Category Archives: Writing

A Tender Balance

Living with my grandma and  taking care of her is far different then I imagined.

I was idyllic in my imagination.

My grandma and I would be like some warped intergenerational version of Thelma and Lois; but then once she couldn’t drive any more, those dreams blew out the imaginary roofless automobile we were traveling in.

I honestly did not factor in some realities; like her legs and eyes and teeth.  Her direct words “They just don’t work anymore.”

I could argue, I tried. But it was useless, people will make their own decisions, as long as they can, and fuck you for thinking otherwise.

I had a break through today in my patience.

I differently, and honestly embraced her condition.  In the way that I embraced my parents once I wasn’t under the rules of their roof.  “I’m gonna be, me, and you just keep being you.”  And it’s like it was always that way, but unspoken… these days sometimes we both need a vocal reminder.

By embracing it, I was able to stay calm, though I was distraught about other matters.  Things undoubtedly her fault, but unintentionally.  Things that are undeniably my fault, and part of the learning process.

I slipped into a part of myself that was sarcastic, but not mean.  But my own tenderness and lack of humor has made interpreting lightness in mood and gesture hard to decipher.

I want to share more of her with you… but lately I am feeling protective.  I don’t want to sell her out.

Tonight’s situation is me folding laundry, and she complains about being lazy and useless.  And I tell her she has earned the break.  She asks what she can do, and I say,  “talk to me.”  She says “You want me to fold laundry?”  I say “No.  What? Do I gotta do everything around here?”  She says “I can fold the laundry but it won’t be very good.”  I say, “I’ve got the laundry, how about you share some of those 50 plus years of experience with me, while I fold it right the first time?”  She rolls her eyes and we continue to talk about the topic of conjoined twins that I brought up a few hours earlier.

We dance, and balance ourselves on fine lines, especially when it comes to love; tolerance, patience and purpose.  May you always find a pleasant balance.

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Conversation With Death

I sat in the far dark corner of that nameless pub that sits along a busy road in that average town in the corner of a state some people call “Home.”  This wasn’t my usual pop in.  Today had a purpose.  This drink in my hand had meaning and I had an appointment.   Rather, an interview with none other than Death, itself.

I had called it here to have a sincere conversation about the current state of affairs in transactions and avoidance.  I wanted to probe deep, in hopes I might find out something about myself along the way.  I’m not sure why, but I assumed Death would be tardy, but as  Death would have it, he showed up right on time.   I noted my own pessimistic attitude, and a desire to wish the worst on my guest.   Immediately I knew It was just as perceptive, as it was punctual.

Like a cool breeze wrapped in a dark, but sensuous cloud, It slipped into the booth in front of me.  Admittedly, I was caught off guard; caught in the reverie of some other time and place playing chess with the present future.   I could see that Death was amused.  It enjoys a surprise entrance, and I hadn’t given It that in a long, long time… a life time ago, actually.

I could feel It’s inquisition.  And as perceptive as it is, It took a moment to realize I wasn’t calling to set appointments for It to “take me” or anyone, for that matter.  I wasn’t “wishing for It.”  I sensed that Death rarely had true “casual conversations.”   It, is aware that It exists to serve a need at times unspoken; but this wasn’t my business today.

I needed to settle a minute.  I needed to acclimate to Deaths’ temperature as It sat across from me in this two sided booth.   I’m not sure why I had any expectations as to how this would go, or how it would appear.

It heard me.  In my head, It heard me and responded.  The sense of it was… straight forward.  It was incredibly normal sounding.  Like I said, I don’t know what I subconsciously expected, but this was just so… normal feeling.  Not like demonic voices, or screeching.  It was just a normal, calm voice asking why I set this meet and greet.

I could hear my own panicked response.  I didn’t want to sound panicked, in my own head, telepathically talking to Death; but I did.  I didn’t know my mind could stutter or sound so nervous.  Death caught wind of my insecurities and quickly stepped in.

“This is a casual appointment.  No need to be nervous.”

I immediately imagined a black t-shirt with a Grim Reaper silhouette saying those words in a cartoon bubble… I wonder if …

I cut myself off, because of course Death can hear this and see this image in my mind, and I don’t want It making any money off of my ideas…. I know It has a large market share, and I know It doesn’t need my help.

“I keep wanting to anthropomorphize you into a ‘him’ “ I think, “And I don’t want to do that because you seem to be so much more than that, but modern conversation has us all hung up on gender, and sometimes, even I get dragged down that nasty alleyway.”

I physically feel the entity that Death is, nod.  Do you even know what that feels like?  It’s like some one kicked on the AC really quick, turned it off and then turned it on again for slightly longer, and then turned it off.  Death, as a physical manifestation is like gusts of air, shifting of drafts, faint and sometimes pungent whiffs… and thoughts, some really rational sounding thoughts.

I get the smell of a cigarette.  Like a freshly lit cigarette.  In my minds eye, I see this shadowy entity settle back, and light one, waiting to see why it’s presence was summoned.  I sense amusement at my attempt to mentally articulate gestures of relation, and the attempt to anthropomorphize.

” I don’t want to die right now.  I’m sure you know that…. and I really don’t want to be here right now… I mean I don’t want to be in this world as is, not specifically this meeting.  You seem to have your hand in a lot of pots right now…. just casually stirring and occasionally straining off the debris on top…. all the while maintaining your ordinary routine.  Your routine since the beginning of time…”

Geez, why am I here again.  Surely It can hear all of this mental chatter, It’s probably use to sifting through all of that…. how can I articulate and inquire Death? How can I get to the point and move on?

The smell of cigarettes get’s stronger, as if Death knows that I wish I had a pack of smokes right now.  As if Death is taunting me with the most accessible of vices as an easy escape route… I take another drink of my seltzer water with lemon.  I contemplate whether or not the bartender thinks I am a waste of space in this near vacant hole-in-the-wall.  I can’t help but inhale deeply as I take in the last dregs of my water and suckle a piece of lemon flavored ice as I attempt to settle my nerves.

“I need to know why you whisper to me.”

I know it isn’t a question or a statement.  I know it may not be answered, but it is the only thing I can think of under this unseen pressure.

“I need to know why you visit me, and motion to me in regard to yourself.  I need to know why… I am worth your time and knowledge.”

The air shifts again.  It feels less like a draft, and more like a warm breeze blowing through an open window on a spring day… It smells, of… lilacs.  Not a threatening thing upon this breeze.  I feel a sudden sense of comfort in all of my senses.  I no longer feel edgy or insecure.   This breeze, this scent is so familiar.

Not long after this realization, I again sense smoke, but more the smoke of a large fire… a structure ablaze; the muscles that had relaxed, immediately tense back up.  I feel “on call”, some one has a need to be filled.  I have a sense I can meet that need, but I feel an overwhelming confusion.

“How can I fight a fire, when I am not a fire fighter?”

My mind becomes immediately obsessed.

“Where is the fire?”

“Who needs me?”

“How can I help?”

My mind races, I imagine scenarios.  I recall all of my rescue skills…

I dig deeper into that smell, and feeling…. The fire is close, it also smells of lilac.

I realize that I am the fire, sitting in the dark corner, of that nameless bar on that busy street in that average town in the corner of a state, some call “Home”, and I panic.

“Am I on fire?  Is there a fire around me?”

I somehow steady my unsteady breath, and realize, I am still in this saturated booth, water glass with dying ice and a filmy specter across from me.  It knows what I am feeling and experiencing, and it’s laughter smells like a cross between buttered popcorn and Lucky Charms cereal.   Sort of earthy, but sinfully delectable.

This interview isn’t going at all, as planned; but then again I didn’t plan.  I didn’t think Death would show up, and I definitely didn’t think that Death had so many smells.

“What is this even about?”  I ask this with a mentally forthright force.  “I feel like you are playing with me. I admit to being slightly amused, but most of this just feels like a circus show.  You know, I want to know, what you know.”

Ahh! Finally I was finding a point of reference.  Death is just so illusive and intimidating.   Maybe he is like my tattooed cousin; if you don’t know him, he is perhaps a scary person… but once you know him, he is a jolly teddy bear.

I was satisfied in that thought…  telling Death it was just a misunderstood Teddy Bear, but Death wasn’t here to make me feel better; It knew I wanted some truth, so the air became a mixture of swift and still, hot and cold.  The ozone was permeated with the smell of burning garbage and perfect baked cinnamon rolls.  My heart rate went up as my body temperature went down.  I was perfectly uncomfortable, a uncomfortably perfect.  I wanted to throw up while feeling perfect ecstasy. I wanted to escape as well as sit still… I felt on the edge of ready and run.  My body, mind and heart were over taken with a simultaneous pain and pleasure that I have never known.

It was a whirlwind that seemed to last forever, until It stopped. And when It stopped, It was gone.

In that moment I knew death.  I had taken It in, full force, in every possible way.  And it seemed unjust and totally right, all at the same time.

We didn’t have a long conversation.   Death rarely needs words to get It’s point across… It is so poignant with it’s delivery.  It never acts in vein, at least of It’s own accord.  It’s with us from the moment we start living, and wonders why we treat It like a stranger when It does show up.  We know all the signs It is there, if we choose to knowledge It.

It, isn’t impressed that Stephen King demonized It.

Death in and of itself isn’t bad, and It’s always punctual even if we think It is too late or too early.  Your perception of It, depends on your relationship to It and your observation of It… but It, is malleable, and what It is for you, is not always what It is to someone else.

It is, what It is.  An end to a new beginning.  Sometimes new chapters are scary, but they are necessary for the story to continue, until the story is done.  Either way, Death will meet you wherever you are, unless you opt out.  But that is another story.

 

 

Mom 1

I never gave the idea credence before.  But maybe, just maybe; if you lose your mom at a young enough age… you eventually give up.

I was a “jump through the hoops and excel” kind of kid… until I didn’t have to be.  There was no one keeping me accountable but me (and I have a short attention span.)

A “Mom” is a built in safe guard.  She is programmed to question, in depth.  She is most often built to have massive amounts of care and compassion.   She begs her progeny to question themselves and her.

Without her, you don’t know what you are missing; you only know that something isn’t there… it’s easy to fault ones self with this knowing.  For of course we are all prone to put some blame on ourselves, how ever unjust.

So we make up our Mothers in our mind.  Idealizing their attributes and sweetness… our commonalities and dissonance.  Romanticizing potentials, in hopes of reclamation.

It rarely works, however.

We assign surrogates, and stand-ins.  We idolize the relationships our friends have with their mothers.  We fantasize being pulled into the fold, and embraced with ultimate unconditional love.

It is a temporary mental satiation.

In reality, no one digs or questions as deep as a true blood mother would.  It’s not out of the realm of reality to say that the Motherless feel cheated.  Like being born without a blue print and having no regard for architecture.

Haphazard living, not fearing death… that is what it feels to be Motherless.

That is how it feels to be self determined to not harbor safety for life to grow and expand within oneself.

A slow self brutalization, justified by loss; supported by circumstance.

I am an expert.

I’ve asked “What Would Jesus Do?” more often than I have even grazed the idea “What would my Mom Think or Feel?”  I’ve conditioned myself to neither care, nor ask.  I’ve trained myself out of guilt through time multiplied by repetition.

I feel closer to the idea of Jesus, than I do to the woman who held me in her womb and spent four years with my snarky childishness.

It’s a topic no one wants to question or address, and I am malleable and follow comforts of conversation; only slyly slipping in context when the weather of conversation is suitable.  We all suffer from this malady in some way, and I willingly perpetuate it.

Oh insufferable HUMAN!  That is me.

The holidays dredge this emotional sludge up, from the recess of my heart… I will listen, and follow, but it’s always sort of brutal.

 

 

 

Eventually I Am Going to Pop

Have you ever felt that extreme pressure in your ears at high altitude and taken advantage of the fact you know how to pop your own ears… and/or listened to lil baby have to deal with the same problem with no remedy… on an airplane, tens of thousands of miles above Earth, in a tin can, with no ear plugs and a hardened heart?

I mean, what is a little pressure?

Funny enough, it can burst your ear drums.

I feel like an imbalanced ear canal.  I feel as though, if I could just breath, or hold my breathe while closing my anal sphincter just a certain way, I could “pop” away the uncomfortable that is permeating my reality.

Other bodily descriptions that come to me, is “finally, fully connecting to my heart chakra”,  “finding my voice” and “everything finally popping into view.”

I do sense I will feel and hear an actual “popping” sound when all of this aligns.  Part of me is afraid that the totality of the grossness it is to be human, will surface at or shortly thereafter.

Do you ever have unfounded fears of “being discovered for who you REALLY are”?  I do.  I have dreams that I’ve committed vehicular manslaughter, and hid from the charges, much like that Head Nun on American Horror Story.  I internally battle with the fact that I battle myself in ways that are directly tied to World Wars.  I know where my heart is today, but my heart hasn’t always been right, or clean.

I suspect, that when I pop, it will be like a black hole, or a supernova inside of me.  It’s going to destroy what I know, and how I have been.  I always hope for the best when it comes to destruction… but nothing is totally fail safe.

When the dust settles, or disappears; I do expect some peace.  I do expect that there will be some proverbial moment of respite from  the discomfort.

Just like that intense agitation that develops before we plug our nose, close our eyes and readjust to the levity we are currently inhabiting.  One may look afool in that situation… but the relief after that couple of seconds, feels like we saved our own life or sanity.  It’s how we acclimate to what is uncomfortable.

As humanity feels this collective pressure, we wonder where we will pop.  And will we pop by gentle coercion and adaptation, or, will we bust our own ear drums?

Factions of humanity do not want to listen.   Their only answer to to drown out the reason by screaming, acting to infantile to see the greater resource of adaptability before them.  Waiting on a mother or father to relieve the pressure for them.

You are the Mother, the Father, the Baby, the Pressure, the Release.  ALL of it.   Stop screaming.  Use the tools to relieve the pressure.  Adapt to the Levity of What Is.  Comfort one another through this time of massive discomfort.  Strip way the layers that keep your heart hardened encased in a shell, looking to depart through discard and disregard.

We are each a crab in a shell. Retreating at will and resistance, or surprise circumstance.

We are stronger and more resilient than we give ourselves credit for.

We are about to POP.

Pop out. Pop in. Explode, Expel.  It’s going to be beautiful and messy.

Myocardial Abscess: Abscess on the Heart

Myocardial abscess is a suppurative (pus-containing) infection of the myocardium, endocardium, native or prosthetic valves or perivalvular structures, or the cardiac conduction system. In this serious and life-threatening disease, early recognition and institution of appropriate medical and surgical therapy is necessary for patient survival.
In the past, most cases of myocardial abscess were discovered at autopsy. The very first report, published in 1933, was an autopsy report by Cossio and colleagues that involved the finding of a pneumococcal abscess in the region of infarcted myocardial tissue as a complication of bronchopneumonia. [1] Several more such cases were reported later, suggesting that myocardial abscess often occurs in the setting of septicemia and abscesses in other locations. Myocardial abscess can now be detected antemortem using various noninvasive diagnostic modalities.   –Emedicine

As I break myself apart in the construct of layers, I experience physical maladies; driving my attention to what most would go to a doctor to assess and diagnose, and treat.  I have experienced many physical pains that have gone undiagnosed by the construct of Western medicine.  And each feeling expresses itself until it disappears.  Whether or not it is really gone, or that I have adapted to its presence and therefore has become ignored or in-note worthy is of no real consequence.

I am playing this game in a different way and it really isn’t for anyone else to decide how  I play it, so long as I do not impede on others in the process.  So this body, and this mind are but a small experiment in the greater whole.  Take what you want and leave the rest.

Everyone is interested in “hacks.”  “Life Hacks”, specifically.  And we appreciate those easy, resourceful, hopefully time saving tid bits that can help stream line a complicated life.

The first life hack, is uncomplicated things.  Things are only as complicated as we make them.  When one is able to remove their own controllable complications, everything runs a bit more smooth.  If each person uncomplicated themselves, we would have a nicely oiled and function social engine.  Sadly, people convince themselves that they love and thrive off of drama or complication, and it one worn out battery can compromise the whole function of one machine.  One rusty gear can muck up the timing of all the other parts.

The next Life Hack is “figuring out your function.”  You can’t be everything to everyone, all of time; BUT you can figure out how to best function being you in the present.  The present is ever changing, and so are you.  Give yourself the permission to be adaptable. Remember, you learned to be YOU in many situations and steps, amongst various people.

Say your name is “Joe”.  Joe is a grandson, a son, a brother, a cousin, a nephew, a boy, a student, a child, an athlete, a human, a science nerd, a lover of animals, a boy scout, a volunteer… etc.

The Essence of Joe shows up no matter the role.  The essence of Joe is Life and Creation.  Joe makes choices to honor that in himself and other, or to simply not do that.  Each time Joe decides not to honor Creation and Life in himself and others, he corrodes himself and thereby creates kinks or malfunctions in the over all function.

Our world is systematically gunked up by bad decisions leading to faulty action… and it builds up over time as a spiritual Myocardial Abscess.

I would assess that if your heart doesn’t hurt to some degree, these days, then you probably don’t have one.

It feels like a hand on your heart.  Not like your own hand, and not like being fondled.  It feels like some one else laying their hand on your heart in a meaningful way, but there is also this pressure and it feels like passion or like urgency.

It doesn’t go away.

Maybe you are like, “Oh, Madge, you should just go get a breast exam.”

Because that makes sense right?  Because going to get a diagnosis can change your own personal direction… but if you heal without looking inside, on all the levels, what have you really accomplished?

This too shall pass.  You also will pass. But how will you handle the discomfort in the mean time? Will you dig into it, or leave the healing to some one else?  Will you explore its greater relevance or leave it to circumstance?  Will you take responsibility for any of  it?  Will you seek more than a remedy?

I am feeling my heart abscess from the inside out.  I am feeling the pressure of Creation upon my chest.  I am asked to look at the pockets of puss I have accumulated over time, that are now looking to bust free from their calcified chambers.  Those secret pockets of disdain, buried deeply beneath the friendly façade.  The core of this human condition.

I’ve felt this infection course through my veins like a cancer settling in each organ waiting to be acknowledged and eradicated by my complete presence.  I’ve been asked to look at the various ways dysfunction and disease can manifest, even in healthy, almost carefree situations.  I am drawn to see the bigger picture of these manifestations.

Some people are under the belief system that people are a cancer or a parasite on the Earth; it could be easy to reach this conclusion with a negative mindset.  Some people believe that we are going to destroy ourselves and the Earth… this too is easy to conclude when looking at the negativity prevalently showcased in our media.

When we look upon humanity as a cancer, or a parasite, we demonize the function of the whole.  We wonder why the world is the way it is, without taking accountability for ourselves.  We see the misdeeds and degradation as something outside ourselves as we daily indulge in our own poisons of mind and body and spirit.  We justify it, because our body is our own to do with as we wish.  We do not view ourselves as temples.  We grapple with our own self worth and settle in the ditches amongst the trash by choice.  We are fed and reinforced by this state of unworthiness.  In turn we train our children to disregard themselves even more than we do by example.

The cycle continues.  Occasionally one of these abscess’ will expel themselves on their own.  Pushing out their own infection and leaving it in the open for all to see.  And we will turn in disgust, unable to see that this purge is necessary for healing to occur; that all of the bad must be extracted, so that new healthy growth can prevail.

If the infection isn’t totally removed, it’s likely to reoccur.  Remission is a false safety, when old habits die hard.  By choice we re-infect ourselves.

May Creation lay a heavy hand on your heart, so that you may purge all that holds you back, or down.  May your heart be cleared and made anew for healthy growth.

Facing Today’s Depressing Mile Markers

I grew up as your pretty average white female, slightly outside the western edge of Middle America.

I was pretty average in almost every imaginable average way.  Average body. Average face.  Middle Working class family.  Access to average experiences.

Despite it, I don’t think I’ve ever had the average mindset or heart; but I don’t know that there is any real earthly way to gauge that.

I grew up being fed the Average American Diet along side the Average American Dream while pummeling through, what at the time was a Slightly better than Average American Education.

I occasionally indulged in the romanticizing of “The Average American Girl, who somehow, potentially breaks free; becoming:  Extraordinary.”

I thought that because I perceived myself to think differently from others, that I had some inherent magical potential to be something “more than….”, perhaps even historic.

The only thing that wasn’t average about my life, was my influential life mile markers were all out of place with the supposed script.

So far as I know, shit was fine and on track, until my mom died; even at the tender age of four, I knew that whatever this experience is, is bigger than me, and therefore, I suppose that is just where I find the great story relative to my present existence.

Some may refer to this as a sort of cognitive dissonance, right?  A detachment from reality. In MY reality, however; it can’t totally be cognitive dissonance if I am aware that most things in this reality lack cohesion and full explanation.  I see a purposeful confusion, though I know not the purpose of the confusion.

The only thing I can even imagine it comes back to is sincere connection vs. illusion. I can connect very distant dots because I see the greater connection in all things, the only requirement is that I remove my ego from it, in order to see it with further clarity.   The only thing getting in the way is my own perception of how “I think thinks should be.”  The minute my “I” or ego gets in the way, the bigger picture loses focus and the chaotic confusion returns.

The fact is, we all are assigned the same script, and all of us are required to play all the roles, and the script isn’t in the same order for all the players.  It’s actually part of the inherent perfect chaos of the script that each player has to figure out their assigned role every step of the way.  And a character may play more than one role at once at any given moment with out knowing what that role represents in the greater play.

Everyone gets to be the villain and the hero while fulfilling all the mundane background parts… and we assume there is only ONE villain and ONE hero and a million bit players; it’s hard to imagine a world FULL of villains and hero’s coexisting together in individual bodies.   Changing hats and costumes at every turn, with every interaction.

We’ve been fed a lie that life is suppose to take a certain track, that if we follow one script in order, to a T that we will find some sort of redemption and peace; when honestly we don’t all come into the play in the same way, under the same circumstances.  We learn as we go along.

If you are like me, and many others who at times, beat themselves up for being “off track” with expectations from life that are yet unfulfilled, find peace in this;  Life may seem linear, but it isn’t.    It isn’t a race, and it isn’t a contest.  Each man in his life WILL play many parts.  There are no minor characters.  You are always where you should be; the willingness to learn, retain and apply, are solely up to you.

 

 

 

Populating Levels of Understanding

Well like a swift breeze, another year on earth has passed and my birthday came and went without pomp and circumstance.

The normalcy of everyday life, took its rightful place in precedence.  An average day in the average life, of an average human.

I’ve almost completely wiped away any traces of celebration from my life, and that seems an awkward space to inhabit.  The population is small here.  Almost all walks of life celebrate SOMETHING ritualistically.  Setting a space and time for certain revelry or observation.

I’ve now found myself only just ritualistically experiencing life.  Like one long plateau.  Everything sitting in a stasis, and the only interruptions come in the form of physical discomforts, and minor  mental disruptions.   The mountains are but ant hills and nothing is insurmountable.  One listens to the changing season and adapts accordingly. Accepting that change is inevitable, and it’s how we decide to flow with it that matters most.  Accepting the things that you can not change, knowing the difference.

All levels of consciousness, or unconsciousness, are just that… levels.  Levels of understanding or comprehension; levels of compassion and humility, levels of love and hate.

Every individual is a matrix of levels.  Those levels can shift and morph based on a situation, the environment and the people there.  Take for instance favoritism.  A teacher knows they will have 22 children in their class, and the teacher commits to care for each child equally, however rarely does anyone in any situation with 22 people, like or care for each one of them with total equality.

From day one of school, we are thrust into a situation with some strangers; some people we may know., some people who will remind us of other people, whom we may or may not like, some people who are nice, some people who aren’t nice, some people who are easy to talk to, and some people who are intimidating.

Each one of those people is a million different things on the inside, but on the first day of a new chapter in life, we tend to step into a position and stick with it, whether or not we realize it.  Even a teacher is being placated on the first day.  Each individual eye will assess the meaningfulness of the person in keep of knowledge and the peers next to them.  To peer is to look at.

These beginnings of the program allow us to populate levels.  You have bullies and teachers pets.  You have jocks and nerds.   These are the basic levels we populate based on our personal characteristics, our family histories, our interests and influences.  This is where we first start to separate ourselves from one another.  This is where we really start to fixate on how different each person is.  This separation from one another is uncomfortable, and in response to that discomfort we gravitate toward others who are similar and experiencing a relatable discomfort.

We populate levels of separation with walls of discomfort, building ourselves cells within a block.  Often times when we break out of our cells and move to new levels, the people we shared the block with, do not respond with kindness.  Moving to different levels can be seen as threatening because it causes disruption and more discomfort.  People enjoy familiarity and reliability, especially in discomfort.

Each person represents a complex code of these levels, cells and blocks.  Each day they are introduced to choices which will allow them to experience a new code, but it is by choice alone that one can willingly do that.  The system supports all things, and resistance is purely up to the player.

What no one tells you, early in the game, is that fact:  The system supports ALL things, and resistance is purely up to the player.

That is a pinnacle truth, and at this point in time, a level of comprehension (not understanding, as when we KNOW we no longer stand UNDER or are stood UPON ) looking to quickly be populated.  Those seeking to populate that level, MUST comprehend that we can no longer compartmentalize that which is already quite compartmentalized without seeing the totality of the compartmentalization.  The whole of function, the interconnectedness.

A body is a bunch of cells, which is a bunch of organs and bones and blood and ligament; but a body is also a person which is made up of thoughts, feelings and influences of spirit. And that human body is part of the body of humanity.  And that individual body goes to a school and is in a specific compartment called a class, which is divided by age and aptitude, and that school is part of a greater district. And that district is organized and led by individuals, who have specific jobs, and they are part of the Education system, which is a network that connects a broad area.  And you can see the totality of all of that, but each person in that network is populating other levels of life both within and without that system.

Our world is attempting to show us that we need to stop fixating of the division of the whole.  We have been inundated with our differences from the day we come into the world.  There is always some one around the corner to fixate on how we appear so different, ignoring all of the amazing ways we are exactly like one another.

Perhaps we are afraid that by honoring the sameness, we will lose our uniqueness.  But pointing out difference in a negative way, isn’t unique; in fact it stifles the ability to truly be oneself in the best and most supported way.  This is so hard for people that they manufacture new cells to exist within, showing us the extremes people will go to out of their discomfort of themselves, and the world;   that level of comprehension needs to be met before any of this makes any sense.

We need to reevaluate why we continue to put the whole of humanities despair on the shoulders of any ONE man, or Cell, or Block.  None of it exists without the whole.  It is OUR responsibility to ourselves and each other to come to that uncomfortable realization, so that we can willing gravitate to new levels of function within the program.

Each individual will continue to traverse levels and blocks until they realize it for themselves and act in accordance to that knowing on the highest ability they are able to express.

The greatest cataclysms a person will ever face, will be themselves on the inside, seeing their  own reflection in the world around them.  When you see yourself, will you break the mirror?  Will you wipe the dust off your reflection?  Will you promptly wash your face, or put on a mask?

The out come of the game, depends on you and only you.