brainbutter xiv: death ‘n play, play ‘n death

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Brix[we-love-you-a]ton ~

To know that death is imminent – to be alive, meaning someday not to be – and to peel back the bed cover any morning you choose, to jump out of the day like it’s Christmas Lights-N-Shit!, or to feel laced with grace, or rained on with PMA, or solitudinous & bumbling through, wondering “what will happen today?!?!”… AND, excited to find out!

To feel it in your bones, that every little now & here is special – but no more special than the humdrum coffee-and-writing bumming humming this.

With the fear-thought of death – only a thought! – looming not like a shadow behind, but rather as a gentle, warming sun atop our steps which, whether-we-see-it-or-not, are ablaze… of precious.

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You’re it, we think.

But don’t forget, if you are, so is your momma!

That the center of the universe is just-you-now and the way you see it, so too the center of the universe is just the way he over there sees it, for him.

Your mom and the fence post down the street, and I, and our moms and their moms – all of us at one point hearing here-ing… We’re all it! The birds that sing the morning songs are you and so is the ground we dance on.

Without the page of this book to be looking at, there’d be no you; and without you, there’d be no looking at the page of this book!

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Rambling is okay, Brix. Making mistakes are kind of an illusion. “Mistakes” are just part and parcel of the flow of life – and arguably, to us, these steps we take and tumble and see “oh what’s happening here?!” are the big ‘ol joints in the gears of learning.

Celebrate every ounce of every cookie you eat and feel free to fill each fine-motor-move of your organismic travel show, with feeling. Because they’re all you.

It’s all us.

At least it seems this way, to me.

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Before you life was and after you life will be. Your mom and I are simply smiling, just thinking of a little belly inside her belly!

I like the Wattsianism: that no one really knows, yet the universe is like a giant rorschach blot; and we each get to look at it – this blot that we’re the center of looking outward! — this blot: that we are, yet it us! — And we get to decide what the heck we think it is and how we want to look at it!! As it grows!!!

And no one knows!

Like Lao Tzu’s “Those who say don’t know; those who know don’t say” – written fifty five pages into his Tao Te whatever. Confusing?!! He tried to word “the way” and gave up! Which I guess is quite enlightening in itself.

To give up to the wonderful mess, to give in to the current of life, to ride sometimes and swim other times, but ultimately to give in and sing and dance to the tune, as you yourself hear it and you yourself feel it and you yourself dance it.

I want to write the best book ever for you, Brix, but “the best book ever” is just an opinion – and to quasi-quote Robert Anton Wilson again, “There is no is; only what I think and what you think, etc.”

To us words act as happy or sad but poor substitutes for dirty, raw, wonderful living. Except “dirty” and “raw” and “wonderful” are more words about something – “living” – which too is just a word.

So go play, letting “feelings triumph over frettings”…!

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And perhaps, too, let the reminder of death be something you don’t forever forget:

The sole means now for the saving of the beings of the planet Earth would be to implant again into their presences a new organ . . . of such properties that every one of these unfortunates during the process of existence should constantly sense and be cognizant of the inevitability of his own death as well as the death of everyone upon whom his eyes or attention rests. Only such a sensation and such a cognizance can now destroy the egoism completely crystallized in them. ~G.I. Gurdjieff