Life in the trenches of the luminous dark

We’re fascinated by the words, but where we meet is in the silence behind them.

The Emptiness Between

A deep shiver went down Nikki's spine when she said,

"Hey...I wanted to share something with you...it's kind of disconnected to anything and irrelevant in a way, but It's something I never really talk about. It's not anything new, others endure this, but I suffer from sometimes crippling depressive states. Sometimes it can go on for a very lengthy period, like up to a year. It's often renders me mute, in a semi-catatonic state where I can't move in my mind to get anything done. I have 0 motivation to do stuff or complete simple tasks and I often feel ashamed of being this way. I go into this mode for a time and then all of a sudden, I re-emerge like a new butterfly fresh with creativity and energy. But sadly I have endured these cycles of mood states my entire life. I don't share this with many people and if I ever seem distant or weird now you know why. But it's odd because I can talk with you, even when I'm in the deepest pools of being lost"

Daniel took a deep inhale of ganja smoke, flashes of synapse connections entrap his minds eye.

There's this weird emptiness that is between everything, the static between connection. Everything is connected, and everything is nothing, and this nothingness, is the void, it's dense, cold and timeless, the nowhere and everywhere, the nonduality behind the doors of perceptions.

He moved, took out the blunt from his mouth, licked his dry lips, moved his tongue, but nothing came out.

Nikki shifts on the bed, and continues; 

"I've lost friends over it because they didn't understand my behavior

You may have already figured this out

But what we sometimes believe is hidden from our friends is often really obvious to them, unbeknown to us"

Daniel is frozen in timeless thought;

I get this numbing feeling, this emptiness, what does it matter? anti-matter? Trapped in this prison of language, perception, society, culture, thoughts, ideology, philosophy and silly ego tricks.

The weight of the world gets to be too much for me, on these full moon nights, its 4am in the morning, that the whole dark city is still, this is my favorite time, it seems like I am the only soul, wandering the empty glowing streets, it's dead cold air, that keeps me awake. 

It uses to be my favorite time to drink, I would rock the 40oz before the sun comes up, putting in work before he shines. 

Shocked back to the present, breaks the stillness of the silence

"I feel you homie" he says "Life really can get on top of you"

She nods her head, but her eyes communicate the vastness of the luminous dark, as she takes a drag of the roach and turns up the King Crimson Record. 

The Moonlight illuminates the darkness. 

Sparks of memories and flashbacks of the everywhen.

Daniel lays down on the bed and zones out on the space between

The luminous dark is my comfort zone. I have been blessed with a crappy life. The struggle is real, life is lost, pain and suffering. But this is how we know, love, joy, and bliss. Because Death stalks us all, its bliss last kiss.

The burns, cuts, heartbreak, hangovers, the physical pain of direct experience of reality, is what wakes me up. Like some tragic cosmic fool, I trip on the eternal, I dub step to the beat of the universe, I muse on infinity, I fall asleep to the songs of eternity, banging my head against reality.

Only to find fucking pancakes at my doorstep, deja vus in the timeless seamless tao, the shimmer of infinity in the edges of reality, the cosmic giggles in the trenches of hyperspace.

I often laugh at nothing and everything all the same, because bliss and depression are the complementary charges to the same energy.

I often find myself staring into the mirrors of infinity, only to find myself winking back at me. I often know not what I do, I often sit under the tree for too long, drink too much tea, get lost in a dusty old book, play the same record over and over again, repeat the same line to myself over and over again. 

I am some kind of paper bum, I am some kind of word junky, tripping out on bliss, there is never enough beauty, there is never enough poetry, there is never enough music for me. All the smoke and drink can't drown out the luminous dark that deconstructs the whole of my being. 

Day by Day, Hour by Hour, Minute by Minute, 

Minute by Minute, Hour by Hour, Day by Day,

Reality falls apart on me, only to repeat again and again, upon waking up.

Down and out, sitting at the edge of the abyss, life in the trenches of hyperspace, 

beauty is beauty and being is the most wondrous terrifying experience that anyone can be…