Morning is the time of a muse, the bliss that comes with the decline of the human presence and soon becomes the slow and entrancing movements of the universe. The base of the very material and motions that are a functional relationship with life. To see beyond the machinations of humanity, to the ones who know that transfixed sense of the stars are not lost to everyone.

Beauty is not classified as a thing that the milky strands of our galaxy calls out into the void. It is a volume of the greatest imaginations and fears bound together into a collection of some say divinity, some say the sight we see is a micron of what is out there. To me, I think I see the end and beginning, a birth and death all in one. To say the night sky holds the travesty of death in mass scale, but also the essence of life birthed once again to shape the imaginations of billions. To think we are special is a greed like no other, we are gifted at best, for to be special is to become something greater then the existence its self. We are all born into the corrupted life of consciousness and unknown reasons of existence. To think we have a grasp on things is a fools errand and has no place in the volumes of interstellar depictions. Life is so unusual that the usual designs of the world are not of life birthing material, according to us. I just think we have given the term life and our own means of it, is very shortsighted.

I have begun to ponder if existence is real or have we been a thought in a greater beings existence, as if we are a dream and the dreams we have are but the small tales of things we are not the machines of. To the wicked and the bazar of the connections and developments seem to almost be phase like. One day just things are moving along and the shift of molecular existence is removed by a passing sleeping hallucination and or existence is no more. How can one perceive existence without the ability to see beyond existence. Much like turn based games, if our turn is no yet then we die in the combat, as the consciousness of the character no longer exist when not in play, then did they ever exist as the game moves on with no memory of the life it once housed. Does the universe truly exist or are we filling in the blanks of a game and we are just the background to add some kind of ambience to the worlds that are floating in the mindscape of some creator of not divinity, but of just thought. How far does thinking go in the choice of things, does each choice bring new plains of existence, or is it our preview of what we think we see and we are the thought and not actual existence. Just a random thought.

As the coffee cup becomes empty and the morning is moving along with a grace rarely seen, I must depart and move with it, for the day waits for none and the sun burns for not us, but the entire collective of the system we live in. Its a lovely one, a cherished one.

Until later

Much Love

Your Friendly Ginger From The Woods.