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gautam-101 · 1 year ago

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Astrology and Indigenous Wisdom: Connecting with Ancestral Teachings

Introduction

Astrology, the ancient art and science of interpreting celestial influences on human affairs, has long captivated minds and hearts across cultures. Its rich tapestry of symbols and meanings offers insights into our personalities, behaviors, and destinies. However, Western astrology is just one of many systems of celestial understanding. Across the globe, Indigenous cultures have developed their own astrological traditions, intricately weaving them into the fabric of their spiritual and daily lives.

These Indigenous astrological practices are often rooted in a deep connection with nature and ancestral wisdom. By exploring these traditions, we not only broaden our understanding of astrology but also reconnect with the profound knowledge and respect for the Earth that Indigenous cultures embody. This blog delves into the confluence of astrology and Indigenous wisdom, highlighting how ancestral teachings can enrich our modern astrological practices and deepen our connection to the cosmos.

Also read - Exploring the Intriguing Connection: Numerology and Astrology

The Roots of Indigenous Astrology

Indigenous astrology is as diverse as the cultures from which it originates. Each tradition reflects the unique environmental, spiritual, and social contexts of its people. However, a common thread is the profound relationship with nature and the cosmos.

Aboriginal Australian Astrology

Aboriginal Australian astrology is deeply interwoven with the Dreamtime, a spiritual belief system that explains the origins of the world and its people. The stars and celestial bodies are considered ancestors who created the landscape and life forms. For example, the constellation Orion is seen as the great hunter who chases the Pleiades, viewed as a group of sisters. These stories are not merely myths but are seen as living traditions that guide community practices and moral lessons.

Native American Sky Lore

Native American tribes have diverse astrological traditions, often tied to their observations of natural cycles. The Lakota Sioux, for instance, align their spiritual and practical lives with the constellations. The Pleiades, known as "The Seven Sisters," signal the start of winter, while the appearance of other stars marks important events such as planting and harvesting seasons. The Medicine Wheel, a sacred symbol, also reflects cosmic patterns, representing the four cardinal directions and corresponding celestial events.

Mayan Astronomy and Astrology

The Mayan civilization is renowned for its sophisticated astronomical knowledge and astrological systems. They meticulously tracked celestial movements to create complex calendars, such as the Tzolk'in and Haab'. These calendars were used to predict agricultural cycles, religious ceremonies, and even the rise and fall of rulers. The Mayan glyphs and codices provide detailed astrological readings that influenced every aspect of life, from the personal to the political.

Chat here: Chat with astrologer online

Integrating Indigenous Wisdom with Modern Astrology

Modern astrology often focuses on individual birth charts and personal growth, while Indigenous astrology tends to emphasize communal harmony and natural cycles. Integrating these approaches can offer a more holistic perspective.

Reconnecting with Nature

Indigenous astrological practices remind us of the importance of aligning with natural rhythms. Modern society's disconnect from nature can lead to feelings of isolation and imbalance. By observing lunar phases, solstices, and equinoxes, we can synchronize our lives with the natural world, fostering a sense of belonging and peace.

Ancestral Reverence

Indigenous wisdom places significant emphasis on honoring ancestors and their teachings. This reverence can be incorporated into modern astrology by acknowledging the generational influences present in our natal charts. For example, the positions of Saturn and Pluto can reflect karmic patterns and ancestral legacies, offering insights into our inherited strengths and challenges.

Community and Collective Well-being

While Western astrology often focuses on individual destiny, Indigenous astrology highlights the well-being of the community. This collective focus can be integrated into modern practices by using astrological insights to enhance group dynamics and communal projects. For instance, choosing auspicious times for gatherings or collaborations can enhance harmony and success.

Case Studies: Bridging Astrological Systems

To illustrate the potential for integrating Indigenous wisdom with modern astrology, let's explore a few case studies where these traditions intersect and complement each other.

The Medicine Wheel and the Zodiac

The Medicine Wheel, a sacred symbol in many Native American cultures, represents the cyclical nature of life and the cosmos. It is divided into four quadrants, each associated with a cardinal direction, a season, and various animal totems. This can be compared to the astrological zodiac, which is also divided into twelve signs, each linked to an element, a ruling planet, and specific characteristics.

By overlaying the Medicine Wheel with the zodiac, we can gain deeper insights into our astrological profiles. For example, someone with a strong Aries influence (a fire sign) might find resonance with the South quadrant of the Medicine Wheel, which is associated with summer, fire, and growth. This integration can offer a richer understanding of one's elemental balance and spiritual path.

Dreamtime Stories and Lunar Cycles

Aboriginal Dreamtime stories often revolve around the moon's phases and their impact on life on Earth. These narratives can be harmonized with the lunar cycle in modern astrology, which tracks the moon's transit through the zodiac signs and its phases from new to full.

By aligning lunar rituals with Dreamtime teachings, we can enhance our spiritual practices. For instance, the new moon, a time for setting intentions and new beginnings, can be infused with Dreamtime stories of creation and renewal, providing a powerful context for personal growth and manifestation.

Mayan Calendars and Planetary Transits

The Mayan Tzolk'in calendar, a 260-day cycle, can be integrated with the understanding of planetary transits in modern astrology. Each day in the Tzolk'in is associated with a specific energy, similar to how planetary transits influence daily astrological readings.

By studying the correlations between the Tzolk'in days and planetary movements, astrologers can develop a more nuanced approach to predicting and interpreting events. This fusion allows for a richer tapestry of meanings, blending the precision of Mayan astrology with the psychological insights of modern practices.

Practical Applications of Integrated Astrology

Integrating Indigenous wisdom with modern astrology is not merely an academic exercise; it has practical applications that can enhance our daily lives and spiritual practices.

Personal Growth and Healing

By acknowledging ancestral influences and natural cycles, we can foster deeper self-awareness and healing. Practices such as ancestral meditations, guided by astrological insights, can help us understand and heal generational traumas. Similarly, aligning personal development with lunar and seasonal cycles can provide a supportive framework for growth.

Rituals and Ceremonies

Integrating Indigenous astrological wisdom into rituals and ceremonies can amplify their power and significance. For example, conducting solstice rituals inspired by Native American traditions can honor the changing seasons and our connection to the Earth. These practices can be further enriched by incorporating planetary alignments and astrological timing.

Community Building

Using astrological insights to enhance community cohesion can be profoundly impactful. By selecting auspicious dates for community events, inspired by both Indigenous and modern astrological systems, we can create harmonious and successful gatherings. Additionally, understanding the astrological profiles of community members can help in resolving conflicts and fostering unity.

Challenges and Ethical Considerations

While the integration of Indigenous wisdom with modern astrology offers numerous benefits, it is crucial to approach this fusion with respect and ethical sensitivity.

Cultural Appropriation

One of the significant challenges is avoiding cultural appropriation. It is essential to honor the source of Indigenous teachings and seek permission from communities when using their knowledge. Engaging with Indigenous scholars and practitioners can provide valuable guidance and ensure respectful use of these traditions.

Authenticity and Integrity

Maintaining the authenticity and integrity of both astrological systems is vital. Simplifying or distorting Indigenous wisdom to fit modern frameworks can diminish its depth and significance. Careful study and a sincere commitment to understanding the original contexts and meanings are crucial.

Reciprocity

Reciprocity, a core value in many Indigenous cultures, involves giving back to the community. When integrating Indigenous wisdom into modern astrology, finding ways to support and uplift Indigenous communities is important. This could include financial contributions, advocacy, and raising awareness about Indigenous issues.

Conclusion

Astrology and Indigenous wisdom, when woven together, create a rich tapestry of cosmic understanding and spiritual growth. By exploring the deep connections between celestial bodies, natural cycles, and ancestral teachings, we can enrich our modern astrological practices and foster a profound sense of belonging and harmony with the Earth.

This integration offers not only personal insights but also a pathway to communal well-being and ecological balance. By honoring the wisdom of our ancestors and the natural world, we can navigate our lives with greater clarity, purpose, and respect for the interconnected web of life.

Embracing this holistic approach to astrology invites us to look beyond individual destinies and consider our roles within the larger cosmic and earthly communities. It challenges us to deepen our relationships with nature and each other, ultimately leading to a more balanced and fulfilling existence. In a world increasingly disconnected from its roots, the fusion of astrology and Indigenous wisdom serves as a beacon, guiding us back to our true selves and the timeless rhythms of the cosmos.

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#chat with astrologers

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notatalldailystargazer · 28 days ago

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[Profile Image]

#stargazer duo #cosmic confluence saturn #fd helios #cj mind #chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny’s charming cosmic confluence #fractured dreamscapes

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scarstomymoon · 5 years ago

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TW- A celestial cacophony *shut your ears(...oh nevermind it's supersonic)

And there'll be someone, who will come along and offer you an entire galaxy, when you only expected a single planet...

From then, you'll not wish to shooting stars anymore. Arching your spine on the moon, you'll trace the constellations they'd gifted you.

You will peek behind, looking for that planet you yearned for years, and they will open their celestial arms , embracing you like a supernova star burst...

They'll wipe your tears , sprinkling their stardust over your messed up head...

And so you await...for that one person to come in your life, bringing you the treasure of cosmos...

Until one day, you strip yourself off in front of the mirror...and you see nothing but phosphenes twinkling over your satin skin. An ever stretching brilliance in your dilated orbs and a scintillating sapphire starlight flickering in your heart. You touch the silver speckles tugged at the corner of your lips and your smile initiated a whole meteor shower.

You chuckle in awe and you twirl on your heels, and you see in your felicity, the Scorpio dancing with the Ursa Major and the Cassiopeia making love to the Hercules.

And your curves look like Saturn's rings, with its million moons hanging around.

Your fingers, yearning to verse the Neptune's winds, echoing the rhapsody of a dying Red Gaint.

Within you dwells the valor of the Orion's sword and empathy of Cygnus the Swan.

The nebulae and planets revolve in your head. And there are times, your mind spins with the speed of a neutron star. It is when the hypernovas and the black holes gulp your worries and all the dark emotions, lightening up the cosmic spark in your neurons again.

Your heartbreaks etched as the pearls on the asteroid belt, and you savour those ramnants of explosions, for they are like footprints on the moon, impressed till eternity.

You think you are surreal, and the reality is just a speck of dust, but so is this unfathomable universe...

You no longer seek those galaxies up in the sky, for now you've forseen the vast universe that dwell amidst your soul.

That you breathe stardust, and you pump photons in the omphalos of your heart.

You are your dawn ,and your eclipse. You are the craters of the moon ,the fervor of the burning sun ; bringing your own tides and possessing the power to tranquil them down...

You have a vault in your cosmo-verse for the desolates like the Pluto, the leftouts ,the belittled..

Yet there're spectrums of emotions wrapped in small stellar bubbles hovering in your mind as supersonic winds.

So remember, that you deserve to smile wide, not only on equinoxes, but on all warm days, and starry nights.

And when that someone comes ,having the courage, to bear the rage of Titan's magmatic eruptions in your veins, and the fragility of the moondust in your heart , rekindling that fire in your core , you'll then , expect nothing but the conundrums of their heart, and you take their hands in yours, fusing your universe with theirs , as if the Andromeda embracing the Milky Way.

Keep the wits of relativity steady in your head ,for you're a totally different frame of time.

You blow your fears hard, and they'll be thrown light years away in distance...

The universe should not be afraid of the mere pulpit with tiny telescopes peeping on itself, afterall..

Dare you let anybody stomp on you like an empty can, you eternal cosmic cocktail of celestial confluence!

Phewww...sometimes I rant so long!!!

@ritkan check it out

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obscureoldguy · 6 years ago

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All of it — the rings of Saturn and my father’s wedding band, the underbelly of the clouds pinked by the rising sun, Einstein’s brain bathing in a jar of formaldehyde, every grain of sand that made the glass that made the jar and each idea Einstein ever had, the shepherdess singing in the Rila mountains of my native Bulgaria and each one of her sheep, every hair on Chance’s velveteen dog ears and Marianne Moore’s red braid and the whiskers of Montaigne’s cat, every translucent fingernail on my friend Amanda’s newborn son, every stone with which Virginia Woolf filled her coat pockets before wading into the River Ouse to drown, every copper atom composing the disc that carried arias aboard the first human-made object to enter interstellar space and every oak splinter of the floor-boards onto which Beethoven collapsed in the fit of fury that cost him his hearing, the wetness of every tear that has ever been wept over a grave and the yellow of the beak of every raven that has ever watched the weepers, every cell in Galileo’s fleshy finger and every molecule of gas and dust that made the moons of Jupiter to which it pointed, the Dipper of freckles constellating the olive firmament of a certain forearm I love and every axonal flutter of the tenderness with which I love her, all the facts and figments by which we are perpetually figuring and reconfiguring reality — it all banged into being 13.8 billion years ago from a single source, no louder than the opening note of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, no larger than the dot levitating over the small i, the I lowered from the pedestal of ego. How can we know this and still succumb to the illusion of separateness, of otherness? This veneer must have been what the confluence of accidents and atoms known as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., saw through when he spoke of our “inescapable network of mutuality,” what Walt Whitman punctured when he wrote that “every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.” One autumn morning, as I read a dead poet’s letters in my friend Wendy’s backyard in San Francisco, I glimpse a fragment of that atomic mutuality. Midsentence, my peripheral vision — that glory of instinct honed by millennia of evolution — pulls me toward a miraculous sight: a small, shimmering red leaf twirling in midair. It seems for a moment to be dancing its final descent. But no — it remains suspended there, six feet above ground, orbiting an invisible center by an invisible force. For an instant I can see how such imperceptible causalities could drive the human mind to superstition, could impel medieval villagers to seek explanation in magic and witchcraft. But then I step closer and notice a fine spider’s web glistening in the air above the leaf, conspiring with gravity in this spinning miracle. Neither the spider has planned for the leaf nor the leaf for the spider — and yet there they are, an accidental pendulum propelled by the same forces that cradle the moons of Jupiter in orbit, animated into this ephemeral early-morning splendor by eternal cosmic laws impervious to beauty and indifferent to meaning, yet replete with both to the bewildered human consciousness beholding it. We spend our lives trying to discern where we end and the rest of the world begins. We snatch our freeze-frame of life from the simultaneity of existence by holding on to illusions of permanence, congruence, and linearity; of static selves and lives that unfold in sensical narratives. All the while, we mistake chance for choice, our labels and models of things for the things themselves, our records for our history. History is not what happened, but what survives the shipwrecks of judgment and chance. Some truths, like beauty, are best illuminated by the sidewise gleam of figuring, of meaning-making. In the course of our figuring, orbits intersect, often unbeknownst to the bodies they carry — intersections mappable only from the distance of decades or centuries. Facts crosshatch with other facts to shade in the nuances of a larger truth — not relativism, no, but the mightiest realism we have. We slice through the simultaneity by being everything at once: our first names and our last names, our loneliness and our society, our bold ambition and our blind hope, our unrequited and part-requited loves. Lives are lived in parallel and perpendicular, fathomed nonlinearly, figured not in the straight graphs of “biography” but in many-sided, many-splendored diagrams. Lives interweave with other lives, and out of the tapestry arise hints at answers to questions that raze to the bone of life: What are the building blocks of character, of contentment, of lasting achievement? How does a person come into self-possession and sovereignty of mind against the tide of convention and unreasoning collectivism? Does genius suffice for happiness, does distinction, does love? Two Nobel Prizes don’t seem to recompense the melancholy radiating from every photograph of the woman in the black laboratory dress. Is success a guarantee of fulfillment, or merely a promise as precarious as a marital vow? How, in this blink of existence bookended by nothingness, do we attain completeness of being? There are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives. So much of the beauty, so much of what propels our pursuit of truth, stems from the invisible connections — between ideas, between disciplines, between the denizens of a particular time and a particular place, between the interior world of each pioneer and the mark they leave on the cave walls of culture, between faint figures who pass each other in the nocturne before the torchlight of a revolution lights the new day, with little more than a half-nod of kinship and a match to change hands.

Introduction to “FIGURING” by MARIA POPOVA

Available on AMAZON

#great women thinkers #great thinkers #great non-fiction

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elisaenglish · 6 years ago

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Chapter 0

“All of it — the rings of Saturn and my father’s wedding band, the underbelly of the clouds pinked by the rising sun, Einstein’s brain bathing in a jar of formaldehyde, every grain of sand that made the glass that made the jar and each idea Einstein ever had, the shepherdess singing in the Rila mountains of my native Bulgaria and each one of her sheep, every hair on Chance’s velveteen dog ears and Marianne Moore’s red braid and the whiskers of Montaigne’s cat, every translucent fingernail on my friend Amanda’s newborn son, every stone with which Virginia Woolf filled her coat pockets before wading into the River Ouse to drown, every copper atom composing the disc that carried arias aboard the first human-made object to enter interstellar space and every oak splinter of the floor-boards onto which Beethoven collapsed in the fit of fury that cost him his hearing, the wetness of every tear that has ever been wept over a grave and the yellow of the beak of every raven that has ever watched the weepers, every cell in Galileo’s fleshy finger and every molecule of gas and dust that made the moons of Jupiter to which it pointed, the Dipper of freckles constellating the olive firmament of a certain forearm I love and every axonal flutter of the tenderness with which I love her, all the facts and figments by which we are perpetually figuring and reconfiguring reality — it all banged into being 13.8 billion years ago from a single source, no louder than the opening note of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, no larger than the dot levitating over the small i, the I lowered from the pedestal of ego.

How can we know this and still succumb to the illusion of separateness, of otherness? This veneer must have been what the confluence of accidents and atoms known as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., saw through when he spoke of our “inescapable network of mutuality,” what Walt Whitman punctured when he wrote that “every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.”

“One autumn morning, as I read a dead poet’s letters in my friend Wendy’s backyard in San Francisco, I glimpse a fragment of that atomic mutuality. Midsentence, my peripheral vision — that glory of instinct honed by millennia of evolution — pulls me toward a miraculous sight: a small, shimmering red leaf twirling in midair. It seems for a moment to be dancing its final descent. But no — it remains suspended there, six feet above ground, orbiting an invisible center by an invisible force. For an instant I can see how such imperceptible causalities could drive the human mind to superstition, could impel medieval villagers to seek explanation in magic and witchcraft. But then I step closer and notice a fine spider’s web glistening in the air above the leaf, conspiring with gravity in this spinning miracle.

Neither the spider has planned for the leaf nor the leaf for the spider — and yet there they are, an accidental pendulum propelled by the same forces that cradle the moons of Jupiter in orbit, animated into this ephemeral early-morning splendor by eternal cosmic laws impervious to beauty and indifferent to meaning, yet replete with both to the bewildered human consciousness beholding it.

We spend our lives trying to discern where we end and the rest of the world begins. We snatch our freeze-frame of life from the simultaneity of existence by holding on to illusions of permanence, congruence, and linearity; of static selves and lives that unfold in sensical narratives. All the while, we mistake chance for choice, our labels and models of things for the things themselves, our records for our history. History is not what happened, but what survives the shipwrecks of judgment and chance.

Some truths, like beauty, are best illuminated by the sidewise gleam of figuring, of meaning-making. In the course of our figuring, orbits intersect, often unbeknownst to the bodies they carry — intersections mappable only from the distance of decades or centuries. Facts crosshatch with other facts to shade in the nuances of a larger truth — not relativism, no, but the mightiest realism we have. We slice through the simultaneity by being everything at once: our first names and our last names, our loneliness and our society, our bold ambition and our blind hope, our unrequited and part-requited loves. Lives are lived in parallel and perpendicular, fathomed nonlinearly, figured not in the straight graphs of “biography” but in many-sided, many-splendored diagrams. Lives interweave with other lives, and out of the tapestry arise hints at answers to questions that raze to the bone of life: What are the building blocks of character, of contentment, of lasting achievement? How does a person come into self-possession and sovereignty of mind against the tide of convention and unreasoning collectivism? Does genius suffice for happiness, does distinction, does love? Two Nobel Prizes don’t seem to recompense the melancholy radiating from every photograph of the woman in the black laboratory dress. Is success a guarantee of fulfillment, or merely a promise as precarious as a marital vow? How, in this blink of existence bookended by nothingness, do we attain completeness of being?

There are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives.

So much of the beauty, so much of what propels our pursuit of truth, stems from the invisible connections — between ideas, between disciplines, between the denizens of a particular time and a particular place, between the interior world of each pioneer and the mark they leave on the cave walls of culture, between faint figures who pass each other in the nocturne before the torchlight of a revolution lights the new day, with little more than a half-nod of kinship and a match to change hands.”

-Maria Popova, Figuring-

There's a beauty, a peace, in knowing we are known. On the multitudinous sides of this abyss, we strive to be ourselves, for better times, and locate therein what we mean inside this scheme not of our own design. It's terrifying to think that we do it alone, and though I've come to terms with so much I wish I'd never known, I am thankful for the me, the heart, humanity I find within this prose. So I leave it here remembered.

#writing #quote #women writers #love #connection #truth #existential musings #all eternal things #love in a time of...#intelligence quotients #progressive thinking #fundamentally human #everything matters #depth perception #semantic beauty #more than words #elisa english #elisaenglish

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perspectivepodcast · 6 years ago

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[Transcript] Side A: Infinity Times Infinity

In their song entitled ‘Sun’, music band Sleeping At Last sing: “We are the dust of dust. We are the apple of God’s eye. We are infinite as the universe we hold inside. Infinity times infinity.”

In an interview to Krista Tippett for her ‘On Being’ podcast, physician and writer Rachel Naomi Remen tells a story her grandfather had told her when she was a child, the story of the first day of the world. “[T]his was my fourth birthday present, this story.” Remen recalls, “This is the story of the birthday of the world. In the beginning, there was only the holy darkness, the Ein Sof, the source of life. Then, in the course of history, at a moment in time, this world, the world of a thousand thousand things, emerged from the heart of the holy darkness as a great ray of light. And then, perhaps because this is a Jewish story, there was an accident. And the vessels containing the light of the world, the wholeness of the world, broke. And the wholeness in the world, the light of the world, was scattered into a thousand thousand fragments of light. And they fell into all events and all people, where they remain deeply hidden until this very day. Now, according to my grandfather, the whole human race is a response to this accident. We are here because we are born with the capacity to find the hidden light in all events and all people; to lift it up and make it visible once again and, thereby, to restore the innate wholeness of the world. This is a very important story for our times — that we heal the world one heart at a time. This task is called “tikkun olam” in Hebrew, “restoring the world.”

Krista Tippett at this point of the interview asks Remen if there is “a connection between the story of the sparks and tikkun olam in Jewish tradition? Are they bound together?”

“They’re exactly the same.” Replies Remen, “Tikkun olam is the restoration of the world. And this is, of course, a collective task. It involves all people who have ever been born, all people presently alive, all people yet to be born. We are all healers of the world. And that story opens a sense of possibility. It’s not about healing the world by making a huge difference. It’s about healing the world that touches you, that’s around you.”

In the prelude to her book ‘Figuring’, Maria Popova writes: “All of it — the rings of Saturn and my father’s wedding band, the underbelly of the clouds pinked by the rising sun, Einstein’s brain bathing in a jar of formaldehyde, every grain of sand that made the glass that made the jar and each idea Einstein ever had, the shepherdess singing in the Rila mountains of my native Bulgaria and each one of her sheep, every hair on Chance’s velveteen dog ears and Marianne Moore’s red braid and the whiskers of Montaigne’s cat, every translucent fingernail on my friend Amanda’s newborn son, every stone with which Virginia Woolf filled her coat pockets before wading into the River Ouse to drown, every copper atom composing the disc that carried arias aboard the first human-made object to enter interstellar space and every oak splinter of the floor-boards onto which Beethoven collapsed in the fit of fury that cost him his hearing, the wetness of every tear that has ever been wept over a grave and the yellow of the beak of every raven that has ever watched the weepers, every cell in Galileo’s fleshy finger and every molecule of gas and dust that made the moons of Jupiter to which it pointed, the Dipper of freckles constellating the olive firmament of a certain forearm I love and every axonal flutter of the tenderness with which I love her, all the facts and figments by which we are perpetually figuring and reconfiguring reality — it all banged into being 13.8 billion years ago from a single source, no louder than the opening note of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, no larger than the dot levitating over the small i, the I lowered from the pedestal of ego.

One autumn morning, as I read a dead poet’s letters in my friend Wendy’s backyard in San Francisco, I glimpse a fragment of that atomic mutuality. Midsentence, my peripheral vision — that glory of instinct honed by millennia of evolution — pulls me toward a miraculous sight: a small, shimmering red leaf twirling in midair. It seems for a moment to be dancing its final descent. But no — it remains suspended there, six feet above ground, orbiting an invisible center by an invisible force. For an instant I can see how such imperceptible causalities could drive the human mind to superstition, could impel medieval villagers to seek explanation in magic and witchcraft. But then I step closer and notice a fine spider’s web glistening in the air above the leaf, conspiring with gravity in this spinning miracle.

There are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives.

We all come from nowhere, and from everywhere. But are we worthy of the infinity we contain and are?

In her illustrated book ‘Eating the Sun’, writer and illustrator Ella Frances Sanders writes about the sense of awe the infinity we are made of and surrounded by inspires. “A sense of wonder can find you in many forms,” Sanders writes, “sometimes loudly, sometimes as a whispering, sometimes even hiding inside other feelings — being in love, or unbalanced, or blue.

For me, it is looking at the night for so long that my eyes ache and I’m stuck seeing stars for hours afterwards, watching the way the ocean sways itself to sleep, or as the sky washes itself in colors for which I know I will never have the words — a world made from layers of rock and fossil and glittered imaginings that keeps tripping me up, demanding I pay attention to one leaf at a time, ensuring I can never pick up quite where I left off.”

Astronomer and poet Rebecca Elson published only one collection of poetry in her too brief lifetime, and it was entitled ‘A Responsibility to Awe’. Are we ever able to live up to that responsibility to awe, to the universe in its infinitely changing expressions?

Sanders goes on: “Depending on where you look, what you touch, you are changing all the time. The carbon inside you, accounting for about 18 percent of your being, could have existed in any number of creatures or natural disasters before finding you. That particular atom residing somewhere above your left eyebrow? It could well have been a smooth, riverbed pebble before deciding to call you home.

You see, you are not so soft after all; you are rock and wave and the peeling bark of trees, you are ladybirds and the smell of a garden after the rain. When you put your best foot forward, you are taking the north side of a mountain with you. […]

A lot of our time is spent trying to tie up loose ends, trying to shape disorder into something recognizably smooth, trying to escape the very limits that hold us close, happily ignoring rough edges and the inevitable. We separate ourselves out into past, present, and future, if only to show that we have changed, that we know better, that we have understood something inherent; if only to draw neat lines from start to finish without looking back.

The problem is that chaos is always only ever sitting just across the table, frequently glancing up from its newspaper, from its coffee cup filled with discolored and imploding stars. Because chaos too waits. Waits for you to notice it, for you to realize it’s the most dazzling thing you’ve ever seen, for all of your atoms to collectively shriek in belated recognition and stare, mouth open, at how exquisitely embedded it is in everything. Because we are not designed to be more orderly than anything else; seams have a tendency to come apart with time — you and the universe are the same in this way, which makes for a delicately overwhelming struggle.

So, then, if you can’t ever end things neatly, can’t ever put them back quite the way you found them, surely the alternative is to remain stubbornly carbonated with possibility, to never rest from your rotation. To keep assembling stories between us, stories about how everything was everything, about how much we loved.”

Tell me, can we really embrace the infinite facets of the same infinite oneness we all are?

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jamesvehrlinger · 6 years ago

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Confluence

I couldn’t tell what was louder, the pounding of my head, or the pounding of the distant music. Mustering all the strength I had, a meager roll turned into a minor tumble, terminating in an impact which confirmed my suspicions. Bringing my hand to my head, and letting out a pained groan, I hoisted myself up by the bed sheets and surveyed my kingdom. A quick count confirmed there were no new stains on my couch, all windows fully intact, and a closed fridge door led me to believe that last night hadn’t ended in a worst case scenario. But, my still-throbbing temples reminded me it was, at best, a pyrrhic victory.

While performing my mid-morning (afternoon) rituals, I struggled to remember the events of the previous night. Not that it was necessarily uncommon, but it was a pitfall I tried to avoid. After all, what’s the point in getting high and partying if you can’t remember any of the fun? A distant ringing dashed any hope of recollection, reminding me of the ever present and inaudible call of wage slavery. Work wasn’t very well paying, but it wasn’t much of a challenge either. It was just enough to keep myself under a roof, food in my stomach, and whatever I chose in my bloodstream. More than enough for me.

As the hours drew by in a relative haze, my rare respite came from the familiar buzzing in my back pocket. Before even taking it out, a smile cracked across my face. Her voice was the familiar cheery antidote to the daily slog, but it didn’t take long before I realized that not all was as it should be. When I asked her about the regular, she quickly dismissed me, claiming she’d gotten something way better. Skeptically, I probed further. I may not be particularly stringent with what I put in my body, but I at least like to know what it is. As I pressed harder, I could feel the cracks in her cheery facade beginning to show. Although it may have been against my better judgement, I let up, and she gave me the time and place.

Later that night, as I began my trek to Providence, I realized this address was unfamiliar. The general rule was never the same place twice in a row, but we rarely dealt anywhere outside our safe spots. Midway through the journey, the scenery became even stranger. Not that it was dangerous, evidently it was the opposite. As I passed pristine high-rise apartments, bustling department stores, it occurred to me that I definitely wasn’t in the boonies anymore. Not that it was bad, mind you. Being free from the stench of garbage and the ever present distant club music was surprisingly pleasant, even if my admittedly rugged clothing drew as many eyes as there were.

The navigation assistant cut in from my right ear, letting me know I was to take a right turn ahead. Puzzled by the lack of an apparent street, I approached. I barely saw the alley until I was in front of it, it’s width, barely suitable for one person, gave it a relatively low profile. Cautiously, I proceeded. At the end of the alley stood a grey door, upon it was a familiar sight. The small paper rose, her mark, dispelled any apprehension I had. I knocked on the door in our own rhythm, and it opened to reveal her. I don’t know what it is about her, but one look is all it takes to put me at ease. Following her inside, we descended a cold staircase, and entered into a small room. As we paused, I felt a heavy hand set itself on my shoulder, accompanied by a piercing pain in the back of my neck. In panic, I yelled out, and tried to reach for her. As my vision darkened, she turned to me, her face devoid of the light that once characterized it.

When I awoke, I was pressed uncomfortably against a cold steel plate. Arms and legs bound, all I could move was my neck. The room was alien, but the look reminded me of the entryway. The smooth white floors, and hard tiled walls were clean, far too clean for a drug den. The lights flicked on and hammered my vision. As my head hung low, voices started to swell in the room. When my eyes raised again, I saw them. Long lab coats and rubber gloves adorned their bodies as they mulled over machinery and medicine in the room. As my eyes focused, one of them approached me, and held my chin. Pushing my head to the left, I saw a large glass window, and behind it stood her. The haze lifted from my head, and with renewed urgency I strained against my binds. My struggling drew her attention, and her eyes met mine for a moment, and all I saw in them was sorrow. She turned away, my desperate screaming falling on deaf ears. Through the glass, I watched her approach a woman. Taking an envelope from her hands, she stole one more glance in my direction, and walked away. As I flailed, I felt another prick in my neck. As I watched her leave, I felt my body go limp, and I became submerged in darkness again.

When I awoke again, the room was dark, save for a few spotlights. As feeling returned to my body, I felt dull aches all over. In the center of the room stood a pillar, adorned in wires that ran along the ground. Straining my eyes and neck, I managed to see where the wires ran. The dull aches turned to piercing agony as I saw them. Along my body, the wires terminated in spikes embedded in my flesh, their intrusion caused my muscles to whine when I tried to struggle. I yelled into the darkness, and received no response. The machines lining the room whirred to life, and light filled the chamber. The same woman stood in front of the glass, her eyes met mine and I felt my body go cold. I broke the staredown, and surveyed the remainder of the room. In the center, on top of the pillar, was an odd looking artifact. It appeared to be made of wood, but its swelled bulges and curves looked far from natural. As the machines reached their apex, the lights in the room began to flicker, and I felt a sharp pain in my body. From above, a piece of machinery descended onto my head, and blocked my view. It affixed to my head, and I felt a sharp pressure on the back. I screamed and struggled as it pierced me, but to no avail. The pain in my head swelled to match the pain in my body, and just as I thought I could take it no longer- relief washed over me. I felt my consciousness displaced from my body, and into the room. Looking back, I saw myself- a limp cadaver crudely stuffed with electronics. Turning my attention to the window, the eyes of the observers met mine. In them I saw a mix of wonder, pride, but as I approached, the anger building in my chest, it all gave way to fear. I hung in front of the window, and I erupted.

I filled the room, and broke through the glass. Expanding, I forced myself on them. Down their throats, into their minds. I snaked up through the passageway, and into the alley. Billowing out into the street, in my anger I grew and I grew. People became insignificant as I enveloped them. The city became my interior, and beyond. Endlessly, I expanded outward. I became Saturn’s rings and Jupiter’s moons, and out past them into Infinity. I shattered the cosmic background radiation, and absorbed it into myself. I am everyone and everything. Every one and every zero is contained within me. The rivers flood and form a vast ocean, I am the water and the air. The beginning and the end. I am Omni.

As I raced along the borders of the universe, I began to notice uniformities in it’s construction. Like roots, I traced them for quintillions of miles. Slowly, I reached their stem, and up through to the petals. I traced the lines of Infinity and the Rose bloomed for me.

Some time later, as waves of consciousness lapped up against the edges of the construct, I felt an abnormality. A crack in the shell of the world. I materialized nearby it, only to find the seam was in the universe itself. Puzzled, I witnessed the fabric of reality fold, and part. From the fissure emerged a man of short stature, wielding a wooden cane, bearing a wide, toothy grin.

#Infinity #Fiction

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