here...i´ll get to it soon, but here are some photos to hold you over)


Rogue Cascadas Therapy
Mostly I want to let these videos speak for themselves. But the backstory is that we came upon the waterfalls when a few other sets of folks were already there. These videos were taken in the lower, smaller falls where the forces in the water were still extreme enough to pull you around. And what you can't see is that the riverbed went from golf ball sized stones that supported your weight to a fine sand that your foot would sink to the ankle making movement into the swirl that much harder. [video me] Now what you have just witnessed was more than just the first ever Mindfolding of Mindo's Las Cascadas, but you actually took part in a bit of Rogue Therapy, whether intending to or not, because I was facing a subset of my biggest fear ever: Sharks, and the subset being, things-that-touch-your-feet-when-they-are-underwater-and-i-can't-see-them-anymore. But in its own way, the Mindfold made facing my fear easier, because trying to walk through a whirlpool to touch a waterfall when you can't see anything makes the whole experience enormous and easily fearable so i didn't focus on the minor more irrational fear, I had to wade through the big fear.


El Capitan makes it look easy...[video]
We played in the bottom pool for a bit, waiting for the groups up there to disperse. Then we cimbed this rope up a rock about 20 ft at an enormous incline. I used mostly my arms as I couldn't trust my feet with the slipperiness of the thin layer of moss that grew in the waterfall's spray area. Once we got up to the pool of the major falls, pictures became useless because the falls had actually carved out a chamber over the aeons, and to get to them took two freeswinging cable bridges to get across the whitewater between the two falls. Then we had to strip down to our swimsuits and leave the backpack (and camera) to traverse the narrow channel where the river had let itself out of the enormous cylinder its waterfall is pouring through. The waterlevel went from ankle deep to swimming in moments. We had to work for every stroke forward, and the sound got so that we had to yell next to each other. The air was filled with water, the most pregnant cloud, almost unbreathable as the foam churned feet over the water. We sidestepped the frontal foamage and worked around to a nook that took climbing up slimy rocks, not even thick moss could withstand the constant barrage in here, to sit in the crevice; egg-shaped and 15 feet tall it must have been caused by a waterfall of floodwaters 50 times the fall's current size. It was exactly the type of nook Golum[sp?] would talk to himself in. I tried to swim from the side into the waterfall, but got to shivering uncontrolably from all this time in the cold waters and I didn't trust my strength once I got into the outer waves of foamy waters. But El Capitan went back to my bag with me and took my Mindfold and went until he was swimming and put it on and then swam into the churning of the waterfall. "I imagined myself in a galactic vortex where time was sped up to the point that stars were going thru their life cycles in moments. I was wading thru the fabric of time and space and the closer I got to the central black hole, the more violent the churning of space all around me." Spoken like a true mindfolder.

Las Cascadas were mesmerizing and we wished we didn't have to go, but the last run of the Tarabita was at 4 and we didn't want to miss it and get stranded. We did the hike back up and it started raining. I bundled into my rain jacket which became immeasurably useful going out into the open sky in the middle of the Cloud Forest and speeding thru the open sky at 15 mph and the rain is coming in sheets. A miracle of physics allowed me hunching over in a ball with my back to the direction we were going effectively shielded my legs from any rain at all and me, my backpack and pants stayed 95% dry. This proved more important since we were going to wait with the Tarabita drivers to give us a ride down the mountain. But it ended up that the drivers believed not everyone had come back by 4. We waited for 45 minutes until the drivers gave up on waiting and shut the thing down. We headed down just hoping the fellows had made it back across and the drivers had just not recalled.


Shark Surfing
As we were in the back of the truck, heading down the potholefull road, in the Cloud Forest's not-really-rain it quickly became hard to hold onto the roll bar in the back of the truck; and doubly so when the Mindfold came out. The Seer had to call out branches of overhanging trees to duck from as well as just having to hold on at every bump you can't see to predict. We decided to move past the Mindfold quickly and into a branch of Shark Riding that we came to call Surfing the Shark. In a full standing position we let our hands hover an inch from the roll bar so that we could grab it at any moment but other than our feet, didn't touch the truck. Rolling at about 15 mph we could do this for a good thirty seconds at a time until we hit a turn that was too tight, or a hole too big, so that we would grab the roll bar and steady. After a bit of this we started working with our central Chi energy in ball form spinning it like a gyroscope to keep in constant, flux of balance with the rolling truck. Speed, rain, washed clean in a waterfall and Minfoldsplorations of the day got us in the high-sped giddiness where we were yelling about the spinning ball of Chi invisible but tangible in our hands and hollering like on a rollercoaster, until we heard laughing behind us and we turned to see another truck full of folks watching our antics of balancing and losing it and laughing uncontrolably. The Cloud Forest had descended upon us all.