<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />04:46:55a.pdt.us 8 Deer . Manik . West tzolkin 47 07.20.3005 wed 8783§24d8h36m59s
mon Digrif,
I found this letter I sent you back in the early 21st century when they still fought wars, called mutilated children 'collateral damage,' and spent $14000 a minute(sic) on the fantasy Missile Crackpot Scheme. I remember our visit to Planet Earth as it began its great transmogrification to Planet Myrth. It was in its last throes of being ruled by the 12ftTall Lîzards Disguised as Human Beings Who Purported to Lead Them. The Lîzards were in a cruel and bitterly sad addiction to that lethally seductive self-induced drug cocktail of patriotism combined with religion. It is the perfect hallucinogen. The ultra-addictive substance with low-down tribal war and revenge joined with the exalted sanction of a monotheistic, unchallengeable God was a demonic brew. Remember how we were agog that they were so swept by this plague in large swaths of the pretty planet.
But then some things began to mysteriously change, as I note in my letter below which I chanced across in my 21st Century Archive of psymail.
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ÞÞÞ ÞÞÞ ÞÞÞ ÞÞÞ
wolfcake,
It’s like being skiing near the top of a huge mountain of time when there’s just the first not-even-feeling yet, but a kind of suspendedness as the snow is just about to let go of the mountain and avalanche tremendously down the mountain side.
Now this coming avalanche has some peculiar qualities. If one can keep breathing (not paralyzed by a completely rational fear), and leans in a dancing embrace of languorous tangotrust with the time mountain, the avalanche is like skiing on note:flakes, the time:snow is music (the ±8784th song, say). However when one tightens or gets churlish or can’t taste the shine of time, it can get washboard ugly and staticstruck. As all thoughts and memories and imaginations become more quintD, indeed more meloD, the time signature changing with your own emotions, but at a very deep strata of e-motion as the ancient silts and shards of rage and betrayal and worse, wasp hives of unpretty pettinesses are swept away by this cosmic time-sound that is striking us like sunflares, an avalanche of sunlightlightlight in which we are concentrated – oh remember the pain the necessity as the coal became diamond; the light-tectonic shift from darkest to brightest was sudden, not gradual, but the pressure was long and there was no exit.
It is well to remember whatever the horror the horror or the beauty the beauty, that there is no exit. No scream, no retreat into dream – it’s all interlacing dreams which will be akashically apparent in a at-onceness that will be distemporienting to many of the 6537969955 facets of the face of Gods.
Most of the 6totheninth are too uninhabited (which we read as stupid, contumely being our flaw which like chromium in the emerald is what makes our gleam green)to notice all of this fancy folderol as the universe goes from melodramatic to operatic, or from chamber music to symphonic. These are not esthetic judgments or descriptions, but rather intensity and quantity portrayals.
Just for a moment consider if the air became water – it already is actually and we are all fish now but we haven’t grokked it yet. If the air became water and the whole planet was flooded with extra-time, not longer or shorter, but richer if you imagine water as a richer air, in which one can be more buoyant and even fly. The air is too weak to hold us up, but this h2oair, you can fly in, all the way into space which now is revealed to be the fragrant rambunctious sea of the impossibly bright matter. Dark matter was always a misnomer – we just haven’t had activated the 80purrcent we don’t use but which is available for fabulous tactile and tastile and kinetile luminous experience with the twitch of a cosmic switch. But for us to bear the voltage, the pressure of this new kind of avalanche light, this symphony of sun (inner & outer), we can get the bends in this sunsea, or we can push back just the on-going right varying, dancing amount and not be collapsed or burst, but rather fit lofted and laughing in this embracing and bracing environeironment.
6:46a.pdtish
&c
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02:46:28a.pdt.us Water . Muluc . The River . East tzol 49 07.20.05 wed 8783§24d8h36m59s
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I had a friend who told me that it is the tangibility of light (as you say) as the future ferments lusciously from water into wine (a very pagan bacchanalia for this fellow) that he particularly noticed after he died. He was an Earth partisan. He's very glad that what you giftedly call 'meloD' or intraDimensional travel will become more ordinary. This half-souled existence has driven many of our fellow planetists mad and a wider view might rehinge their minds.
Perhaps what you once called spice (space + time, or space sculpted by time as you said then) is more like a network of Plato's video caves in which people live at mind-shudderingly different abilities to encompass alertness. You may be psychology-enhanced and nanotechnology-impaired or vice versa. If you're married to a techno-zilla gigageek, he's probably psychology-impaired nanotechnolgy-enhanced. You will leap-frog his technology into your holotechnology and he'll wonder what dusted him.
Is his name Brian? Their name is always Brian. You should have married an artist, but then the gwatts (gigawatts) in the household might be at too high a zing or too low a whale thrum.