12.12.12. Oral intercourse, at best

This is PART 9 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: click here.

From my mind to your mind, hope you don’t mind the meddling, it is time to digress. Undress my thoughts, yet again, to convey the unraveling of my lopsided soul. Naked, vulnerable: catawhompous and cumbersome it can be, but central to my theme is me, and all that reflect out of me into the world on display in unique and thoughtful ways. Rhythm and style permeate from every paragraph, every pore, oozing sweet, sweet goodness. Mmmmm…. Yes, it is time to unwind, feel the essence of spine stretch under weight of world, sit a while, and soak in the limpid waters of my rabbit hole.

Provocative. Yes, the lovely Latin derived word provacativus meaning to “cause a deliberate strong reaction, to provoke, to challenge or go forth.” A divine starting point for the month of September, yet you don’t have to take my words for it, here’s what my self-work from Deepest Health had to say:

September - Bladder, Shen 申 (Monkey)- Arts/Aesthetics: This category involves the use of our creative faculties - particularly as they pertain to the arts associated with Chinese medicine, such as calligraphy. Why this pairing? These activities are Yin within Yang - they are still, yet active - like scholarship. More importantly is the symbolism of 申. One of the meanings of this character is to stretch, and the oracle bones show it as two hands pulling something in opposite directions. We might think about this as the intercourse between Heaven and Earth, the Human Being in the middle being the substrate that is stretched between those two poles. I think Art facilitates this threefold communication.

Penmanship is my true membership these days. Writing serves as my mechanism to convey what’s in my head to others around me. It is a tool, usefully worn about waist that sits secretly in my coat or pants’ pocket. I whip it out when feeling provocative, spilling ink onto soft sheets of Howard linen… whenever I get the urge. It’s like a seductive dance, my thoughts to paper, words and adjectives tangoing between wide and narrow margins. Fluctuating between deep and flirtatious interjections. Writing is daydreaming, creating an imaginative reality onto solid blocked form. This process for me can be graceful, artfully articulated… or completely, utterly, downright awkward.

For the past nine months, I have impregnated my inner pilot with awareness and awe, and as a result I grew into rather big shoes, roles I never thought to thoroughly pursue. The drive behind the Spider Plant Campaign transformed into Sprouting Solutions, a modified rendition of the original idea and a comprehensive resource for others in search of an easy, sea-monkey approach to solutions for indoor pollutions. My Whispering ink publication business has officially reached prime, all dolled-up with new web-face, so that it can capture a wider audience with its enchanting, paperbound musings.

But that’s not what I came here to chitchat about, no, I prefer not to beat about the bush: I’ve got bigger thoughts to chew with each of you. The tables are turning ‘cause I’m learning that this forum might have less to do with me, and more to do with…you, and how you are affected by the arousing words in front of you. And you have my word, that its flames shall not consume you.

Our present course of intercourse might appear a bit shocking to some, not the stereotypical language from the feminine gender, yet at heart this mind-bender lends an introspective look at how I navigate the immaterial with material worlds. Sex has nothing to do with it. My pubescent ideology serves at present to illicit a shocking response, and my idealistic fantasies of love and prosperity for all walks of life sits amiss in the confusion that inhabits our planet. Keep reading to learn more about the underpinnings of my thinning belief in hope for the fate of humanity.

As I write this entry for you, O Best Beloved, my soul feels spanked, knocked upside the wall with a force that remains hard to define. The interface between me and the rest of humanity appears at odds, leaving me suspended, upended, unable to relay the innards of my discomfort. So I shall sit, ears-deep in sticky muck and attempt to reflect upon human behavior and its humbling disfunctionality. You, too, (if you so choose to) can journey down to the banks of the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River where you can witness me wash sins anew from this here crocodile world, ‘cause at this derivation in time, my mind seems twisted and out of sorts, contorted with wide-eyed and stigmatized view.

The world seems quite disproportionate to how it presents itself in my idealistic mind. Economic, political, and social extremes unsteadily exist side-by-side, and each seems to sidestep one another with awkwardness and appearing out of sync with humanity. Global warming and basic hardships built out of buttressed compromises to our water and food supplies are presenting us all with an impasse. A clear line is drawn in the sand, some can see it, and others cannot, however it matters not. All of this chaos and confusion sits as a direct consequence to everyone one of us, O Best Beloved, not paying attention to ourselves and our community. Bona fide gospel truth hangs heavily with unrest while the disillusioned and abandoned rings with cracked-bell tone. Simply put: we are all in a Just So, say it ain’t so, state of global affairs. It’s time for change, whether we all agree or not, Big Mama Nature deems it so.

And I must candidly admit that I feel caught with my pants down, exposing my white elephants to everyone around, openly displaying my humanly qualities upon shirt’s sleeve. My emotions, as an obvious example, can get the best of me especially when key items such as beguilingly crafted acts lead others astray, away form the heart of the matter. Suffering, in my mind, is the ultimate root canal of the Love Canal, and its acts like these that happen every single day, that keep my mind at bay. Yet, I know that there are others out there aware of human affairs and the present reality we find ourselves in; luckily, I am not alone.

To use the words of one fellow blogger, I am a galactic octopus. Sometimes I am playful other times purposeful. I spend my time wading through stars in search of creative enterprises, ways to help others realize the beauty within and the power behind the clarity of thought and action. My tentacles are far-reaching, tangling with thoughts, teasing and empowering others to seek balance for themselves and their respective communities. Yet, I am no where near perfect, my jagged edges can sharply cut on my own ideals and optimism, realizing that I am in fact human, my reach can only stretch so far. The world requires louder voices, more compassionate peace-seekers, and more thoughtful directions orchestrated en masse so others can more easily follow. Being aware of oneself takes time and patience. I am not immune; my rushed routines can overlay, detouring and delaying even the best of my intentions. And as for today, my hope for humanity sits dimly lit, somewhat limp, flickering with the winds of rough change. Nonetheless to keep to the point, the limiting nature of my humanly tentacles and finite form leads me to the pinnacle of my prose.

I am but one single galactic octopii in a sea of billions, my Portland pond is small in comparison to the innumerable pools around, and therefore I must propose to you: what is it that you do?

Yes, what is it that you do in respect to heart-felt contributions to yourself and those around you? The world to me seems check-mated to a nasty fate, a stalemate, chaos and anarchy ensues, all the while the blind appear to lead the blind. Are you aware of your thoughts and actions? What is it that you put into play in this Garden of Eden? Thoughts create action, action leads to reaction, and if foresight is not used in foreplay, then calamity runs amok. Yes, a frenzy of misinformation, misguided attempts and misfired missiles, forcibly propelled by blinded remote control. So I most politely ask of you: what is it that you do?

As an octopii with only two eyes, two ears, and a mouth to speak, I am limited in my reach. I dedicate this piece to all those out there that truly believe that the ink in a pen is mightier than a sword. And if you are able, I ask kindly of you, O Best Beloved Octopii, with all seeing eyes, please do whatever it is that you do to make your pond flourish, thrive, and become alive in an age of uncertainty.

And not to sound as though I’m fishing for comments, rather asking you to spread your galactic ink far and wide: What is it that you do in   our world?

…And just to set the record straight, I represent only myself with this entry, not the individuals affiliated with Helfgott or NCNM or the organizations therein.