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Every Day Acts of Peace

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Saturday, July 9, 2011

Los Angeles 2011: History of Feelings and Who We Once Were

The history of feelings and who we once were.
A frozen smoothie of frosted feelings and crystalized ice particles.
Every sense in our bodies is contained within a grain of beach sand.
Cold drinks do not really quench thirst,
but the illusion of satisfaction is a firm fixture of society summer commerce.

The history of feeling who you once were.

A warm bath of memorable moments and instances not measured by time.
Every sensibility is sensed not as a felt sensation unconstrained,
but a rise of kneral temperature on the affected side in whole kernals of truth.
Very peace permeates the pieces of varying change,
but uncontained creativity is the permanent wanderlust of presence in the present.

The history of feeling who I once was.

A vacation from the sentiment of sedentary posturing of one pose held in space.
The infinite varieties of human transform are stellar licks of guitar stringed theory,
but the real surprise, which can blow the mind, is how full empty feels -
especially when held in the hand aloft, high in the sky,
viewed and compared side by side to the night light orb of our moon.

The history of feelings and who we all once were.

Documented in prehistorical books of fossilized mica held in spiraling silica chips.
Quartz crystal not only forms the piezoelectrical properties
of Slovenian-Croatian online dictionaries,
but a small crystal of quartz accurately cut along certain axes,
can be vibrated at a particular frequency,
to produce an electric signal of constant known frequency.
Human spacial harmonic dynamics vibrate
at unknown rates of perpetual indistinguishable un-notice -
perpetual emotion spinning so fast
the acceleration stills the stillness within still knowing.
I do not remember where I came from, but I know where I am going.

The history of feelings and all onces who all we were.

Microcosmic microscopic pastries of intrigue found in Parisian patisseries.
Warm churros dipped in hot chocolate at midnight in Madrid civilian squares
becoming at dawn's first light, the 16th century revived,
when Philip the First asked Juan de Herrera to remodel the chaos
of the old Plaza del Arrabal 
into the twenty first century Plaza del Mayor at sunset -
A tiered layer cake of pink flamenco 
two hundred and thirty seven balconies,
all draped in Thyssen-Bornemisza golden triangles 
of art and lace -
the icing of life's deserts 
stacked upwards in towers of faith in fate -
televisions reflecting 
the exercise of examining the threat of our extinction.

It is possible to die of happiness,

we all die happy,
at the moment of death,
when you are still
when you are still within us,
we will all feel what you feel,
and you will feel what we all feel,
in that instance of final breath leaving the body.
In that instance of ether exchanging It sound for That sound,
all feelings exist within all feeling that ever existed.

You will go where we all go,

travel to where we all travel,
voyage to the end of the galaxy and beyond,
in one instant, your one instance, becomes the instance 
of Soul separating from body gleefully -
blissful banishment from nothing, to nowhere, to become no one -
not of one thing, nor in one place, of one place.

It is the excitement of the ages to be aware of all which exists -
all that we do not see, in a focused manner of daily sight -
the lightness of the history of feelings
and who we once were is the eternal dance
of life within life, within life without life -
all that anyone could be, shall be and will ever be.
There is no end to what has yet to begin,
and there is no end to what exists in eternal yet to be begun.

In the beginning there was something -
in the beginning there was sound,
there was beginning with no end,
there was sight with no end in sight -
there is no end to one's own requiem of perpetual light.
The history of feeling what there is to feel,
a constant dance with desire to intend,
a song sung in the words of focused quiet,
sound manifests, silence heals.
In the quiet of stillness rests
the history of feeling and who you once were.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Sometime after 1952, Rashani Réa wrote,
"There is a cry deeper than all sound
whose serrated edges cut the heart
as we break open to the place inside
which is unbreakable and whole,
while learning to sing."