We are travelers.
Chapters are measurements in time– Why we are not form, why we are always already god-level. For poetry to make sense, it has to come hard and fast. Love god like you would love your next breath. Not in the formations of classical definitions, but something else like fragments wandering in time seeking a destination unknown. There are the narrative tracks outside the cartographer’s map. There is more to explore outside the ideological structure. There is more that exists in the wilderness beyond the caves of mind, like unknown fears writing verses in silence.
Literature is an agreement with time.
I am listening to the wireless transfer of ego.
We are not these narratives that we tell ourselves. Through meditation, we enter narratives that are vehicles in time. In awareness, we are not the fixed event. We are travelers in time. I am a liberal, Spiritual anarchist. Writing is an agreement with Time, Being, Truth. However, the perceptions and accepted definitions of these powerful entities are almost entirely lost to the realm of ego. There is a deformation that takes place. I will write a way out of time. I will hand-write perfection. I will hand-write these notes. I am a writer unloading time.
We begin to unload narrative time. We begin to dissolve time and human-made drama.
Imagine intolerable love.
Imagine god-level consciousness.
And we discover then the frequency we have been waiting for.