[Morning Freewrite]

Is this perhaps the day when nothing makes sense and everything makes sense?  The flow of life seems eager to pull me along.  I see a new appreciation for knowledge blossoming today after sleep.  Pilgrim at Tinker Creek appears as Thoreau.  Perhaps Thoreau should be excused his failures.  After all, it is not his fault that he has failed to be as emotional as we might wish.  Where is it that we find for ourselves the days and nights of celebration so common within....

Celebration where?  There is a disjoint mind within me - speaking of things that are not so powerful as one might hope.  I look and do not see what I truly need.  Is there anything that might make sense?

Sense.  What makes sense?  Very little makes sense and yet everything makes sense.  Repeating that.  What is sense?  I see within the chaos a pattern.  Distinctly it transcends the chaos.  But the pattern is perhaps too big for me to see and comprehend with my more limited viewspace.  I can sense the larger pattern of the universe but I cannot see it.  I am immersd in it so I can not touch it wholly.  Can I taste it?  Or hear it?  Or smell it?  Taste would seem the most akin to this feeling.  Hearing is like sight - I sense but cannot achieve the full richness of its noise.  Smell is more exterior than taste which takes the body inside the mouth and wraps it with touch as well....

In the Remote Viewing exercises, my best success has been imagining that I have the object within my mouth.  Feeling its textures with my tongue and cheeks.

What is it that I see?  I sense?  What is it that I am striving to find?  The Meaning of Life, Enlightenment, Fulfillment, Clarity.  These are my words for the knowable unknowable.  The Divine.  The totality of existence.  I do not need to be able to express this, only to feel my connection and be able to return to it.

There is perhaps a time when I shall find this.  Or perhaps I will forever be unable to get this close to it.  I do not know.  My eyes fill with glory and tears when I face the wind and sense myself immersed within the fabric of the world.  But there is a glory to being of the world.  There is a glory to interacting with it piece by piece rather than as a whole.  To know individual facets on a one-to-one level.  I seek, perhaps, a relationship and fellowship with all.

This is Microsoft Word that I am writing within.  It keeps underlining my incomplete phrases.  My use of run ons and jargon.  I don't think this program was intended for writing of fiction or poetry.  Only for the business in mind.  For people attempting to communicate with each other.  Is my writing not communication?  To let others eavesdrop.... 

(Cliff asks me to read a bit of what I'm writing and so I ask him "What's the meaning of life?"  "To be joyous and experience life," he replies.  Is this not true?  Why would the Divine separate itself into different aspects but to experience itself in different forms?  Are we not fulfilling our purpose by experiencing these different forms?)

[End Morning Freewrite]