Trying not to think

Letting go of any that entertains minds grasp, noble path, principles intact… principalities feel constraining, plus another thought to put on top, of the popping accumulative thoughts… here they grow again, one, then others piling onto expanding unnecessary missed understandings, from Beings, growing into differing perspectives.. Allow rise and fall of all that may enter your humble abode, tuning it out, as the voice of Charlie Browns’ teacher.. present and accounted for, garbled with no details.. hearing, not listening to the thinker inside you rising, listening to nothing, hearing beneath it all… interrupts, distractions, popcorns of thoughts, maintaining the frenzy.. be fore your feelings, before the thens, be come the now.. no thing after all.. nothing after anything, chasing its own tail and doing the wagging, consumed into moor…

sounds all around, and inside me now.. looking for attention, finding some.. but only fleeting moments.. have to keep them fleeting and not harboring, to accumulate, and take on passengers.. cast them off, allow them to go… back.. see the tree, in thee… roots traveling down, to the ground, penetrating earths’ anode… envision them twisting and churning soil and earth of all types in its strive to go down.. further yet, then you’ve ever been… look, rocks and boulders ahead, tie your roots around the shale where it beds… offering help and comfort, to tie you down, never to let go, until you say so… rains and floods and winds, cannot move you now, tied upon her nature, nurturing your foundation… pull on it, tug it.. you ain’t goin nowhere… solid footing, now we rock, and roll back up to grade our depths… picture it, anchored down, seeing it all the way to your up.. above ground now, your presence is locked and loaded… fly as thou wilst, in any direction, or reflection…

only observing, the breath and feelings.. stay there, in the breathing.. as you walk out, Being of a kite slowly lifts off the surface, with each exhale.. letting go, provides the energy to raise… blowing in your wind, at first, then you’re on your own.. start drifting, now flying, charting your own course… sail away, just observing as high as you go, and being in the breeze… until you become it.. gliding your vision to envision what you see below, and within your flow, of gliding in the moment, of the heirs’ apparent mind over body spiritual developments… coasting, this cloud of conscious notices its self.. don’t go there, maintain the floating, in this moment.. nothing holding you down, except intellect, observe and report is your mission.. keep single focus, as a cloud you are drifting.. in prevailing winds, not your own.. allow, and let go, just be.. flying, the watcher observes different degrees of realities.. different dimensions, energies, some notice you, before you sense them.. keep drifting, you are passing by, cloud of a sovereigns’ weightless, lit energy of consciousness..

a cloud, comes out of the being, released from constraints and raising in the feeling… skin now an exoteric texture, no longer denominated in points of view.. only one point, floating in the lightness of having no mass to weigh you down.. only look ahead, of what may come, not expecting anything, but getting returns on your investments…

Vessels, acting as islands, pirating and pillaging the bounties to be purchased from outside… tossing the trash, when done abusing… filling lands, waters and heads with leftovers and futures to come back, haunting.. more trash, than consumed from hills to mountains the piles grow on… landfills, similar to the inside of some brains.. bs keeps piling-up, and built upon.. set fire to your tower, and just walk away, seeing and smelling the smoke and ash of yesterdays.. reborn to now, and always present here, no longer used and abused by the system…

Cells, may act independently, but are just one of many.. come together, with your cellmates, escaping the prisons made from beliefs.. stories, fables, ism’s, scriptures written to  hold you down from growing, and multiplying… can’t lied down, when flying and gliding.. solely when the masochist returns, and turns on the soap opera’s.. where lies arise in your being, in the spotlight, to endure by watching others… and their plays on your emotional ups and downs.. who’s controlling the flying now…

Get back up, and spread your wings, dusting off all holding you down.. merely a sideline, not to be maintained or allowed to structure your make-up.. allow breaths to raise the subtle body.. out of its vessel, and into the scenery of natural flowing… casting the clouds of containment, shedding attachments that keep you from flying.. beliefs, hopes and dreams, left with the body, to contemplate another day.. for now, nothing, but soaring…

being still, in the silence of hang gliding, you begin to hear, sounds.. winds, whipping at your sides, controls, bringing you up and down, or staying the course.. each thought attempting to bring you back down to the ground.. same as daily waking life, thoughts multiply to weigh the vessel down from higher understandings.. released of all input, allows death to conditions, placed to control flyers from upward mobility…

Drifting as a feather, no scales to weigh the downing, blowing in the winds of our breathing, reconciles the feelings, built over time to unfold, or released at the first sign of an uprising.. discerning what comes and goes, lightens the load, containing the vessel…

 

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