Sensitivities

Sensitivities

L. Edgar Otto   05 August, 2012

I can see or imagine the states of minds and the growth of others much deeper now with time and experience as if in the totality of my being we can know the world beyond the compensations that arise when other things are in descent. I mean what it is like and what is expected from the others in the overcoming of shyness in encounters as if in the longer struggle now to find a place in the world the musician has dreams and pretensions his message counts and is unique and will bring at least a simple living or not detract from it such time from other expediencies of life.

We have the question then of engagement or feed back from the thoughts and touch of others that the world doubles and rebounds and transcends beyond its saturation's.  With continuity as an archetypal view in contrast to the sensations a leap, inborn or learned by the awakening self is that the actualities do not always correspond to the realities.  Our dreams are actual and there is no one ultimately but the arts to even potentially judge the work in that they are a reality of their own true to their own inner logic and laws, if we have control of our growth and evolution we in the end are like actors who leave the shell of their characters but one can wonder if between the patterns on the silver screen they house their own self and soul.  These images are alive only in the number of people that connect or identify or believe in the fame, but to the thinking soul all patterns of images are immortally empty.

If I review what I have seen of my father's life, a little better in perspective having lived through much of the same things, beyond his technology and practical interests and those which were his fun, I see his soul in its bonding and sensitivity as if a spirit disembodied from the world and its lack of certainty of beliefs beyond its day and what a day when the world was covered over with the great war and in the coral sea there are wakes of water from the splashing in the burning oil- these the faded patches on his skin of which he was reluctant to speak about.

When we need others it is for this greater world of sensitivities to which the constraints of responsibility can take away from the reality and ritual, the sovereignty and independence inborn and natural and not by some design by those who all too easily convince us with lies or hopeful truths for how this world is and can be.

Part of this new awareness is just how far we are away from those entitled but in a drugged or natural stupor which in the end may be but a state or stereotype of acting, these have the right to be but on this new system of slavery they cannot be said to thrive. For those who are thought to know better than some aware of the right and wrong so they are the ones punished for discretion's in an equal fight
we in rare equanimity know part of the job of war is to die if need be, that is the reality for if we survive it then there are no entitlements for the working man and the sane to be expected. Or if we are misfits prejudged undesirable while the dangerous to themselves and others get the great investment from the schools as if all can be elite in their watered down assertions about original and fundamental knowledge so declare ourselves or others so we get the ration of the day and the state and corporations and the people do not have to pay for the injuries they made in the past as much as the pittance, at least until the next war breaks apart the cities to rubble and the plague has a quick recovery in the regions but the art of reading does not.

This is as old as Socrates complaining or the pay to the fading sailors who beat the aramada.  We are punished and even feared once tasting blood that we did not die, but those who broke down or claimed the battle fatigue, the walking disabled, they go through civilian life as if feeling they won a lottery for small things, more than they asked for thinking its too much.  This is not to say these souls cannot be provided for as the nation in actuality is rich, as rich as the investment in its people or projects, but the real parasites on the collective is those empty souls who tax what they determine is the sins.  Before Socrates we may ask what was on the mind of Jehovah when there was joy at the return of its prodigal sons.

Yet, it is the tranquilized bear that comes back once too often to the national parks until it tries to eat the cub scouts as if its the right and the word of gods, its depression to which there is no punishment of a philosophy of disease that justifies its reality by those who stand above the descriptions of the mind as if they know the wide possibilities and nay the cures for the illness of consciousness and for the general culture of connected souls.  No great work, even that of the genius that is there because as an artist he is a little crazy or there is no art, can be had if it is not alive to the sensitivity of others as well as the feedback from ones self that we adjust to the climate and the trail of trials of learning.

What do we do if we can so see into an awakening soul full of fears and lusts and vanity?  It is all too predictable the lady at bar close goes with the hairy guy to the car in the parking lot and opens his shirt, pulls down his pants to get him started past the alcohol, how, I wonder as I check the ATM, they not noticing me does she know what to do and if the scene in the play is full of real people, or hopeful people or encores or how in the well worn art of it there was really something in the encounter for each of the dramatis personae listed in the play of which no one reads, of which a new world or culture is spawned akin to the days of the old Globe theater, a low class thing in London in its day of bought achievements of arms and churchmen visiting the ladies of the night.

Yet what is love that it is not hopeful, I mean, Oh to live again knowingly, be sensitive to awaken the gravity and reality in others by burning, salty, honey words that touch and rebound half again doubled as we share the bursting moment together.  How is it that so many seek me and are so needful of the care and concern that a casual remark or compliment sends them into dreams I may be the only one among the fog of lovers who came for them and caused them to change their plans, one who knew they were special and yet, responsibilities also requires and by myself alone so damn moral, I care for them as if my flesh and worry for their minds if not their souls.  That is perhaps why I no longer need to get close to those who are not all there or are cloaked in.elixirs.  If I have survived a little better against what some say are overwhelming predictors of life span by my timeline events it is because I did not fall for all the propaganda in our age of medicines and other snake oils.  Only the Amish lady talked to me with understanding soul to soul as I went to the Farmer's market asking about the honey and the cheese.

Innocence can see into the hearts also given a chance and the tide can turn when one is not so entangled with false dreams and needs that any time the sun can short out forgetting candles, forgetting that even alone without a partner the binary star can go nova as our needs clash and sand castles of love crumble.  There are exceptions that evil people do exist at the heart of this world and by numbers they are as much a law and tolerated or in the cultural wars of equality that some lose that others gain that diversity hopes to diminish not raise the conflicts born from the passion of love and strength of the family that our genders are not diverse, that the Y chromosome will not fade away nor the default human is either man or woman in the mirror of how we believe in the propolis of society who is the sterile work and who the queen bee peopling society. Do we accept the taking time for change to happen as if some clock moves the hour until the spring breaks and deadens and time clearly stops and the chimes and cuckold birds are silenced that we can hear each other, that is those of us left who turn out to be different in innate intuitive intelligence and its higher sensitivities after all?

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It is more than the actual drama of the journey. Nor just the thousand eyes viewing one other soul or place. Not the pair of eyes and the thousand places so peacock in the display that hints of the skies and sky of different views that sucks you into the core to dream beyond your spacetime prison. It is the here and now in the distance if we can sense it so to change or overcome the distance where scales cannot go beyond a certain point of dilation or go but to the last of limits discrete in the loss of information, compressed to dissolution save one essential dot that is or contains the signal, the message.

For in sen sate space time also is not in some future distance to which we all set out so to arrive or to return to our points of departure, no raptures of the end of worlds that have not and will already occur the once and thousand times.  We carry the awakening to singularity within and touch it now in that place to learn of the hidden space, of matter and gravity we have to dwell awhile in the mathematical scaffolding of quantum laws that is the sea of uncertainties then find what we can of the unity in all.

Even then, when things have a sensible order it is evident if we live long enough that the eras change before our strained eyes red and full of water wasted in our tears, freeze dried- the actuality of each jumping dawn of a generation by which in the slowness we do not see as smooth the change, the technology of the age is all encompassing and for each era and each lost in time wayside culture under its own seemingly fixed and not a violent universe of stars what there is of defining ourselves, of looking beyond our own lifespan a little forward and back to bygone ages we make do with the arts and sciences at hand so advance compared with the mud huts our tall towers in the scale of structural arts exploding from the pyramids made of earth and slave labor.  Science fiction in this sense, beyond the scales of things and dimensionless and bottomless is a balance of our thrown into waters to learn to swim as for theories in its weights and measures, its lyrae of promises and eagles craving flesh is also there in the depths of our sensations as we raise the colors of our day so to declare the past obsolete without the change that drives us in our force of creativity as it flowers from the sensate world- you are star men if only you would dream so to be that in actuality and of your fears and hates the war is not lost nor your cores of radiation engines fail to reach what you have all along, such quickening and such a march to some history unto singularity.

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