The map is not the territory

“Who rules our symbols rules us.” Alfred Korzybski

They can only hear echoes.  Flashes of light, dripping water, their feet chained to the ground as they slowly shuffled on, with no goal except deeper darkness.  They continue wiping the light of crushed wings from their hands but it does not fade.  Without questioning they shuffle on, directionless,  in a breathless, blinded silence.  She basks in the freedom of the beat of her heart above them.  They no longer look to the sky, their gaze never rises from the movement of their feet.  She sheds a tear which unleashes a torrential downpour upon their heads.  Stars shoot by her head and through her arms as she clutches the crescent of the moon beneath her foot.   She remembers the power still held within her hands, in one swipe  she once again feels what beats inside of her.  Through the shadows and in between the beats of the moon swaying beneath her feet, she sees a man sitting atop the globe of the earth, raising and lowering his hands as countries are created and disappear.  The shadows existing in his own mind only as digits, once living breathing things, now being sold at the tips of his fingers.  Information the only currency he ever knew.  Bought and sold, traded, gambled upon, lives in ruins, lives now existing only as shadows.  The same shadow which drove him.  The laughter in the background thunders on as pockets are filled with useless paper and life remains defined by the struggle of all those on top, with their boots deeply planted upon the heart of all the shadows flowing throughout the universe.  The cries subvert his consciousness from deep within.  The shadow that helped him forget the evil he does in the name of progress, in the name of normality, disappears.  He ignored her voice.  Since he was a boy he let it breeze by, forgotten in the wind, drowning in the rustle of the leaves.  The world became the pictures he mapped it out as and for everyone else without question, became the only thing they saw.  She still never gave up, she did not know how.  His shaking hand grew stronger with every thought, every wave of his hand painting a new picture of what the land below their feet contained.  But what escaped from inside of him could not be contained.  Awakened in deep sweat in the middle of the night, it began to control him, it became the only thing he could see in front of him.  And still the picture he painted was the only reality most could see.  As far as it existed from him, it never truly left.  Shaken by the thoughts overcoming his sight he lie awake at night as the wind continued beating against the window but never got through.  The sound of her voice would whistle by but it only made his hand stronger.  In creation he found life but only as he sold the only thing each number, each shuffling shadow held in the palm of their hands.  He remained secure that they would never see any kind of truth as they were devoured by lies every second of every day.  Still with hands and a slightly beating pulse they could reach for something he did not paint, something he did not plaster with his own facade.  That beat of the wind continues flowing as they shuffle on she reaches for them but they still can’t quite see through the thought that they exist as nothing but numbers.  They wipe their hand upon each shadow in fron of them and they see the faded light, and they remember the wings as they look to the sky, the man quivers in his sleep and cannot close his eyes

Into the Eclipse

“When children attend schools that place a greater value on discipline and security than on knowledge and intellectual development, they are attending prep schools for prison.”  Angela Davis

Split into millions of pieces they no longer have the power to experience their feelings.  The creative impulses flowing through their hands find expression through the chaotic view of kaleidoscopic eyes.  As the crack in their mirror grows, they begin to see the layers underlying it.  They watch their automatic reach for something outside of themselves and they forget what they were here for as the constant need to reach for something becomes their only power.  They begin to see their transformation.  As their hands continue to exist separate from them, their minds grow into the stars and close to what lies festering before them.  Maybe the gentle wind she attempted to guide them with was too subtle given their numbing existence, yet she knew nothing else.  She could not be a father, she could not close their eyes to anything but they still could not open them on their own.  They only saw the darkness they followed, the darkness they were once again becoming as the sight and judgments of the world created their thoughts and their bodies.  They stand at the threshold, armed with only choices, choices they do not wish to make.  As they are pulled into the infinity of their closed thoughts and they reach out for help, no one responds, only darkness, surrounding them, bringing them further into the mind that keeps them inside of the narration that closes them to all their surroundings.  Knowing this, they no longer have a choice to make.  Before their eyes beautiful fluttering wings, shooting shards of light from their base as they float from Her hands.  In beams of light she fades from above them.  They wink their eyes, blinded by the beauty lighting their path.  They reach out, crushing the brightening wings with their grip.   The fading flickering burst of light fades upon their skin.  They can only hear the drag of their footsteps upon the sand, forwarding them to a goal they cannot perceive.  In the wind, Her voice travels by their ears.  Their chains are gone but they still feel them dragging along with their legs.   The voices in their heads become nothing but chatter, disconnecting them from what lies before their eyes.  Their mind focuses on whatever new cracks form in the mirror in their hand.  They follow without question, forgetting where they have come from.  They continue the long walk through drifting sands and broken hearts, trampling on the beat which has brought them here.  They walk through the box and enter their new home, unable to see what unfolds before them but they accept it anyway.  The disconnect forms and they see what they once were, and watch a luminous fog envelope their previous form.  They hear Her voice in the distance- escape-but they fall to the sand covered in darkness, and reach up for the fog, as electrical pulses from the cloud travel up their arms.  They watch their heart continue beating through the screen of the fog.  Their existence here seems much easier, a loss of control gives them quite a bit of comfort as they no longer have to reach, they experience, watch, twitch, convulsing to the bright electrical pulses shooting throughout their bodies, they can do anything but feel as they are separated and can no longer distinguish their bodies from the fog.  The heart, beating inside their minds as they continue watching.  The fog drifts their minds away, as they feel free and their hearts covered in darkness beat along to the dark electric fog, shrouding everything within their sight.  They let go of their control, let go of everything and allow the fog to take them away. As they watch, only watch and hope for a violent explosion to remind them, maybe they exist, split into millions of pieces, they reach out for the box they now exist in, reaching for guidance, reaching for a narrative to center them, but they can only grasp darkness, teaching them all it knows

Burnt by the sun

“Each of us assumes everyone else knows what he is doing. They all assume we know what we are doing.  We don’t … Nothing is going on and nobody knows what it is. Nobody is concealing anything except the fact that he does not understand anything anymore and wishes he could go home.”  Philip K Dick

They watched as their hands separated from their body.  And what they see materializes ominously, quietly surrounding their bodies, slowly entering the pores of their skin.  A neon fog guided by a shadow, flickering, at times blindingly bright, becomes a part of them without the slightest hush of non-compliance.  Each flicker of the eye brings them further from the reality before them.  They were already being guided by the stagnant closed, cold steel of the changing view placed before them in the reflection of the mirror as a slight crack travels down their hands.  They were already being guided, controlled, yet the mechanical, pulsing illusion of a living thing cannot be completely mimicked, but They never stopped trying.  In numbness they reached for the fog, unaware of how their constant movements were guided by a handheld non-entity. A non-entity convincing itself and everyone else that it has not yet arrived.  Not only has it arrived, our blood flows with it, our perception cannot see behind it, our skin exudes it.  As we believe it has no part in us, it believes no difference exists between us.  As the fog, through the cracks of the mirror transforms into their current form they reach up for guidance but can no longer touch it.  The woman cries out from above to her children but they can no longer hear her.  She cries in sorrow as they reach past her, grasping for the shadow which covers everything but her.  Maybe deception brought them to this, yet they still never refused it, nor have they accepted her guiding hand.  As they see themselves through a neon cracked fog, their madness continues to spread,  and their hearts beat as only a ripple upon their skin which they brush away with an unconscious stroke.   To the beat of the sun and the waves at their feet, and the wind blowing through their hair, they drift further apart from each other. As they reach out, they lose their footing, overshadowed by a giant formation of darkness, shielding the light existing within them.  The woman floating above them, with stars in her eyes and stardust in her hair shouts to them, don’t forget!  But they can no longer hear her as the reality of what they hold in their hands brings them closer to a new reality.  The long walk towards the normalization of insanity begins here. They stare into their faces in the mirror,  yet not seeing what lies behind their eyes.  What was once outside of them, with vampiric precision now flows through their blood, as the door was left wide open for its entrance and they continue not understanding how this could possibly happen, forgetting it happens by invitation only.  Nonetheless, every second of life becomes an experience, a spectacle of illusion, all they seem to grasp for.  But always that voice in the background, beating from her heart, still guiding them even as they continue to mute her words.  They continue following the path of their illusions, they continue to become the darkness they have fought so hard to run from.  They hear her voice through the wind as she shouts, running must be seen as your first mistake.  They continue on with their heads looking at the ground, knowing their first mistake really must have been a thought, the thought that they could lift the sun to the sky with their own hands, and the thought that only the thoughts floating from their own mind, have any meaning.  The thought that anything can exist outside of them.  In division they fall to the sand silently, weightlessly, crying out for life and reaching for death

A roomful of mirrors

“A revolution that is based on the people exercising their creativity in the midst of devastation is one of the great historical contributions of humankind.” Grace Lee Boggs

The shadows walk in confusion, chained to one another, their sight a reflection of their own faces which they cannot see behind.  She towers above them, casting a penetrating light, yet they cannot see the source.  Overcome with the winding flow of hatred for all which appears wrong, they can no longer continue on.  Their feet continue sinking in the sand as they deeply feel what pulses within them.  In blindness they gain their sight.  An eclipse of the sun above, as they slowly watch the color of their skin return.  As they sink deeper into the earth they feel the center, and  begin to see what they can  ascend into; the only life they can gain.  Her guiding hand waves above as her chains gain strength but fade from sight.  In shadows they hold their breath as they look upon their forgotten past, their war torn homes, the confused look on their children’s faces.  The spirit within their hearts grows with each gaze into the heart of their past and for a brief second they see all which has led them to this place.  Pieces of paper blowing in the wind, holding the earth and all life upon a false idea.  An idea which only the mind can transform into reality, falsifying all life.  The longer they looked into the mirrors covering their hands, the more they couldn’t understand this idea, nor could they fathom the addiction to reaching for something, a mirage, shrouding the faces in pain of all those before them.  The power in shards of light begins to appear before their faces.  They once again feel the ability to become the hand which guides them.  From above the woman, bathed in lightness shakes her chains away, dissipating into the wind, becoming the light wind of life.  They look to the sun as the paper which has ruled all of their lives for so long burns into a pile of small suns, entering their hearts and minds, building the strength into their own hands.  They begin to raise themselves from the sand covering their feet. In a smile, the woman above them holds out her arms, touching each one of them.  They walk down the beach still looking into their hands and never forgetting where they have come from.  Their hearts beating along with the wind swaying the waves back and forth, touching their feet, feeling the earth as the paper disappears before their eyes and they only have what continues growing in their hands.  They look to each other, forgetting what lay right by their side, they look to each other and touch their increasingly beating hearts.  They touch each others hands, their mirrors, never their own.  As they touch each other and beat as one, they instantly become what was contained in their own minds.  The illusions which have guided them into their cages becomes a past never forgotten, and always understood.  They see the new day suddenly existing everywhere, their own creation, the reality that can never exist outside of themselves here.  The woman above sheds a tear as she is covered in the ashes of the burning paper although never real, it never completely disappears.  A dark looming shadow bubbling from the earth beneath their feet grows, an infinite darkness which will never let them rest for too long.  As they breathe into their hearts, nothing can touch them here as they raise the sun to the sky and learn of their infinite abilities to create life