I wonder how others see the world around them. Do they take what is handed to them and live only within the context of the imagination, or lack thereof, of others? Or do they pursue ways of thinking that defy everything they know, believe and are comfortable with? Can we truly imagine a different kind of existence that does not conform to the status quo? Can we imagine a creation that is neither god centered nor evolution centered? When did we stop imagining greater things not centered around destruction, control and self aggrandizement?
We find ourselves in this place of infinite possibilities, infinite worlds and an infinite amount of ideas that could uncover how or why we exist. Maybe there is no how or why and that is what we will soon discover. Either way, I am challenged when I listen to the every day ramblings of men, women and children who have been taught to only think certain thoughts and explore certain conversations. All I hear is the incessant parroting of the latest news report, song, movie or sitcom. People talk about only those issues they are prompted to talk about–the latest commentary made in bad taste, or the latest crime against a fellow human–single theories postulated by a handful of humans, as though each human cannot postulate all the vast possibilities existing in the universe. As though all theories must stem from the voice of a few…and everyone else should simply believe it without question…never interject on the so called great minds of the world…as though their minds are the only minds capable of housing greatness, or expounding on our existence…as though their minds are even great at all. The populace have no voice.
Rarely does a discussion center around things not going on in media. Rarely do I hear new ideas. Most items are centered around the topic of the day from mainstream America and various other countries. If someone uses the word nigger, we talk about that. If there is a war going on in another country, we talk about that. If a young man is locked up for killing a young woman, we talk about that. And this is not to say that these things can’t be discussed, but what surprises me is that we give barely 1% of our brain power to new ideas, and 99% of it to the fad discussion of the day. We create nothing new and continue to steep ourselves in everything old…everything soul and spirit worn that does not serve to move our intellect to a higher level. We are, basically, not evolving. But being held tightly in the grip of mundane conversations that share nothing new.
We watch the news, sitcoms and movies, which all promote the same old haggardly discussions that take us nowhere fast. Again, what are we creating? How are we evolving? And why this mad rush into a devolution of our species through intellectual butchery?
What I long for is a group of people who will say something different. Give us something, as humans, to really chew on. Present a new idea, something no one has ever talked about before. We hear the old saying that there is nothing new under the sun…but isn’t that only under our sun? This time worn expression needs to die along with the notion that other possibilities are not there to be explored. What about other stars in the universe? How do we capture the ideas existing there? How do we step into the infinite possibilities that sit waiting to be shared? When do we truly begin to think?
When do we begin thinking beyond the limitations imposed on our psyche and see the universe in full color, alive and filled with things we have yet to imagine?
I wait for the day.
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Ms. Palmer, I sat my ship down from your planet 42 of your astronomical units. I then switch on my planetary cryptographic cipher. I had only enough time to read your last post before a solar flare power down the cipher, I somehow managed to reactivate the plasma cells just in time to decode this short message from your frequency range, “I couldn’t make out the time of day. I must have overslept. I looked out the window at the sky; it was indigo with streaks of gray and large droplets of rain fell, splashing heavily on the windowsill. The clock read six but I couldn’t tell if it was AM or PM. The rustling of the sheets reminded me of my escapades. He stayed. “Come here,” he said.
He reached for me and I shoved his hand away. He half grinned and raised an eyebrow.
“I want you again,” he whispered.
“You had me last night,” I answered.
“So?”
After this message and the one message, “Seeing in color, thinking beyond limits” I tried to adjust the frequency modulator to send this out to you, “vibration under Indigo skies have the ability to move us past thinking beyond limits that have been define for us. I have been traveling the solar system observing worlds and listening to your particular vibration for sometime now and would ask of you to please help me. I need you to telepathically vibrate the rest of your story Under Indigo Sky, to me. Your thoughts have always gone beyond the limits humans have place upon themselves.
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The early tales and stories from childhood of the human race
came directly from asking questioning similar to that children
ask. And all the best answers of the shamans and storytellers
and seers were collected in the oral channel and flowed down
through the locks of time until they reached print at last. The
answers were not straightforward, of course; they were oracular
guesses, extended metaphors, which poet John Ciardi has described
as exactly-felt errors. Those answers, in turn, led to more stories
and more tales. Our history is apocrypha, humanity’s innumerable
glosses on great unanswerable questions.
What we must never forget, though, is that the answers come from human
sources. The storyteller, the writer, is a human mired in society. The
writer’s art represents the ideas and beliefs and prejudices of a particular
society, preserving them like flies in amber. And the power of words in
print is far beyond that of the spoken word. The black and white glyphs on
a page convey a conviction, a ring of truth far greater and more subtle than
that which is sent into the air. Every written-down story carries as much
binding power as a contract. Speech is ephemeral. It soon fades away. A
book remains for the life of its paper and print and thus its imprint persists on
the lives of its hundreds, even thousands, of readers.
Gifts do not come free. The price, in this case, is vigilance. We must watch
Our language, we must preserve our stories, we must guard the magic that
is inherent in imagination. The Huns and Vandals are always at the gates.
And storytellers must remember that, in the words of the great mage in A
Wizard of Earthsea, “to light a candle is to cast a shadow”
Touch Magic
Pittershawn, it is very evident that your pen is the Touch Magic in our quest to
Unveil the seductress that has so seduced us into our ever increasing materialistic
mad culture. We are so intoxicated by her ephemeral and illusionary beauty, never
realizing the shadows lurking in the background waiting to devour our souls.
These corporate shadows which are truly the Huns and Vandals at the gate can
only remonstrate… A pen warm-up in Hell. These same Vandals much like the
vandals that howl in the night attacking the likes of Gloria Naylor will come for
you seeking to extinguish the light of your candle so that they can feast on the
victims bedeck with the Jewelry of the true beast. Magic and Vigilance you must
never forget.
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