Rambles (TW)

In the liminal space before waking fully, a voice said: you’re here to rattle people. That’s your sacred calling. You just exist. You show up as yourself. Whichever facet you feel that day. It doesn’t matter what you do. Just have fun.

And I had asked my ancestors before sleep: why am I here? Because yesterday a huge intense wave blew threw me and I was so upset I was crying at work and wanting to be done with everything…again. It wasn’t just me though. I reached out and found out my other sensitive friends felt it too. It was a hard day.

My friend Jacki reminded me the other day of a perspective I need to remember often during these times: we’re all gonna die and then those who remember us are gonna die. And for me, that strips away a lot of bullshit that I get caught up in my mind. The way I feel occasionally ashamed of there being so many different people stuffed in this body. The way I worry if I’m “doing it right.” The way I have no idea how to be a person.

Nothing matters except what we’ve assigned meaning to. Everything here was made up, even the words we use. We are a speck in the multiverse. Only important to ourselves. So what will you do with that freedom? Will you find something that makes you happy? Will you make choices that reflect that desire for what you want? Will you question why you’re doing things the way you do them? Will you tell more people to fuck off?

Love matters. That’s the only thing I’ve really learned. It’s real. Mysterious. We have no control over it. We can only dance with it or hide from it.

I post all these self portraits and poetry on @moyana777 and I express consciousness that comes to me. I give them presence. I am an antenna for the collective unconscious. Sometimes I drop into an embarrassment. It’s laughable when I remember that I love this art form and the freedom it gives me. No one is gonna remember it anyway. This is how I dance.

It’s more and more apparent to me that there is nothing new under the sun. Thoughts, behaviors, it’s all been done and thought before. It’s a big nebula that swirls around and we pick up on it, living the same thing over and over, thinking what we’ve thought, created, built is ours. Is original. It is and it isn’t. We inch forward hopefully.

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