The sound of birds: 03, 12 de julio de 2015
☯️03 de julio de 2015
I’ve been wanting to listen to silence for so long now. Its intricate, infinite depth is filled with everything. There is the sound of birds near — a loud, cackling mess of twigs in the branches above me, and there is the sound of birds far — only a churring movement in the distance, a murmuring hive of energy. Dry leaves tinkle and clink in the breeze like wooden wind-chimes, a consistent, natural song.
☯️12 de julio de 2015
Respect your environment. Respect the process of making a fire. You practice, you begin to form a relationship with a part of the natural world. It has a personality just as you do that requires patience and care. Intend to see from its perspective. Read its energy and respond appropriately.
This high is nothing but me staring into empty space with everything to think about. I want to push back, to be alone, to be far from everyone.
Are we all just escaping each other? Or are we meditating with each other, him with a cell phone and me with this pad of paper? I arrived with the intention of buying marihuana, my infinite, only, enduring love. I asked him, “¿Tenés un pedazo de papel que podría usar?” Because obviously after smoking I feel the need to write, to vomit all my feelings into an interpretable mess of chicken scratch and English modismos and anything appropriate for communication. A veces me imagino que el español es la única forma de expresarme correctamente.