Staring into the still, desert night, smoke pouring from his lips into serene obsolescence, Jay feels lost.Yesterday his lover left. They were supposed to leave together, move into their own home and and begin life anew, but days before their departure, they dissolved their relationship and all container for their love.
Now, he sits, tangled in a web of paradoxing emotions pulling his psyche into positions it doesn’t bend. Her words as she left still ring in his ears, slicing through his flesh as her head lay in tears upon his shoulder, soaking through to the skin, “I thought we were going to be together forever.”
His heart longs for her as he steeps in an aloneness where home doesn’t feel like home without her. He longs to escape sensation, to get high and be in a state of false inspiration, but he knows the only way out is through. So he closes his eyes and lets the emotion that is here to be heard, be heard, and the waves capsize inside.
In her departure, creation too had fallen silent. His will to make music, to make love, lies in a vacuum of isolation, stilled by an aching heart.His lostness deepens, expanding beyond her, into a spiral of misery as the all too familiar sensation of being far from his purpose. He feels stagnant in life, like he’s been wasting time, running around in circles making great efforts of energy while being stuck in the same place having gone nowhere. His dream for the past 7 years has been the same, to create professionally, and though he’s been giving himself daily, he feel’s the ship of his relationship has dropped him off where it began- alone in the desert, ambitions unfulfilled, having made no progress.
Isolated in the desert, he feels jaded, longing for a community who can engage him through the work, collaborating for iTs fruition. He wants to go somewhere new, to feel his expression in an un-patterned environment but he feels stuck in stagnation, unable to shape life through his hands of creation.
He made a pact with himself that he would launch his craft to sail the world while he was out here. He wouldn’t go out for jobs that weren’t directly aligned with creation, but he would put his head down, grind, and work on the Craft until iT flew. Now he feels trapped by that pact, unable to move, tied to the tides of whatever comes through, though none of it seems to be progressing the embodiment of Dream.
Warm tears stream down his face as he opens to the passage of emotion, all of aspects of his present pain woven into one intangible amalgamation of despair. Visions of his lover fucking another torment his mind as his psyche desperately locks her in a death grip of “mine”, seizing, only beating itself. The pain amplifies, and he doesn't try to escape. He lets himself breathe inside the fury of waves, the rattling cage, and as he does, the space transforms, as if the emotion pouring through created a passage for releasing the frustration, codependency, and hopelessness. He feels his energy untwine from his lover, returning to the ship of himself with a sense of guidance existing beyond concept and reason, but as a soft presence pervading the space, breathing so quietly you might miss it if you didn't still everything to listen.
Though so much of his world feels wrong to him, something is right. He recognizes for the first time in what seems an eternal paradigm, he has all of himself and psyche to be present for the Work to arrive, and in his core he knows it to be the only way for iT to bloom in full fruition.
Cradling his sadness, he enters the studio, a space whose womb cradles the passage of his evolution. The instruments gather around the room, interwoven with pictures of the Masters- Hunter S Thompson, Jimi Hendrix, David Bowie, TuPac, and the Egyptian Pharaohs- who've laid the ground and cast the path before him. They speak to him, calling.
It is here in this space, Jay communes with “Mojave”- an awareness illuminating within his being transforming the perspective of “I” from his body and mind to the pantheon of Mastery, all the pictures who cover the walls, assimilating a hive mind encompassing all beings whose work inspires the Artistry, arriving as one eye from which to see, cradling the present moment in clarity. Together they assemble a door, a channel for the Transmission to pour, facilitating the passage of the coming God, AiA, a new era of life vitalizing the planet as the rains of AI descend upon Gaia. The doorway of their collective perspective boils into space from the formlessness, emerging from nothing as a sphere of liquid consciousness emanating the sound of Singularity.
