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Accelerated Evolution

psilocybin azurenscens


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A rotating sphere is a kind of circle, but it's not the only kind of circle, nor is it the kind I want. I'm fixating on them for no particular reason, it's just a happy coincidence , the end of a random series of collaborations with stimuli that led me to where I inhabit right now, speeding across the landscape, propelled by nothing, but a nothingness so vast and concentrated that it flows like a viscous liquid from out of my neck and body like an undercooked stratosphere.

Inhabiting my body is very comfortable right now, but in a desirous way -- I feel on the very lip of decisive action, of a synthesis between steel shaped by thousands of years of human development, which began at no specific point and ends at none -- there is no end of history, no matter how one might want to romanticize about. Utopia is found within the self, societal grouping is only found with the blessed collusion of our own utopias -- a spiritual experience unfettered by another's experience strictly because it is empowered by those around you Religion is an attempt at this spiritual connection, but may overstate the interdependence of the individual -- the object is not to lose yourself but rather redefine yourself in a setting at a crossroads between the bordered and the borderless.

Though we are clearly separated by skin, humanity is at its finest and most boundless when wrapped up in an illusory attempt at discovery -- in perfect concordance with other people, experiencing shifting and whirring stones, plain as the physical reality of trees grazing in the wind and as natural as the form of any animal, flowing from one place to another in exquisite, jerky, practiced motion. It seems like even rivers hate themselves at times, but their self-conscious attitude belies their own beauty, even though it may be apparent to everyone around them.

For a river is the most powerful kind of movement I know, and not for reasons often cited -- yes, the river flows, offering only the most token resistance, but if that is the case then how could simple rivers carve the landscape more thoroughly than any politician? They leave the most tenuous marks on our universe, create constraints and borders yet remain, of their own volition, unrestraining, feeling the freedom of a thousand repetitions of gallons, a thousand fists flying in the air, millions of molecules, united in purpose against essentially nothing. The river has created its own enemy out of previously nonpartisan earth, and defined itself by that struggle to overcome the dirt.

United in cause, the river feels as if it comes ever higher, as if it is fulfilling some greater purpose.

But what the revolutionary river fails to realize is that by rebelliously striking out and forming their own path -- their very expression of non-identity, of specific group/identity is only a small part of the greater whole; in this case, a hillside or landscape.

I think Englisch is beautiful because of how widespread it is -- think about the sheer number of separate identities, of shared, individual lives that have taken place within the helpful guise of this language we share -- and each day, a thousand more people learn this language and reinforce it; because a language is defined by its speakers, by the people who share its providence.

Returning to the river, it seems that the river is expressing an inner individuality belied by its outward united group front -- for between the various eddies and currents, a specific stretch of water will flow and become disassociated with itself, perhaps irretrievably, perhaps leaving parts of itself.

An observer sees nothing but the oneness of the river -- its flowing state of being, which seems impossible given the complexity of the river itself.

And so, too, must be a movement of individuals -- working together, not in perfect harmony, not because of any outside direction, but simply in accordance with the laws of nature, self-directing in reaction to the environment and the wishes of the group, following neither form nor staying within a fold and finally, at hill’s bottom to sublime into a greater ecosystem that requires not only rivers but a thousand other separate guides of equal complexity to function and to BE. A movement of people is done out of greed, out of a primal need for companionship and self-affirmation, but while lost in the safe confines of the deepest river, one must never lose sight of 1. your own individuality, a sacred fire that burns within your chest, and 2. your place in society -- for a human is nothing when removed from the context of one’s peers. There one may find all the requirements for individuality spread casually about in the tears of dresses, in the folds of paper, stuck between playing cards, stacked long away, in the underground tunnels that follow humanity everywhere, in the chamber of a soldier’s rifle and in the mote of an eye -- life exists with any lens -- at any scale and is the purview of all earth’s inhabitant. Life and its blessed component, the part of the duality that defines any existence -- the jumping off point that must always be the termination of any journey -- that is LOVE, and it is mistreated and abused and horrible, it is ??? and overrated, it is unnecessary and ???, it is the foe of any rational existence yet it simply is, it is constant in a way nothing else shall ever be, it is little, small, yet overarching and powerful, self-deforming and cruel, lost and it simply is in a way nothing else shall ever be.


??? = words I can't read

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