Mass Accumulate

One day we'll read about the past, sit back, relax, and laugh. You'll shrug and I'll smile, and we'll freeze ourselves to come back together again hundreds of years in the future. After we defrost, I'll mention the times we thought about the past and you'll laugh and we'll go down the same lane again in our virtually programmed minds. The sun will set in the sky, on the dot, as a slave. Controlled like Gulliver and made to function for the purpose of tiny creatures with larger desires. We'll simulate a cafe and drink elixirs together that double as social tools, like cigarettes once were, like coffee once was, and we'll push buttons to smile and other ones to connect simultaneously. I'll spread a blanket on the beach and we'll hide underneath sheets, like we did when we were kids, imagining other universes. Yesterday, we sat without a towel on the grass and watched the humans live. They played and played in funny ways and that little kid's laughter was contagious as he rolled down the path riding with his brother on top of a skateboard. You were right, we were lucky to be there at that moment. "This park is in really bad shape, but I still feel grateful to be here right now." you said and I felt the same way. This was where people chose to spend their free day, together with food and kids and footballs and playgrounds and poorly maintained rolling hills of grass. We were lucky to be there. On a quiet star, too quiet for this planet, all sound is created and muted. There are no echoes, only us. We talk and the moments are alive. We stop and the past has died. Everything exists as it does only in the moments together. We could function this way if we wanted. But I'm so imperfect, I'm so defensively conditioned. I'm so enslaved to previous experiences. Just watch me. Just listen to the shit I say. Never transcending the things I had no control over. Personalizing the stimulus. Always reacting to the outer content and pushing away the spaciousness. Deep breathing and release. We are mass accumulations of everything we've felt and seen. I can see it in her well-trained body language and studied responses. Only there to help, assigned to help, for the world itself feels no pity. The world itself is not an easy illusion but a traffic jam of individual and separate realities, colliding and competing for control of an otherwise blank canvas. I fall short. I survive. I grow. I achieve. I move forward. I surpass. I hate. I deny. I stumble. I fool myself. I shatter. I think. I dream. I contradict. I concede. I overwhelm. I fall. I love. I do. Somewhere through the endless uncertainties and false walls of the mal-contrived, mal-informed, mal-prepared, chaotic mind, the true I, wriggles free and in the best of moments loves. Isn't that how you're supposed to end these things?