The True Universal Upset: Loss of Imagination

This is PART 7 in a 12 part series for the Year of Sagely Living project, entitled 12.12.12: A journey of self-discovery for a lopsided soul.
To learn more about the project 12.12.12, click here.

Today I write to you from the far side of life. Where the wild beasts roam within the souls of all of us… the space where imagination reins… purring like excited ThunderCat. I squint at the glowing computer screen, picturing the words before they arise, as I participate in the fabric, the ether of the present moment. It’s the pulse: the backbone beat of blossoming, becoming, and stepping to the tune of the drummer within. It’s the flipside of life. Teetering between past and future like an acrobat in comfortable shoes.

I write from an unabridged state of awareness, a point of view that leaves me humbled and in awe of just how big everything, literally everything, can be. And the big unseen machine moves without me. I am not a central cog, rather I am a mere speck of change, yet empowered with unlimited potential (for I deeply know and understand that I possess perseverance, compassion, and a few strands of DNA that dictate nuttiness).

I understand placement, purpose, and the fine-tuned direction I’d like to pursue in the next stages for the “Life of Kim” and none of this would be possible without a light jog in the road. Literally steering myself down a road less traveled, prompting a lengthy vacation in the thick of prosperous work practices, an absolute unprecedented event for me. Thanks to the careful foresight from the earlier months this year, this segue was not the least bit rocky… although I did almost miss my plane (much to the chagrin on my mom); some things never change.

Now mind you, today is the 17th of August that I write for my July rendition of 12.12.12, a full 17th days past deadline. And as opposed to feeling guilty, the vacation brain has successfully integrated into my psyche. I simply do not care that today is the 17th of August, nor do I care that today is arbitrarily past some imaginary deadline. And, upon closer reflection of this introspection, I now know that it really doesn’t matter… in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes it will matter to me and maybe to a small scattering of you, too. Those circumstances revolve around golden-threaded moments, which can tangle you like a sticky spider’s web, but ultimately, life carries on, the bumble bees still clumsily mount the sunflowers, and the trash gets picked up once a week. You nor I are immune to the epidemic influences of time. The show must go on. But I digress.

A good friend of mine, Derek, a local Portland documentarian, mused a rather impressive comment to me the other day over a cup of lavender tea. During its initial expression, the statement was made haphazardly, strung between a series of debatable perspectives for the roles of church and state, and delicate state of affairs that we often find ourselves in when those waters get tested. However, its staccato profundity hiccupped my stream of consciousness into new streams of thought, ah yes, the 12.12.12. July piece… I really should get on with that. So I feel compelled to share it with you all here in order to tie up the loose ends of my tangential thoughts into a seemingly well-adapted homely spun, quilt pattern.

Everything goes through the heart. The heart is the litmus test that colors what you will do next. Understanding community, and where you fit in it, lies at the heart of all of change.

And this leads me to the homework for July, which is about the heart, community, and where the two with all accompanying characteristics get shuffled into the context of being human for the month of July 2008.

July - Heart, Wu 午 (Horse) - Community building/charity - This category speaks to our need to be an integral and contributing member of a number of communities. It also involves the practice of compassion in a world where inequality is the norm. Why this pairing? The summer is a wonderful time to participate in community-oriented projects! Also, the Heart and Fire (the Heart’s element) are about intimacy, about connection to Spirit — both of which are well represented in the idea behind this category.

If someone were to ever write about the craziness of coincidences for the world, and why the Farmer’s Almanac might just be the resource that millions of zealots are unconsciously searching for, I’d say its possible. Just use the guidelines for the Sagely Living Project. I say this because the homework for July (of which I did not read until just now) pretty much sums up what I experienced. Communal activities, yes. Maintaining compassion for myself and others… ye-sss… well, okay, maybe not to its fullest. Compassion for others, yes, for myself, ah, I often tend to find myself a little worn out by my adventures. You could say that I am learning to be more compassionate with myself in a rather intimate way, which is good. Knowing this will enable me to bypass any ritualistic procedures (a +), limit my time inside a cubicle (a double +), and ultimately arrive at a similar conclusion without any undue harm to my eyes, ears, or other sensorial entities (a double ++). So, in conclusion, rest assured that movement did occur as summed above. In fact, it hit me slap upside the head, plopping me fat and happy, mojito in hand, on a lawn chair in the balmy, sweaty South for a reprieve from life with a timely planned vacation.

Luckily in my earlier planning stages during the bipolar month of April, I booked a flight home to Atlanta, Georgia, for the entire month of July, where I recovered from June’s activities. Yes, June, was a month of balls to the walls chaos, each topic presenting a culmination of “next-step”cues, each demanding its just due. And somehow through the thickness of stubbornness I managed to effectively, in a nose-to-the-grindstone manner, provide the nourishment and attention to highlight each project. At the end of the month, I was exhausted, my bone marrow poreus and dry, my insides needing replenishment.

You could say that the brakes were applied to my locomotive lifestyle, engine gone grumpy from over use and lack of lubrication making all systems run hot, resulting in overheating and lack of proper ventilation. Rudely, I kept pursuing those goals, attempting to incite just one more ignition spark, one more “vital” push to check another item off “the list.” I became single-minded, somewhat obsessed with success. Until one fine day, the world presented a delicate pause, clustering time like soap bubbles, and only a comfortable silence remained; the machine would not budge, no more could be done. Lights appeared reminding me that an internal system is keeping the machine alive, leaving nothing to do but to sit, relax and bask in the fact that it was time to take a walk and return to the situation when the timing’s right.

The July interlude consisted of family and friends, lengthy road trips throughout the red-stained rural South, gobs of sweet, sweet cornbread and mouthwatering watermelon. Days were coated with laugher, home-cooked meals, and cut-throat card games, each entity taking place huddled around the A/C. Yes, that glorious southern Deity happily hummed everywhere I went as it sat perched in windowsill, watching with its metallic alien eyes, blowing cool air upon us all. Evenings perfumed more of the same, only softened by the outdoor wonders, the omnipresent humidity blanketing all of humanity in its heavy, big mama, one-armed hug. Everything seemed to slow everyone down. Quietude in the company of others as lightening bugs and lightening storms flitted about the skies. Best not to get too distracted though, as bloodthirsty mosquitoes aptly targeted the exposed, vulnerable flesh. Yet, alas, dear readers, this was paradise. Strategy became playful and vacationing became the norm. I will reschedule this again.

My three projects, The Spider Plant Campaign, evolving and revolving new and benevolent ideas into health care, and writing masterpieces that tempt even the illiterate, remain steadfastly moving forward… without me. Being the egocentric grasshopper that I was, I persuaded myself to let go, leave, and then I finally gave myself a genuine opportunity to learn that I really didn’t need push or force or for that matter have me be integral to the process at all. The momentum was there; I simply needed to trust, let go, and remember what it’s like to be me. My projects happily carried on: none needed hand-holding, none pulled upon shirt’s sleeve demanding a bit of attention, none came crying home with skinned knees… not one. And I can also well imagine that not one of you out there in Internet-landia felt neglected, forgotten, left astray to the winds without my cyber soap opera. Ergo, after a delightfully crushing ego trip, I’ve blossomed anew. Knowing that time creates movement, which carries on in unseen ways.

To continue on this verbose diatribe, I shall indulge my dear readership of a few gems that sparkle in iridescent opalesce, a brilliance that leaves me feeling dumbfounded and filled with utter awe. A simple distillation of the central theme: believe. Believe in the power of what you can imagine, without its rich grandeur, this existence becomes stale and over worn with ideas too sticky let loose and too cumbersome to last through the ages. Eons have passed before us and eons will do the same without regard to the small blip of what I am, what purpose I seek, and what it is I shall accomplish in the next stages of the 12.12.12 project, let alone the remainder of my existence on earth.

Imagination, on the other hand, is the upset, the brief bridling of chaos that can take you to immeasurable experiences. Trust your imagination; follow it to the places that compose reality. If there’s one thing I’d like to impart: believe. Man, seven and a half months later, I’m a believer, becoming more and more every day. And I would’ve been oblivious to this line of fancy had it not been for a “vacation from me” spent with family, friends, nonsensical nuttiness that playfully direct me off course and into unseen considerations. The sands shall continue to shift; I’ve learned to love the grit between the toes and the weathering of form it provides.

And lastly, to admit that I am a mere speck of sand, two quotes to cap this conversive piece:

“There is no use trying,” said Alice; “one can’t believe impossible things.” “I dare say
you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” — Lewis Carroll

“Believe nothing, no matter where you read it or who has said it, not even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense.” — Buddha