triad of contemplation

profound? what, me, profound?

who is even around to ask that question? I have yet to hear it. I have yet to feel that there is a need to explain anything… everything seems so obvious when you sit and look at it for a while.

There are the analogies, the poor excuses for symbolic metaphors, the explorations of morality and of consciousness and of being. but there is nothing profound.

there are stars, and universes, and worlds that I haven’t visited, and attempts as friendship and love and passion about living. there are battles to be had and mountains made of molehills, and similes like that which feel overused and abused but still come to the surface so damn fast you just have to include them.

there are a lot of things here, but nothing really profound. and I love that. more so now than I think i ever would be able to appreciate at the tender age of… well, any age below what I am now. which is 23 years, 9 months, 25 days. not sure how many minutes, but profound qualities of humanity do not come leaping out of the trees by merely demonstrating accuracy.

what I love the most is the journey and exploration of all that is… well, 23 years, 9 months and 25 days old in this world. what is it like for a youngster like myself to figure it out with the aid of so many and the limited quantity of traditional suffering. I qualify that with “traditional” because what have I truly suffered? Separation from the basic needs of Maslow? Surely you jest.

and you, you, you know, you!!! you out there, who reads this, and who is usually myself! I love that you enjoy what is here. I love that you find some sort of curiosity to bother scrolling through what I ramble. I love that there is anything here beyond the words. I love that I can add meaning to your hobby time or your busy work, whatever situation you may find yourself in where you end up here, a chez kyall. I love that I can write a few words in French and think I know the language, or better, rant about some latin american cause and pretend to skimread the headlines and wish secretly inside here, and then explore externally out HERE, that I don’t actually know enough Spanish to make it through. I love that.

I love my ability to wonder about my insecurities. I love my freedom to feel 23 years, 9 months and 25 days old and not have to judge myself for insignificant thoughts. For they are insignificant to the world, yes, but to me… they are that journey of consciousness I’ve spent the last three years, three months, three days wondering about.

three years, three months, three days ago. I found my consciousness stream awaiting me. It was like a river. It was already moving, and I noticed that at the dock, there was this beautiful little boat sitting there with oars and a cushion and a bountiful supply of treats. I reveled in the treats, I really did. I stepped into the boat and found myself swirling down this stream of wonderous ideas and moments of enlightenment and times spent contemplating the music of the universe and the beauty of it all. I spent time in the currents, in the rocks, in the shallow areas that provided greater insight to the bottom of the river. there may have even been moments where I paddled a little upstream, to the contravention of everything that whatever karma or destiny or her grand master plan has laid out and said would be the right path(or should be), and there I found myself in struggle. I have enjoyed that struggle.

I have stopped on islands. I have really enjoyed those island visits along the way. I like pulling the boat to shore and exploring. I like mending fences on the islands, I like breaking down barriers on the islands. I like picking fruit on the islands, I like worshipping the locals and the music and the food and the friends and the… the islands themselves. I like worshipping those moments on this stream. There is nothing better, my friend, (which again, might be me. hello, me.)

I have swam, at times, beside the boat. Never mind the fact that boats need directors or steerers or whatever else you want to call the person who occupies the boat. I have enjoyed the swim. It’s exercise. It’s a chance to break moulds of what this stream of consciousness is about. Because it’s precisely what it’s about. It’s about those times where I get to find out really, is this the exact route that some great map I have yet to really actually get to intimately know is saying I should take? I find comfort being tossed into it all and suffering momentarily in my confusion. It’s refreshing, as the cold water should be. It’s shocking, as the lunging of an otherwise rational body into the stream would be. I like it.

And so, my friends, and myself, this is me signing off, perhaps not for another three years, three months, three days, which by the way is just a magical coincidence that OF COURSE was meant to happen. this is me saying, even if this all gets deleted in an irrational attempt at self-censorship or self-doubt or protection from the elements… (we do know how those snowflakes tend to want to cover all that is not white. well, tonight, I am no snow shower from the sky…) …it made it here tonight. adieu, hasta luego, and good night.