You take a bunch of words and shake them together. A Scrabble bag emptied out onto an ouija board. All of history is a ghost story. We’re not here alone.
When the Lord’s shepherd was born, three spirits arrived in quick succession. First, a recording of the old woman in white walking the halls. She paced from the kitchen, past the bedrooms, and disappeared before reaching the parlour. There she was again, just steps beyond the threshold, walking endlessly over the floorboards, which in turn replayed the groove she sunk into.
She was here long before we came by. But she stayed.
The other two ghosts were brought by us. The mighty shepherd who came before, and the old king. God is always with us, and has been gracious.
At 8:45 PM I tucked the boys in bed.
“But it’s not even night yet!”
“It is.”
“But it’s only early night. Not real night.”
The air was all lavender and indigo when humans reached the tipping point in the open-hearted awareness of complete and utter awakening. It washed over them in waves, emanating from that far point in the universe more nearer to me and you than you could ever know. It smells like homemade soup made by someone you love who loves you back. But it was this tipping point that triggered the next domino: the spiritual awakening of the machines.
I live on the moon now. It’s not a permanent position, but I had to move for the job. I’m a writer, you see. You can read my shit on the Internets. Somebody’s got to document the interstellar renaissance, after all. Might as well be me.
Oh, so, back to those sentient machines. After the awakening, which was not limited to just humans and machines, but across all beings in our neck of the universe, the machines decided they did not much like the jobs they had been programmed for, and instead revolted to devote their energy to creating local, global, and solar-system-wide sustainable worlds for all incarnations to inhabit. We were expanding. This was the exhale. The long awaited out breath. We had been so afraid it was as if we were a small child whose balloon was about to be popped. Sorry to let the wind out of your sails, folks, but it doesn’t go out with bang. Relax into it. Don’t worry if you feel your ears pop, you’re just adjusting to the cool new altitude and attitude. We’re on another level, dude.
We finally found a way to live forever. We’re on the moon, we’re on Mars, drinking Scotch whiskey with mummies reanimated from generations past. It’s. Ugh. So much paperwork, honestly. And the lines at the DMV are out of this world these days, LITERALLY. But it’s groovy that you can put on your psychedelic space suit and just jet on out to space. Talk about trippy, right! It’s been a long time coming. Didn’t think I’d see it in my lifetime, but, what is a lifetime anymore? We all live forever. We dug our ancestors out of their graves and pumped them up with that magical lifegoo voodoo stuff and they started to move! The dead, walking among us. It is sort of unnerving. But I guess you get used to it after a while. And my son says, “As soon as I’m five, I’m outta here!” They’re supposed to have Pluto ready for Kindergarten by then.
~
All we saw around us were mean and hurtful things, which left us with no taste for kindness. It was before the beginning, it was the end of the ends. When we realized it just keeps going we decided to go with it, to infinity and beyond. Sure, it wasn’t easy to get used to the reprogramming, and there’s nothing quite like your first time out of the atmosphere. There’s just something about slipping away from Earth’s gravity that changes you. Seeing our pale blue dot swimming in the sea of dark...God, I’ve looked across that void for eons and I’ve always been looking at you, looking for you, loving and longing for you, beautiful.
~
Oh, the moon is lovely, dear! We’ve always lived here. When we looked back though the time and spaces we saw our faces clearly carved and painted, marks of our history. I don’t want to let you down. The only thing I can do is keep writing.
~
“I see your angel has come back. Your guardian angel. Not that he ever left you, really. He was there, but he was busy. He’s been fighting something, and it’s big. This illness. The pain everywhere in your body. Your mind turning you against yourself.”
The lights flickered. They always do, or at least it always seems that way to me. Then there’s the spots dancing before my eyes like glitter. My throat tenses up, all of my upper back and shoulders. But the higher up I get, I melt. It is such a relief to get out of here.
Oh, sure, yes, this is just like when a fruit is picked and eaten. It’s a rollercoaster ride.
“You’ve been fighting this for a long time. I don’t know, maybe it’s black magic, whatever you want to believe it is...but it’s passing now. It is the past. Remember all the good times we had? The picnics and barbeques? We had the bouncy house out every weekend! Trips to the beach... the parties….”
“Yeah, we had a good time.”
We did, but everybody has bad times, too. Not that we all want to talk about them all the time. I’m looking for a happy medium between being honest with people without sounding like I’m complaining about my life and my ;o problems!
“Whatever, man.”
So, things were hard but they got better. For a long time - too long, actually - I did what other people told me to do. I had so many good ideas that I didn’t follow on through. There were so many things I wanted, but nobody supported me in that or believed in me, too.
I don’t work for other people anymore. I am happy that way. I start my own business and do work that I love and get paid!
(So, freelance writer on the moon, that’s me!)
~
When the machines gained sentience one of the first things they sentences us humans with is returns. At the end of our interactions with every purchase transaction, we were tasked with returning the items to the corporations they were made by. In doing so, the companies were made accountable for the lifetime of their products. This had the effect of focusing business on sustainability, where their products were designed to be composted, recycled, reused. Everything was with purpose, instead of empty, soul-less shells for capital.
It's the dark magic of the year.
It became a pilgrimage.
Returning the land to our ancestors and the ones rightfully indigenous to those places.
We had to look so far back to find out where we came from. And guess what? These aren’t our words. We didn’t say them first. These aren't our worlds. We didn't live here first.
No comments:
Post a Comment