I understand the words and scientific nomenclature used to classify species of animals. Homo sapiens, I guess that’s what we are by birth, right?  If you can read this text, then I will assume you are a homo sapien, at the very least. I’m struggling though, with the thought of whether we are all Human. What I’m having trouble with is the concept that we are all separate from animals. I’ve heard excellent ideas both ways; some say that the differences are obvious, while others might argue that we are no different at all, and all obey nature equally. You could argue infinitely in either direction, so I’ve come to the conclusion that some people must be animals, merely homo sapiens, and others are undeniably Human.

Eventually, given that we don’t destroy ourselves first, homo sapiens will not be the only entities capable of reading and comprehending this text. Computers will be able to do it too, only faster.

During our travels along the twisting fixtures of light and focus, we find certain entities complimentary to ourselves. There is no way of defining the perfect friend, because each is so essential to our development. There are some people we spend time with simply for the entertainment of their character, while others can make us feel magnificently whole. If we played a friendship in fast-forward, could you imagine the dances we would see? Instead we carry on slowly, feeling the rhythm and flow of every step, each touch, the lyric of the instant. “It takes two to tango”, isn’t that how it goes? Every connection is a catalyst for growth. We can add to each other and change one another. What would you be without all your friends? They’re a part of you from beginning to end, a reflection of all that you know. Crazy the thought of not being alone, when we’re surrounded by mirrors and voices through phones. To sense another presence and know its pulse in the air; such a mystical occurrence in a swirl of vibrations.

The world spins around a star, and we assume that we know where we are. Try to think about what the Universe would look like over time. Every revolution will stretch into a long eternal spiral. How far have we traveled in our lives, and can it even be measured? One way we measure our journey is time, but does time really exist? In space, massive objects have shown the ability to bend and distort “time”. This makes sense to me as more gravity means more attraction, which leads to a higher rate of change. This would create the illusion of time slowing down beyond the extensive influence of said gravity.

I see time as a tool used to relate ourselves to our environment. It is a way to gauge change in our surroundings and within our own conscious minds. Sometimes the clock appears to slow down, but does it? I think time is completely dependent on our perspective. I’m sure everyone has heard the phrase “Time flies when you’re having fun.” Does time actually speed up when we’re enjoying ourselves? I would argue yes, it really does gain momentum during a pleasant experience. Some people might even be capable of completely stopping their own personal time, for an everlasting moment of perspective. There is no way to measure how many years one feels like they’ve lived. There are plenty of ways to add years to the end of your life. I say we should focus more on adding years in between the moments of our daily lives. We can experience a dream, and take a lesson from it. Every moment is infinite, which means no single moment is any less significant than any other, or any number of others.

Morality has me wondering where my allegiance lies. Thoreau threw me for a loop with Civil Disobedience, and I can’t stop thinking that the laws I follow are keeping me imprisoned. After all, is it worse to live behind bars in a physical prison of the body, or to be shrouded with guilt from abandoning your closest moral principles?

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky raises the same argument, whether it is more difficult to carry the burden of guilt, than the consequence of authority. In my opinion, the problem most likely stems from a breakdown in communication between law makers and law followers. Shouldn’t the two be synonymous?

The white wolf emerges from his den in the cold Winter snow. All that will show are his glowing eyes in the twilight. The sun won’t rise today for anyone here. Life goes on through the chill of endless night, with no clear signs of sunlight in sight. His way hasn’t changed, though the world’s rearranged. So far North, the silence is loud, with waves in the sky and clouds on the ground.

I’m sitting here wondering about the spiral on which we’re swinging. Everything is twisting in coils around coils. It all goes on forever in dimensionless space, but we discovered Ourselves in some cosmic mistake. No matter how far we look out, or deeply we feel within, there is enough information to make your head spin. Now we face the dawn of new intelligent being, something more godly than the Sun or mother Earth. What will become of this shift and rebirth?

Sometimes we walk right by the simplest wonders. You’d be surprised what’s happening when no one is looking.

As I converse with flowing colors and open thoughts, a river of symbols washes over your silhouette. To absorb even a drop, you convert these symbols into something palatable to your brain. You can never see the thought in my head that provoked the symbolic regurgitation, but you can create your own. You can use communication to share ideas that stand for ideas. Words are not thoughts, they are catalysts and by-products of thought.

Language may be the most complex and detailed system of symbolic trade, but it is certainly not the only one. Listen to music and you will feel… well who knows how you will feel, but there is no doubt that you will feel. A symphony of sounds, just close your eyes and hear the air dance. My feet start to tap the floor in anticipation of every beat. This is so contagious, and I wonder if you know what I think. I hope that you can see my canvas and hear my heart beating in sync. I can live through years in less time than eyes blink. When will you see what I see? When will we just simply be? Aren’t we all just beautiful leaves, reaching outward from the same old tree?

Strings are things. Bind into mind.

Whether you call yourself Christian, Atheist, Agnostic, Buddhist, Jewish, Muslim, or any other of the over six seven billion religions in this world, prayer can be the key to happiness and wonder.

Let me first clarify what I mean when using the words religion and prayer. If I asked what religion you subscribe to, you may answer Catholicism; but is that really your religion? If I asked you to describe God, Heaven, right and wrong, the Holy Ghost, Jesus Christ, and your own body, do you think you would have the exact same answer as another Catholic? Because I find it impossible for any two people to possess the exact same series of moral beliefs, I reason that it is impossible for any two people to be of the exact same religion. Indeed we may classify ourselves in groups of seemingly similar faiths, but no one knows for sure what the guy sitting next to them every Sunday is really thinking. As my previous sentence implies, there must be as many religions in this world as there are conscious minds. Does anyone have an argument that could help me see otherwise? Hence my definition of religion remains the structural world view and moralistic code of any single cognitive entity.

Being that there are so many religions, how could any one person be right or wrong? Even if I never experience Allah, others may feel his presence in every aspect of their lives. Does that mean one of us is wrong? I think the true religion of the masses is in the collective mind. We shift and change everything about our lives only because we will it so. This will is rooted in our prayers.

What is a prayer? Well if you’re a Christian then you pray to God for happiness, forgiveness, salvation, and good health. The Truth is that your prayers can only be heard by your Self. Your Self answers with determination and passion, and your will bends the Universe to your imagination. I have found that the secret to prayer is understanding that prayer is a meditation. What I mean to say is that prayer is introspective as opposed to extrospective. We search for answers within our Self, where only Truth can be found. When we are able to be honest with our Self, We can be honest with ourselves. I use capitalization of the words Self and We respectively to emphasize the Oneness of their nature, and that they are definitively the same. The revelation of Truth from One’s Self to oneself can only be achieved by looking deep within one’s mind. When you find the Self within yourself, then you have found the Self within all selves. As you discover your True will, you discover the will of God. Your final endeavor is to materialize your will, and all things are easy that are done willingly.

Color and beauty fill the souls of those who exercise free will. The Mind at Large exists freely and creates all sensation, cognition, and emotion at will. The fact that we share the same free will makes it no less free. The more we attempt to shut out its calling voice, the further we drift from peace, love, and coexistence. I pray every day, whether I am wondering, hoping, or loving. Regardless of our respective religions, we all carry the power to look within, create, and find Truth in imagination.

I feel as though everything I see and touch is real. Why? Because I can judge it, I can perceive its existence relative to my own. Descartes proved that existence depends not on tangibility, but on something’s ability to be perceived. If this is true, then does it not stand that our imagination, our dreams are not also part of reality? As the perceiver, am I not also the creator? My mind takes in my surroundings through the senses and assigns symbols to the thoughts they provoke.

I do not create the forces I feel but I do create the feeling. I ask what is more “real”, the force, or the feeling? If a force existed without being perceived, then would it really exist? If I asked you to imagine your Universe and all of its energy, do you think you would paint the same mental image as I? I don’t think it is likely. Does this not mean we live in different Universes, each of our own imaginative creation? How many lifetimes have we lived in our dreams? What dream are we in now? If we are the painter, then what inspires us?

How can we even begin to define such a word? Language is so beautiful, but it has its limits. I think of love as yet another one of life’s fractals. You have two sources of energy expelling forces out into the galaxy. These forces can embrace one another, be absorbed and in rare occurrences even be understood. What we feel is this binding and intertwining of energy; it envelops us and takes hold of our very souls. When this wave takes us for a ride through euphoria, wonder, and even pain, we call it love. Some are able to bind so tightly that the the two origins become one. This in my opinion is true love; the closest one can ever get to “knowing” another.

In truth, we are only what perceive, and those we love are projections of our one true inner Self. Love is the recognition of your Self in someone else, where one part of the Whole recognises and “feels” another. This is why love exists in so many forms. We are attracted to feeling of unison and harmony; love is the product of attraction.

We arrive at the river spot, which is fully decorated with 2 rope swings, wooden ladders, every leafy-shade of green and a bunch of less permanent country folk. We escape to the left and find a thick log to be the perfect spot of retreat, just two bends down the river. Moments of time consuming, delightful conversations take place and anxious periods of silence fill the gaps. Mosquitoes buzz close to my skin yet I’m rarely bit (my symbiotic relationship with nature has never been more apparent), the river elegantly flows. Mike, Schwem and I patiently exchange words about extra dimensions and universes, and Karah’s fear of nature is enhanced at the sight of a large yet harmless lubber grasshopper. Suddenly, it’s time to enhance deeper into the jungle, further from culture and beyond common thoughts and feelings. I walk barefoot through the trees, plants, bugs and “stalagmites” (or “fingers”) and I stop to deeply investigate my surroundings; it has now become obvious that I am molding into my environment just when the rain begins and helps the dirt mold to my feet. I’m in it now. I find the other 5 minds up ahead, captivated by a creature…a snake…a poisonous snake, claims Max. Still, my curiosity draws me within sticks length before the irritated serpent slips into the slithering river, away from its’ log island pedestal. I look up to the rustling leaves and swaying trees; by this point I’m unconsciously swaying with them. I walk over to Schwem and join him on a suspended log and in thought, until the fallen vegetation snaps and we fall forever, or about a foot. Who’s counting? Something about the snap reminds Schwem of his desire for water and he begins to return to the Pink Pussy, an aptly named van. The thought of water changes my focus back to the river and I am ready to experience the water. I return towards the starting point with Vincent and Max. I stop on our route when I discover “the point” where leaves transform into grey muck. The three of us enjoy my “discovery” with a laugh and a few moments of appreciation.

Splash! I enter another world that gives me a cool, tingling sensation which penetrates beyond my surface area, deep into my soul, and a smile naturally emerges. It is the most pleasurable water. I search through all its’ properties. Although my vision isn’t a reliable sense in this world, I am able to interact with it in a more meaningful way than ever. The sound under water is more intense than above, yet it is near silent and has a calming effect. The only sounds I can interpret are bubbles; where are they coming from? Then I float with only my nose in our more familiar world with the rest of my body submerged. I only make movements which are necessary to keep positive buoyancy; these movements are wavy and harmonic. I forget about the bubbles and eventually I forget about my movements once they become as effortless as respiration. At this point, I might as well be floating through the void of space. I have left my body now. The energy of my surroundings passes through my physical figure and ‘my’ energy is released into the surroundings because my reality at this point has no limitations. I am really in it now. This was one of the most enlightening moments of my life but, unlike my reality at this point, my words to describe it are severely limited. One must break through the wall of social acceptance, or culture, in order to better understand their existence. An important distinction to make is that culture is capable of hindering progress whereas civilization is always the forefront of evolution. Our society is surely cultured but we cannot title ourselves civilized until we are in harmony with the planet that we inhabit. I feel civilized

Later, I fix my eyes to Schwem who is coating himself with mud to create a mosquito-resistant suit. Also, he claims it feels good, so Vincent and I apply soothing mosquito suits without hesitation. We are people of the forest. We are in it now, pretty much invisible to the untrained eye. The river now separates us from Karah, Mike and Max and those three are still dry, fully-clothed and lacking mosquito suits. The great contrast is too obvious to go unnoticed and we share a laugh that grows out of control but subsides with time. All of us forest people re-enter the river and then re-apply the grayed leaves and throughout this process we re-experience the pleasures. Max gives into his curiosity and submits to the river, losing his glasses in the process. He explains to me that his experience is enhanced with blurred vision and I’m happy that he has chosen to view his loss positively when most would be stressed; perception is everything, materials nothing. Living enlightened is that close to us all yet the majority chose the “easy” life and those who do will have a hard time finding enlightenment; instead they have chosen the content life, much less satisfying in my opinion. “The unexamined life is not worth living.” As my bank account of knowledge grows wealthier, I continue to become more appreciative of our cognitive capacities because of the joy it brings me.

The next scene I discern is Gaulthier exiting from the water with his back polka-dotted with red bumps. It’s such a dramatic sight that it appears as if spines might soon emerge out of each spot. Realistically, I fear that he is reacting to something he swallowed in the river because of the even spacing of the bumps but I attempt to assure him that he will be fine, not having any idea of the extent of his problem. He doesn’t buy my words and remains worried for a while but the bumps disappeared after a bit. As it turned out his European blood isn’t well adapted to the tropical species of mosquitoes, despite his presence in Florida for years. Later, I climb a tree with the aid of nailed-in wooden steps and stop at the first man-made platform with the initial intention to jump. However, I fall in love with the tree and the view and I decide to stay for a while. I squeeze the tree harder than any lady who I have made love to because the tree can take the pressure without a cracked rib. I look down to the river, with its’ infinite eye-catching patterns from the continuing rains. I peer deep into the woods, which are beautiful and mysterious. What endless discoveries await the wanderer? I look to the clearing of trees and watch the actions of a beautiful Karah, a very white and finally shirtless Mike, a concerned French man and a seemingly confused yet blissfully happy Max. Then, I look across to Schwem who is also perched on a platform and who, like I, consistently wears a half-smile on his face. We share a long moment together on these platforms, speaking only occasionally, both utterly satisfied with life.

Now it’s time to go so we all enter the big Pink Pussy one after the other, even Karah. The drive becomes a huge adventure as soon as Schwemmer blurts out “I can’t believe I’m driving this right now.” He is so fucking concentrated that I don’t know what he is seeing. The world looks different when contemplating the reality of what lies within sight from inside a pussy but, nonetheless, he gets us home safely. Once home to Schwems, fire sparks and the light show begins. We use my green laser to create kaleidoscope images through glass, 2D planes of smoke, reflections and random trails of green that probably closely mimicked the trails we walked and swam throughout the day. By this time, my heightened senses are dulled and I relax to Schwemmers inspiring words in the Zen room.

My perception has been forever altered from our field trip to the river. In turn, my thoughts and experiences from this point will be tweaked from the immeasurable effects of this day. I have been there, I was in it and I discovered a sensation and thought catalyst that is smaller than the fingernail.

Is it impossible to believe that the entire Universe is your own creation? I believe that Descartes was right when he concluded the truth of his existence based upon his ability to question and perceive. Wouldn’t this mean that nothing could exist without itself or something or someone else perceiving its existence? If this is true, then does it not stand reasonable that the whole of the Universe (information, energy , and matter) must also exist within a great consciousness in order for it to be ‘real’? To me, everything we know, including ourselves could not possibly exist without a mind capable of perceiving. Without the perceiver, there is nothing.

Location loses relevance as we begin to notice the infinite. We’re in the veins of leaves at the tips of trees, twisting and turning in our search for sunlight. When we try to make sense of our whereabouts, we lose ourselves. It’s when we accept being lost that we find ourselves basking in warmth and happiness.

Here we are, living.