Not Dead Yet

So I might as well keep expressing myself over here on Isle D'Or. Who knows if I'll have the guts to keep it real when I'm with someone--not that such a condition is immanent by any means.

First, no one has even mentioned at all that the grail--the cup--is empty. Or rather--filled only with air. I've been practicing inhaling as I meet people's eyes and sometimes I think this may be just about all there is. Breath, air. The god all around us that supports us but that we can't see (that's ignoring those 8 other dimensions of course--but I'm not one to get ahead of traditional science. They only think there may be 11 dimensions wrapped in each other invisibly occupying the space before our eyes.)

I find a larger difference between my state of being depending on whether I'm inhaling first (on the one) and somewhat consciously or holding my breath to "think" and letting whatever has to happen to keep me alive happen whenever.

I think breath is the body's thinking--the thinking intended to supercede our mental thinking. And our life got so pat that we just packed it in and decided to see how far we could go without it. Living this "meta" way is hard to drop, but the body is the only thing I've ever found that can experience joy, relaxation, or of the many other of life's true rewards. And that my enjoyment of them increases along with my ability to stay on the one--to be myself first. To demand that I be alive no matter what I face--computer work, beautiful women, art, lunch, a bird chirping, hanging out with kids, etc.

The direct correlation is when they tell you on the airplane to attend to your own oxygen mask before assisting anyone else--including your loved ones. This is radically true--whatever we convey to people by telling them things, we convey 1000 times more by our actions and decisions. Put another way--you will never teach someone, save someone, somehow propel someone past where you are in your thing. (Unless possibly negatively--but that's never intended, nor does it always work).

Anyway, I know it's a hassle, but it's really all we have. It's not that glamorous either, but just think how hard you'll rock that mic or what a sex god you'll be when you can drop everything every second and breathe and be yourself.

(I don't talk about it as much as I might, partially because I don't want to seem like a total freak, but the sexual act is the crucible for all this stuff as far as I can tell. It's no odd chance that everyone wants to get with powerfull artists, singers and the like. Being yourself in front of others (especially with vulnerability) is radical when applied in bed.

Is that all? Holy grail--empty cup--mystery--the great unknown/unknowable void--that you're trying to get to--the quest for which will show you yourself. Or something like that. If we're worthy. And it may be the opposite in the East--or even for women. I can really only speak for white, well educated western (and Northern) men. And may god bless us. If you hear anyone else talking about what it's like for them, please let me know.

I don't really want to sully this up with incidents of violence, but I gotta at least mention Zindane. If only to say this:

It doesn't matter if it's the World Cup. Or if it's overtime. Or if it's your last game ever. There are much bigger fish to fry than all those and if someone needs to get a headbutt, then they need it there just as much as at an amateur match.

With that said, it's hard to think of something that the Italian could have said that wouldn't have been better responded to by winning the game on his ass.

And I think I just learned what these last month or so of posts are about. If you take your eyes off the prize, if you let the bitches get you--excuse me--the crabs in the bucket--if you get tired and give in to that desire to crack, to react, to follow indstead of remaining the leader, you'll lose your fairy tale ending. After all that work--it's nothing to god, he's just in it for the learning. Maybe that's putting too fine a point on it. We'll see.

Because I didn't get her number, I pussied out and gave her mine.

I guess we'll see how forgiving god is. [I rarely edit--as the point is how good a person can be in real time--but this (two sentences) has to go. it's not that saucy anyway, just inconsiderate.]

All love.