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Sitting.  Staring at blankness, hearing the fan knock woodenly as it’s rotation reaches an end point. There is a ballpoint pen in our mouth that we are slowly grinding upon and doing what the fan is doing only not as neatly as the blades do cutting through the air.  We want to say something and do not know what?  What?  Yesterday, sitting in the car with a friend and rambling on and on as we often do, and more so than not, when we have been smoking pot – which we were doing as we talked. Then and there as if we had fallen into a pensieve, we found ourselves observing the interior of our mind and seeing it as if for the first time…….And we found it fascinating!!

We saw how it is when we  struggle to find the perfect word that will and would convey all that we wished to say – all that we saw was right there in our mind clear as day – a storyboard mind on a soft summer day.  We could observe a large number of boards all covered with pictures and symbols and yes, words but also colors and connections and that no matter where the camera was put, a story could unfold.  And we saw a pointer a large check mark, a Swoosh, a flash of movement of energy and light and then the pointer hovering over the picture books floating in our mind and highlighting a word.  A single word and then speaking this single word and realizing that for others (outside of us) that we would have to find a word for each image (and hold the images steady and stable) so that we might communicate to our friend (who knows us well) the ideas and patterns we were felt were important to speak.

It was laborious, tiring and tedious like picking crumbs of weed off a carpeted floor to fill another bowl before diving back into the images in our mind and we realised in a way that perhaps we had not before, that putting the world together with images and NOT with words is how the mind we were given operates.  And we realize this sounds odd if not downright eccentric and yet assert that this was the first time we had visited our mind and observed how it naturally worked before.

Before – before mindfulness – before eliminating testosterone from our systems – before we had the ability to observe in this way (though possibly this is an artifact from the sativa,)  and we will never know that one way or the other, just as Carlos never knew if Don Juan changed into a Raven or not – of if Moses saw a for real burning bush or if the stone was really rolled away?

“What is really real, depends on ones ontology and not their epistemology,” the doctor said, to all of us in general and no one in particular as we turned the corner and headed into the classroom for a seminar loosely held on the nature of being human and the depth of imagination in which human possibilities  (ontology) rose up the theological hierarchy of ideas while the insistent demand of the mind (and Ego) to know what it knows (epistemology), faded away.  Admittedly, our mind has lept and skipped a few tracks, a few storyboards from where this endeavor tonight originated.  Point.

Point.  There comes a point – a choice point where a person can see a clear choice of action to be taken.  We can move towards openness, inclusivity, and diversity of self and others or move to hide, to defend, to close off, to push back,  to re-stock ones’ shadow with shame and humiliation, with disgrace and disappointment…..but of course the price is that we can never show that face of us again and it will haunt us.

But if a body has courage and grit and compassion and imagination,  (as all bodies do) they can take the stuffings out of the shadow and turn it them into sweet cake and mince meat pies.  Food for the soul, food of the heavenly abodes.  Food for the long journey home.