John sat and thought. How long would this be? All the dustbin times he’d sat and wonder'd, looking, as the sand swirled. “Time is not my friend” hummed softly through his head. To be living, to be dead. Not meaning to, he had discovered something strange. Unable to predict the outcome, unseen by his hand, so much on his hands and in his name. John you see, is God. If you understand the fundamental aspects of the universe, it does not predict thought. These micro patterns of vibration forming what we weakly experience as states. From particle to cell to neuron to what to eat for lunch. Perhaps thought is a side effect? A perception like color while the reality is simply the absorption or reflection of energy at different vibrations. Vibrations again. Humm, he thought. All I did was pause and think and breathe into, and all this as a result? The setting in motion and with each counter motion the distilling of the ether until…”thunk”! Solid matter, a slowing down, coalescence. How odd. Sitting on a milk crate John continued to watch the sun set over a hill with the razors edge of a shadow approaching. It’s all a matter of perspective so easily self centered. I will be in shadow and someone just a few feet away working on car will still feel the warm metal in their hands. Is it time to go? Have I been here for long? Did I sing the right song? Putting so much on why I am important and you are not, sometimes as an indirect matter and sometimes a fist in a face or worse. The universe is what it is no matter how you frame it with the vibrations of the wind—words. Scratch lines in the surface to validate but in the end your fate is the same. Crawling on some onion skin. Layers, little layers of structure and under the right conditions life. A complex structure sandwiched between others hard or thin. From the subtle to the gross, literally. Staring down the well of a microsope to the smallest of structures or a telescope to the largest of structures. Can it be said, we think in the middle? Is it a sideways glance guiding the system at times? A phone ringing, should I pick up? I don’t want to pick up. I am creating. I did not mean to. Something came over me like a door opening and words began to fall through. Spilling and tumbling into shapes, clips from old newspaper clippings sending the fingers dancing. It’s now 7pm. Time to rest. Time to sing a new song. KD 22SEP09 The Accidental Creator - John sat and thought. How long would this be? All the dustbin times he’d sat and wonder'd, looking, as the sand swirled. “Time is not my friend” hummed softly through his head. To be living, to be dead. Not meaning to, he had discovered something strange. Unable to predict the outcome, unseen by his hand, so much on his hands and in his name. John you see, is God. If you understand the fundamental aspects of the universe, it does not predict thought. These micro patterns of vibration forming what we weakly experience as states. From particle to cell to neuron to what to eat for lunch. Perhaps thought is a side effect? A perception like color while the reality is simply the absorption or reflection of energy at different vibrations. Vibrations again. Humm, he thought. All I did was pause and think and breathe into, and all this as a result? The setting in motion and with each counter motion the distilling of the ether until…”thunk”! Solid matter, a slowing down, coalescence. How odd. Sitting on a milk crate John continued to watch the sun set over a hill with the razors edge of a shadow approaching. It’s all a matter of perspective so easily self centered. I will be in shadow and someone just a few feet away working on car will still feel the warm metal in their hands. Is it time to go? Have I been here for long? Did I sing the right song? Putting so much on why I am important and you are not, sometimes as an indirect matter and sometimes a fist in a face or worse. The universe is what it is no matter how you frame it with the vibrations of the wind—words. Scratch lines in the surface to validate but in the end your fate is the same. Crawling on some onion skin. Layers, little layers of structure and under the right conditions life. A complex structure sandwiched between others hard or thin. From the subtle to the gross, literally. Staring down the well of a microsope to the smallest of structures or a telescope to the largest of structures. Can it be said, we think in the middle? Is it a sideways glance guiding the system at times? A phone ringing, should I pick up? I don’t want to pick up. I am creating. I did not mean to. Something came over me like a door opening and words began to fall through. Spilling and tumbling into shapes, clips from old newspaper clippings sending the fingers dancing. It’s now 7pm. Time to rest. Time to sing a new song. KD 22SEP09