Box by Toby Al-R

I know some people believe in angels, see I don’t understand that, but anyways.

There are more galaxies out there than the grains of sand on this planet, so what do I know?

We tend to dismiss this splendid conundrum of life and we worry about jobs, exams and things that are shallower than a second coat of paint on a bench seat.

The mouth of curiosity and wisdom is speaking to us, with the language of silence and the sound of nothing, how can we understand it? It is sitting there like a big block of foggy ice waiting for us to break it. 

So then, let me say this; my last romantic date was with an escort… I had to pause there, I can feel the awkwardness around me. Well she was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. What? I thought you believe in angels, what happened now?

It is okay, time is a mystic teacher. But time needs time.

You see, life drilled things into my forehead like an alienating Indian ritual; I am not supposed to be understood and I owe nothing to anybody.

Prospective can be different once the boundaries are dissolved, to become one with the universe, nakedly dancing in the spiritual lake of ease.

The ill concealers will do their best with their hypnotizing gadgets and silly toy guns. But the truth always shines itself out, it shines so brightly it will end up blinding them. Then they will say; well now we can’t see it. I say they can’t handle it.

We worry about things that might never happen, what are we afraid of? Unleash yourself, follow your curiosity; you are not going to die! Well… you actually might, depending on your level of imagination.

But then I think death is exciting. Think of it that way; at least you won’t have to go to the toilet again, ever. Or sleep with an alarm on; so you can wake up for a stupid job only to make money and buy trivial stupid things.

Or it could well be the final answer to our philosophical question; what is afterlife? It is possible that an angel will fall, take your hand and escort you… well let’s not go there again.

I think being dead is to be dead, complete nothingness. The good thing about it that you wouldn’t know it happened anyway, because you just died. I think it is a win win situation. But what do I know?

They say we are made of stardust or perhaps clot of blood. I think we are made of illusionary microorganisms, fifth dimensional bacteria of the vast universe.

Whatever it is, whoever we are; I kind of like it. This ceremonial platform is filled with; mystery, dance, drama, sensational touches, kisses, winks, hugs songs, painting naked bodies, expression, creativity, smiles, individuality and chasing love.

It is fun, take it easy, enjoy it and don’t forget; your life is inside an invisible box of glass. Break it! Shatter it! And walk through. Underneath you, you will hear the ground cracking festive sounds.

 

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