This is something I remember reading about a long time ago, some may recognize it, maybe its still a thing. . . This writing only consists of the letters in the Title.

CREATION IS FINISHED

O Seer,

Rest; for thine eden is here.

No need to hide thine infinite heart,

No sense to search or reach,

There are no chains, nor cost,

No strife, nor thief.

For thine heart is an ocean of stars,

and Faith, a cedar oar.

So find faith first in Thine I, O Seer,

And stir the ashes into stone.

A seat of stone- of earth and creed-

To Rest on the stars in his/her Heart

At the center in his/her Eden,

his/her Earth, his/her Heart.

Reside in Thine Eden, For Here It Is

Raise Thine Earth in Thine I, O Seer,

And It is Done.

They fancied flight these often regaled fruitful fiends

Counting the dust and still smaller things like considering how long it’s been

And how long it’s been such a drought as this one moment fractioned here

Fractured in one million ways to be fed and felt by friend or fear.

An incrementalists’ poetic appropriation donning sophistication

Unsettling hearts through tactical indignation protecting insecurity

And it’s been so long this parched am I, this one moment actioned here

Actors of one million fears to be heard and spilt like cries and tears

And by the years and by the years

Buy and bye each thought each word each near to our hearts but never truly

Counting the dust and still smaller things to set aside one bitter moment

A wretched moment reflecting its furthest point within

And what fruitful times it’s been.

In last nights dream; a small child found a rock outside one day and shared it with the Mother. It was a golf-ball sized rock, dark green with specks of black covering most of the surface. This is, at the very least, the way I remember it. This was a rock that I saw in the child's headboard above the bed which had shelves in it filled with things that felt safe. There were rocks already but this one was the first that had been an amorphous, polished and tumbled, vibrant and colorful version of a rock. That was all the dream had to offer.

Ocean Jasper, I believe it was called. This was the rock that months before I had place on a statue of Buddha sitting on a totem like pedestal out in the front of a mechanics workshop. Today, I walked by the mechanics ship and up to the statue, to find the rock was missing. Quickly I dug in my pockets and pulled out the rock I carried with me today, and placed it in his palm.

It is not that there is a better me waiting to be attained through action; but instead, there is a being whom I have chosen to be in coherence to our seemingly instinctual primal urge to act as a means to provide ourselves with experiencing the natural most joyful and best state you can be- whilst maintaining that lesser self.

If I am to teach, I would desire only to serve as a conducive, flexible, and fluid resistance against the dominant parts of the student. I would wish to evoke a pressure to redirect your heart and mind to the center that is you- inward, that is you.

Everything about this world that you wish to attach to, or as we see it, add to the repertoire of our personality- It is that very thing which pushed us away from that center, from our innermost and best selves.

But it is a backwards spiral is all; the image most appropriate and remarkable, our own galaxy- its extremities are spiraling into the center of it all. This vacuum resistance propelling us, curving us from being straight and outward in our direction, in our purpose, in our imagination, and now changing that direction back inward for the purpose to fulfill the need to know the self, to find and be the self, the ultimate self you aspire to be.

The smallest bits of us that surrender into the self, into the center, spiraling across the edge and slowly devoured into nothingness. A tunnel of fictitious waste disintegrating at a trillion megatons per second.

The smallest stars, smaller than our own, as forgotten dreams. Waiting and wasted of its power, for a yet brighter star, a yet bigger, to believe that there is a greater life to be achieved by a larger source of the same light. The smaller ones are filled with pressure and tension and gravity and its all so very uncomfortable to imply you could survive on such fanatical ideas. So the bigger stars, they're easy to see, they cover more ground, leaving you enough room for safety. Enough of a guarantee that you won't tend to anything less, and it becomes dust all the same and all instantaneously as the power of love is removed from it.

These bigger notions, on the farthest reaches of the universe, as a firework bursting in the air and light is rocketing out in all directions, straight and outward, filled with pride and vigor. But a fire that burns for an eternity, that expands constantly, that becomes more and more endlessly. This fire containing all that is suddenly realizes that in order to be more of itself, it must be less. Lighten the load. Let some of the debris settle off and its ember be snuffed out by the vacuum of space. Then comes the curve, the realizing of self, the realizing of truth, the becoming of self. Curves and curves until its pointing inward and realizing that it was always what it wanted to be. There was nothing ever to achieve.

The liberty conceived of such imaginings of how it is, makes for an almost tribal beckoning to detach from the world. It is not a notion or practice of a better person. It is not the outcome of long term dedication. It is not even something one can hold with them as an ideology if they are to detach from this world; the ideology that our truest selves are not of this physical dimension cannot allow the type of liberty that is promoted by this notion.

So to imagine that the best part of you, who is waiting for you to realize itself, cannot be achieved by acting in this world. Many lesser and functional and successful versions can arise as mediators for bringing the higher self into the environment of the lesser self. And it can very well seem as though you have made out with everything you wanted, yet it remains still that you are maintaining a lesser self whose disguise physically mimics the intangible ideology of the highest self.

Knowing this, I have considered that only non-physical experiences can come close to the truth of a self that is non-physical; whether next best or the best. Emotions are largely non-physical, the small fraction of its physicality is portrayed through expressions of those emotions like crying or yelling. So that larger, non-physical part, is what I'll focus on, as opposed to feeling justified in any spontaneous expression of those sudden emotions.

Much like in my tendency to give 100% attention to the expression of the emotion, rather then the emotion itself, I am always shy of the win. Nevertheless, I try and try again, reaching to enrich my life endlessly, by hoping to achieve an emotional and mental balance through physical means.

In other words; when I want a fuller and richer experience, I am sure that my then established state of mind and emotion are the result of and the goal of the preceding action, when in fact they are operate and essential systems in producing the end result.

To say again, you cannot involve yourself in a situation without including your emotional and mental states AS PLAYING FACTORS in the outcome of your actions. You cannot exclude your state of mind and emotion from contributing tremendously to the result of your decisions.

So with this in mind; the fact that my emotions and my mental state is readily and tremendously involved in the outcome of my actions, of my decisions- what shall I do next? Will the next decision I make come from a state of need, of lack, saying 'I don't feel well so, I'll go and get some ice cream and I'll feel a little better, a little uplifted'? or will we align our emotions and thoughts differently and say, from a state of preemptive joy 'today has been a great day, let's top it off with some ice cream'?

This fundamental understanding will facilitate, will breed, will exude well being for you in your life.

When I begin to apply my emotion and mental state into my decision making, I will find my own logic cannot convince me to make a decision that I don't feel good about making. I find that my own, possibly strict, set of values and beliefs will somehow have some wiggle room to make for an easier process in producing outcomes. The experience comes of feeling good before making a decision.

It is in this way, we can achieve a state that is more natural and therefore more joyful, and so liberated, simply by willing ourselves into a higher emotional state, as opposed to a higher physical accomplishment.

It is then that our actions are not made to gain anything from their playing out. There is simply an expression of your natural self into the physical world. There is no emotional dependence on those physical accomplishments, be in the form of a important title or a home with a family. Yet at the same time, those dreams we once attached to will play themselves out in our lives. We will get to experience those dreams unhindered from the state of our natural selves.

The action of experiencing your dreams, the action of what it takes to play your part, comes as a result, an effortless result, of aligning with your higher self through higher states of emotion.

(first time posting something like this, does it belong here? not sure, let me know <3)

    Reds and blues waving out of vision, a faint shimmering light circling above, an anxious throbbing heart, pressure thickening; my last sensations to take into oblivion. I wished only then that the sensations I left behind could be so docile, so coveting. Had I planned to keep air, I might stay afloat, but how else would I release myself from this facade? No other way could be cinematic enough. Frankly I don’t deserve anything more; certainly a death so graceless is all I have earned.

    It’s disappointing how pitiful I was in the beginning. The last few breathes of clinical depression were taken begrudgingly. From anger classes to group therapy, antidepressants to anti-psychotics, borderline to bipolar, from psychedelics to opiates. Feed me more reasons that I am broken and meaningless, feed me enough and I'll finally be full. Each experience so empty, each relationship almost scripted. Then there was a spark, divinity few might consider it; It's not that I have no meaning, it's that nothing does.

    Any volition, vitality, any means of self identification, any regard for emotion followed the next bit of air. This is when I knew that the life we are born into is destined to crumble. No part of it will be sustained, and no part makes it worth trying. Here, my sisters life ended. Not from the disease which trapped her in a hospital bed for the last five years, but the look in her eyes that said there wasn't anyone living inside her anymore. As I watched her eyes dim with my hands around her neck, I knew then that there was never a life to begin with.

    A little more air spilled into the eradication of all other means of identity; there was no kinship, no borders, no humanity. Not a single institution remained. Yet there I stood, knowing I didn't exist, knowing it was all a lie, and unable to shake the illusion. A sensation so profound that even the knife carved into my father's throat was comparable to caressing the softest fur. His eyes sunken with despair were suddenly wide and present. Then followed a shift in understanding as he looked back at me, and his eyes dimmed much like my sisters. Again I knew that there was never a life to begin with.

    It was almost entertaining, each air bubble rising higher above me carried what little sensation was left from killing my mother with a baseball bat. Transcendent it was, watching her tremble at the sight of her husband’s blood spilt across the bedroom furniture. She could barely tap the numbers on her phone to reach the police, and even less able to speak when they answered. I tried to imagine how difficult it might have been to utter the words that your son killed his father and is about to kill me. I could count along with each strike, each rising bubble, and each spot of blood, and each person I released from the facade. Sweet satisfaction is was; the only bit of life left worth living. This was good enough to try for.

    There can't be much more, the last bit of air can't be as meaningful, though it wouldn't be there had I held my mother's corpse a bit longer. There it goes, the last 12 days in one last sinking release; a brazen finale, a dozen days, a dozen lives, a dozen knives. I couldn’t begin understand why; why I thought to check for and feed any pets in the homes of those I released, why I locked the door behind me as I left, why I never took any money or a vehicle. It seemed desperate, as if I was trying to remain human in some way; the idea is disturbing.

    I found I was partial to the sensation of a blade sinking into skin, and delighted in just how inhumane it was. I suppose it's synonymous with their fascination with sex; yet they fuck to bring more to the facade, and I fucked to bring them to real life. Only when my knife releases them do they know real living. And now I long for the same; how ridiculous the lasting sensation I carried might have been envy of the gift I have bestowed them.

    Could I not be grateful for the power to give them life? Well, no purpose in being sentimental now. I shall simply relish in the glory of my own divinity. As my eyes fade, and there is no more breathe, no more colors, no more circling light, only sinking, darkness, a faint beating, enormous pressure. Maybe I should have stayed with my mother that night. Maybe that was enough.

    It’s disappointing how pitiful this ending is. Sinking into the ocean of self, and the facade floats above me, like a great island with all its cultures and characters, all its castles and caves. None of it will last, and I gifted that truth to many. I can die at peace, knowing there will never be another moment tending to the facade.

Just a concept in itself, peace. Another mask in the facade, and for those who I left behind, they can build their lies a little further, having their example to compare peace to. ‘He’s dead,’ ‘Now we can be at peace,’ ‘Now we know our families are safe,’ ‘Now we can continue on with our lives,’ ‘Now we can grieve for those he took from us.’

    No matter; there will be more like me. There are more like me. There will always be, they take many forms, some choose to coerce you into it yourself; the realization that you are nothing. Some use justice, some righteousness, some will never even know it’s happening, and some won’t know they’re doing it. No matter the case, there will always be something to release you from the facade. And you’ll martyr me as a killer because I chose a knife. I chose blood as my earning, my currency, my breathe of life.

    If only I could...

Some have it understood that light opposes dark,

Some see the relationship; that there is no dark without light,

Some see the shapes and waves light takes as it expands through space,

But no one could hear silence amidst the toils of time.

For is it not that the noise defies quiet,

Or even that stillness could not be without disruption

In fact, is it that noise crawls through silence,

In attempt to surpass its unbearable voice.