Concrescence

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Eighth Circuit: Cosmic Consciousness

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Open open open opening opening under the Sun bathed in a shower of photons, synthesis in motion, landing on a canopy of fractal branches, reflecting the roots, digging ever deeper, ever deeper, as above, so below, as above, so below, you know, you know, dig deeper. Dig deeper.

We are a star awaiting ignition, we are a star lit with cognition, fed by fusion and spread by fission. We are the neurons of the collective consciousness, firing our will, at a truth that won’t stand still.

Firing our will, at a truth that won’t stand still.

We are the rationale for rationality, baying at the moon from the Wolf Flow Lodge, where dogmas are enshrined.

We are Judgment Machines assembling the puzzle pieces of culture and nature in the smithy of our souls.

We are the Word made flesh, and the world made words. We are Logos, incorporated. Logos, incorporated.

We are the map of a territory too vast to encompass. We are the great and small vehicles of perpetual existence in motion. Existence in motion. Existence in motion.

We are a star. We are a star. We are the set of all we are the set of all we are the set of all we are.

Concrescence of concept, multi-modular modalities. Reality is a tree.

We can swing from the limb over here, and it holds up under the weight of what we know, but there’s another monkey over there, hanging from another branch, and we don’t speak the same language, and we don’t see eye to eye.

And there’s a bird over here calling both of us coo-coo, and even the loons, raven, raven, raven, the deeper you dig, the higher you fly.

I’ve got a confession to make. I’m addicted to morphemes. No, not the painkiller. I’m talking about the molecule of meaning. Morphemes.

I’m hooked on phonics, and mad about semantics. Some kids play with their food. I played with my words. Alphabet soup is my favorite. Oh, go ahead. Laugh. You should have fun at my expanse.

Morphing morphemes, meaning more, more meaning. Or less. Less meaning. Meaning less. Meaningless. Meaningless.

Immortal murmurs murmuring morphogenetic mantras, morphing meaning, what does it mean? Who does it mean? Why does it mean? More lessons, less morons. More morphemes! More morphemes!

Water you drinking, water you doing, water you thinking, water you feeling, water you doing, water you thinking, water you drinking.

Water, rising through the roots, drawn onward, drawn onward, pumped through the mainstream trunk, pumping, pumping, toward a branch which branches and fruits, on a quest toward the Sun.

And under the cover of leaves, solar-powered organic engines, grow seeds, eggs, more than any forest wants or needs, all spinning the wheel of eggs-istential roulette. Will I land on soft Earth? Will I win the lottery of birth?

Existence in motion. I think I am I think I am I think therefore I art therefore I think I art therefore I am I art therefore I am. A standing ovation.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled simulated reality programming.

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