obey (personal legend)

perhaps you’ve seen the art in your neighborhood.  surely you don’t need me to tell you what it means. (:

but this isn’t about the art.

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you are born, you are helpless.  without the aid of the ‘other’, you will cease to exist.  usually someone related by blood, and the basics of life are provided.  we learn the customs of that ‘other’ and usually pass it on with the arrival of the next generation.

then there is the world, vast and complex.

We were all born, we were all once helpless and taught the customs of our ancestors.  How much different was it for them growing up, and are those customs relevant to our lives?

‡

The faint whispers of an improvised song pluck at my heartstrings, and I translate them into a format my computer can understand.  BPM 128 x 1.5, 7/4 time signature in the note of G.  The music that I’ve come to cherish and adore is foreign to those I’ve learned my customs from, I’m sure.  So foreign that I gotta push the lyrics through Google Translator, as a matter of fact! :DDD  I imagine what was customary for those people, wonder if their lives were anything like mine.

To a degree, I’m glad that theirs wasn’t.

Void is what defines existence beyond the present moment.  Death awaits beyond this period, but of what?  Perhaps of my regrets…?  At least, that of the original transmission of those customs passed down.  And then, what will most likely matter is what’s relevant.  What plucks at my heartstrings at the very moment, tempered by the wisdom of my ancestors and past experiences enhanced by silicon & positive intent.

(at least, I hope…)

What makes life difficult to bear at times is feeling the need to disappoint those you love in order to live a life free of regrets.  Breaking tradition, to say the least.  However, it provides some comfort to think of meeting unrealistic expectations like trying to run a computer app on an unsupported platform. 😊

‘The bird fights its’ way out of the egg.  The egg is the world.  Who would be born must first destroy a world.  The bird flies to God.  That God’s name is Abraxas…’ – Hermann Hesse