A frequent correspondent asked me: Do you perceive spirit as air?
When I read her question I wasn't sure how to answer, if at all. Something I sleepily wrote in the early hours soon after I got outta bed interested me, so I'm thinking of trying to come up with something plausible, but unconvincing in that direction.
I mentioned spirits as a possible different, perhaps more advanced species of life than homo sapiens. I suspect that what I might sensually perceive of "spirits" through my five senses may be compared to what a frog or a whale or a moose might perceive about what homo sapiens or a species of lilies might represent to themselves. For all I can honestly claim to know about that possible species, if such is so, my pedestrian efforts seem contrived, and futilely posture themselves as a defense gesture AGAINST my whimsical conjecture of them.
I use the term "conjecture" like I actually knew it's me-and-ing in it's entirety. Nothing could be further from the truth. I got shaky about whether I used it right and looked it up. No. Not conjecture, but rather what I assumed it's root word to be: conject. The spell-checker marks it, and claims the dictionary doesn't contain "conject". I had to use Google to come up with an archaic definition from an old dictionary:
Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary (1913)
(v. t.)
To conjecture; also, to plan.
(n.)
To throw together, or to throw.
I was looking this term up to compare in with project, as in projection or projecting in the psychological sense of the term. In both terms there seems to be something thrown together or thrown at something. If there is an advanced species associated with Earth, then the only descriptors that work for me is to toss something together AT what MIGHT be there, to see if any "thing" sticks to it's nothingness.
I figure it's been a while since I've written my disclaimer about knowing the truth about anything. Like the potential "sky gods" I write about, it's all conjecture aimed at indirectly exposing the rules of conscience I adopted, in the past, in order to be-co-me with the careactoristics I thought might get the girl or simply help me make it through the night.
I've lost interest in attempting to determine the veracity of what I write. I write to find out what's drifting through my mind's eye as pure amusement. Sometime, I capture drifting thoughts with words whose arrangements extemporaneously entertain me, and then it's once more into the breach to greedily scoop up more, more, more. Not because I want what I get, but for the thrill of the chase.
Consciousness itself could be considered a spirit in my world view. It appears to me to be an organizing force with round heels that can't say no to bringing order to practically any sort of chaos. Conflicted Virgo bitch emptying ashtrays with a vengeance. I'm strangely attracted by and/or to them. They bring out the best I got, and I still have to resort to threats of violence and rough sex they don't want, not to satisfy their sexual angst, but so they can stop dancing, and we can both finally get some sleep.
Sometime I think the guardian of my sleep gate is as persnickety as a Virgo. It might have something to do with the sun residing in the Sixth House in my natal chart. The Sixth House is the natural home of Virgo, and as it is when I'm visiting any abode not my own, it's usually house rules that win the day, and Virgo has house rules even the princes of darkness have never been schooled in.
THe sort of disassociation I'm referencing is as simple of going to sleep and losing awareness of the world you used your tools and rules of consciousness upon. As a state of being there doesn't seem to be much difference between laying down on a comfortable bed and gently letting of the beta consciousness world, and getting bopped the head from behind by a mugger to knock you out in order to rob you. Waking up may be a vastly different experience, but unconscious is still being "out like a light."
I started writing this entry as a reply to e-mail post again, and again it got rather longish and I wanted to continue writing in this vein or genre until it exhausted itself. That seems to be the way things are with me so-me-ti-me, My main hunting technique is the also the most ancient, and therefore the most documented and commented up with graven images. The technique just came to my attention, and immediately became irrefutable. It just makes too much sense for me to argue against it. It's to chase after animals until they're totally exhausted, whereupon all that is needed is the coup de grace. Mofos worn out. It seeks the death blow as if reaching for it. Selah
Really, when I heard/saw this research on one of the nature shows I knew it was the true biped way of doing things. Since ancient days the tribes send out "beaters" who work in unison to stampede whatever they're hunting, then they chase them so they can't rest. That's why bipeds don't need claws and tusks and fangs to hunt. It's just a matter of having more endurance.
If the prey turned on the beaters, the other beaters would distract it or them in a similar manner to how rodeo clowns lure the enraged bulls away from the thrown riders.
I edited the header at the top of the page. Did you notice?
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
