Profundity Pundit
Cosmonaut
Supersonic
Profundity pundit
When all else is wilting
or begun to withdraw meaning
Love what the obscurity of sunlight preaches
Emptiness so factually full
Lush chasms
Sagacity swirls
Wisdoms of wonder
shall never cease
Our physics of fellowship
These mountains that you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb. ~The Nectar of Pain by Najwa Zebian
When the static inside of you is greater than the external voltage, what’s a human to do? Sifting solace is an everlasting wealth. I find that it’s a peculiar setting to recognize how your interior and exterior spaces might flip-flop their safety gauges. Where any touchstone of galactically calming appeasement enters our being swears by your account of your immediate space. Getting acquainted with your intimate awareness could be like nibbling on what has been birthed beyond our Earthly bounds. For instance, if my sensitivity sonar begins bleeping a code red and I remain in that distinct place the faulty traumas are sure to ensue. But, there’s rarely good prudence in stewing. Rather, I’ve scoped how extrication is insightful. Similar to chomping total bites of existentialism before swallowing it with awe. As you could be allowing it to overwhelm instead of soothe you.
Chugging backward on my remembering train, I found that fleeing with the wilds was my best option if any torment fracking set upon me. As a little girl, when I was torn by adult thoughts of what the world expected of me, what I wanted from it, and where I was in those flopping against my hollow moments, I somehow subconsciously gravitated outside. Almost always instinctively led elsewhere from wherever I was. No matter the time of day or darkest of night. Especially mentally or emotionally, a force would take over and trance me toward the barren of my boonies upbringing locale. Unfurled flanked by thick woodlands and evenings that regularly beamed twinkles that would regularly shoot across the gaping way away higher than my head. Without ever consulting anyone for proof, I honestly believed as if every possibility that ever was and each one that I could originate was stretched above for my absorption.
Growing in numbers
Growing in peace ~We Are All Made of Stars by Moby
Parked in Nashville lately for more than one astronomical event, I became enthralled with the recent potential to watch the usual Northern Lights display this far south. Although I happened to be at an airport-adjacent home, in a very perceptible neighborhood filled with ambient houses illumination. I sat and waited until the midnight oil boiled within my weary eyes, so no Borealis for me this date. Aurora hoping is simply overstocked in my DNA. At my heartcore, I soon learned there dwelled this adoration that outshined people. Atmospheric rainbows of such marvel that blew the normal colored bows to spiritual realms for me. I longed to become petite in their presence. That I hadn’t (yet) made a trip to visit them was merely a bucket list item dangling loudly. Once, on an Alaskan family/pet sitting adventure, I’d driven to a spot and frozen my ass off for the few faint emerald dances which temptingly enticed my eternal devotion.
I lay on the carport, specially positioning myself with the trash bins as barriers to help block the brightness and call in the blackness. I’d received permission from my sis to turn off the facade and a lot of indoor switches to aid the witching hour effects. I was born as naturally nocturnal as the known animals. Regardless of missing what many others saw, I was reminded of wishes. I’ve got this common theme in my life of feeling left out or not amounting to enough. On the one hand, I can logically tout how exaggerated it seems to me that it continues into my current 50’s age. While I’m also susceptible to this smaller self who didn’t quite realize her magnitude and is (often too quietly) still trying to shove it up from her depths onto the planet. So, I started what the young me would do and periodically when I lost faith in another, I cozied close to divinity this union. Because we can infinitely count on the stars.
Inclining heavenly answers every ‘why’.
