the trouble with being very conscious




The trouble with being very conscious and writing

Because there are people one knows involved, no one can write a complete proza documentary about just what was one day in his or hers lifetime. Also due the fact that at a certain moment one is ready to begin writing such description, the reader will not be able to follow because of the complexity of one's past that is determined for a part by events in the past.

So that is why one always has to choose between fiction and reality, between the daydream and the situations one has to adept oneselves on. Each thought is a novel on it's own if one would pay attention to it and mingeled with fanthasy a thousand novelles. Each dream is a 'collage', a mix of a lot of things that happened in a lifetime over generations. Time does not exist. Each moment of a minute, sometimes splits of a second, is so intense to write about that, if one is a writer, one cannot support any more in the end or just survive by observing and enjoying and making sense. In order to achieve a part of this wanting to explain about the codes of life in a narrative way, one should be a lot alone perhaps...I do not know, I'll have to find out...but the energy of achieving the aims described, is lacking me at this moment. Shall I try to write a prelude (french word,an introduction, which again is a French word ?) about the past or start with the day itself today or go to sleep for half an hour to recover ? Or shall I look upon you as my private detective trying to find out in this day this day story of mine, how my live and maybe yours was ?

Woke up with my neck hurting more than the day before and a kind of fatique that went away. Had a 'talk' with a virtual friend about dreams and situations in daytime, but then not trying to fix the events it self, but interpretate them on a broader scale. Nice that in English the word 'friend' is not substitute for male or female. A friend is rather someone one can talk or write with on a more or less the same dimension of vibrations. And if it's a virtual exchange one does not feel like one will have a supposingly real encounter where one falls in love and by consequence having to endure all the responsibilities, joies and hardships based on the realities of the other persons life.

I dreamt that a bloke with a lot of primitive and rough and in a way brute fysical energy tried to seduce a friend of mine. He wanted to conquer her innocense in a mainly instinctive way. At first my reaction was 'let it go, it's not your life', but the feeling kept persecuing me and then I met an old tired Indian woman who told me to controle the blood pressure this has caused in my body. She maybe has saved this house of that soul of mine, and that is why my spirit is back on the track of continuiing 'it's' spiritual tasks...for the sake of being a kind of assistance to all those who have managed not to live pureally superficial.

Me and my neck rested for a while and the fatique due to a life with a lot of task and due to to a lot of isolation, slowly disapeared a bit, due to the fact that I let my ghost speak to my tired body, encouraging it from within the spheres of 'heaven' present as well in everything and everyone on earth, but most of us do not really know or can't reach the same dimension any more or not yet.

A cup of thee or coffee ? I had run out of water of the source in the wood, so it took some of the kitchen tap. The water was presumed to be the best, because of a lot of controle and addition of...I do not know. Nature's tap was to far away today for me to go and get it. The fellow occupants of my house were at work and I went outside to say the dogs hello, after eating some of the meal of yesterday and sharing the rest with them. The only animals whose meat I eat are, from time to time in a limitated way 'chicken' and some fish from time to time. And hopefully, most of the time chicken that were not emprisoned in factories all of their lifetime. If I had to eat according to my blood group, rabit and sheep and cheese would be better. There are more theories then people, because everyone has  several preverages.

In a village with tries not to become a town I met the young man who wanted to make a living of his dream, providing food and a drink to his clients, which were more friends to him. He asked me how my writing got allong and I answered him I had started writing in English and that I still was helped by the computer to avoid spelling errors...but that the computer wasn't so human as to underline the words thought and taught, because they both are correct...but it depends on how you use them. This restaurant-café keeper has a replica of one of Renoirs paintings in his establishment. I look upon it at each visit and so I said : 'I saw the film 'la fabuleuse destin d' Amelie Poulain' lately again. While living in her world of fantasy, she always was tryiing to help people by bringing them together or playing jokes with someone who mistreated an other person. There was that role of a painter in the movie who was making a copie of Renoir's summer ball...he advised Amelie to grasp her own hapiness in her attempt to meet the love of her live...and in response the painter and other personages received a lot of blessings as well.

There were some woman on the owner of the 'goodlife'- terras, waiting for the bus at the other side of the street. One nice dark woman from Africa with a lot of pounds extra, sat on the stone before the window of a house...like as if she was meditating. Had she found hapiness in mariage or was she misused on this continent...or in both cases and even if she was unhappy, whas this the consequence of the wrong choices she made before she emigrated ? A bit of an Asian women came to sit next to here and they looked understandingly at each other, without talking. Do only coulered people take the bus in this place ?

A Caucasian woman pushing a child in a baby-carriage came along...and an other white skin one with a happy little black-white dog came along. Wish Renoir was here. Maybe he was, with all that talking going on about him...as a consequence of what he did. Since time in fact does not exists, he must be somewhere, I thought. And while I write it I wonder if I did not write 'taught' in stead of 'thought' in a phrase like this. Sorry, no energy left to go back and correct it. It's a bit like life...the past, try to deal with it as much as possible, but avoid having to make corrections in this day itself. Make your day, not intervering to much with earlier evolutions who have had their flow. Try to have a panoramic view on people and things, or you will get lost among to narrow conditions. It is like I heard this man say in a documentary about Darwin and his Beaggle boat : "I love the Amazone, but do not expect to love me back. In fact the Amazone is very happy to see me coming...because it is very hungry : mousquittos, snakes like the anaconda, some fish...they surely love me in their own way”. So did my cat and my chicken when I came home. The cat pushes her head against my giving hand to thank me and the chicken lays her daily egg and expects no special things in return...forgotten of the times when she was a dinosuarus. Maybe her kind has become humble through all these years of evolution ? Still there is a kind of mean dino-look when she mistrusts me and is not singing her relaxed song.


possible futher items and events and persons that eventually push to write :

A piece of egg shell lay on the ground, ready to be touched by the local chicken. She picked and picked, must have done so a million times already. The local cat licks her milk, her tongue must have done this who knows how many times. One day they both will be dead...which will be the reward for doiing what they did ? Passing the software from what they could do on ?

Woke up a big sick. What's the matter man, too too long without the kind of bio love her on earth ? It had been more then three weaks that I was coughing and now I felt as if a fire was burning inside me. What kind of microinsects had bitten me ?

A telephone call with someone from a callcenter wanting to male me a subscriber. Normally I show some patience. But now...clack the phone without answering back on the line. Another more automatic call I got, the phonecompany with an sms to by the wired line, asking me if I was satisfied with their recent intervention...wanting to keep me subscribed.

Yesterday in the library a young teacher of very young children brought two books back, one from the old and one from the new testament, she had to pass an examination to give religion to children...I told her that in the library of a monastery in Averbode they had quite a lot books in every didactic material...knowing well in the back of my head, I could explain better. Maybe this was such an ocassion that I had forfelt an hour ago when I was planning on writing a book about questions young children ask adults.

No, I would not go to the doctor or pharmacist, I 'will suvive by going a bit in the outside world today. No hermit today. Maybe biolove was what I needed, but especially starting up a good innerdialogue with myself to reach the vibrations necessary to continue my spiritual voyage towards the questions I posed myself in life...at this stage of my existence, being today. Serenity was what I wanted to comfort me with,…over what… the idea of not being a grandfather ever ? The names of the villages I met  accompanied me with a from time to time a women biking through the green local bush or a man doing his thing.  Someone from Ghana, I felt without asking was waiting at a busstop. Nice to see as well on this rainy day. Being to be able to tell the story of one day completely is like an impossible thing to do with letters only...to many sideroades in one's mind crossing the story of events and tings to see.

When one stops to have a meal, it can be quite tasty and only sometimes the meal is much better then the friendliness of the one who serves it. Or in cafés, where a lot of people with problems often meet, a lot is to observed. It sometimes happens that one of the people present begins to talk about 'Spain' for exemple, when I , before I came was thinking about a subject that related to Spain. Or that I am thinking a lot about India and a driver comes walking in the pub, an Indian driver whos asks the way to a company with the same family name as the grandmother of the recent love one is trying to leave behind, because of her situation in her head, not mine...or because of the scenario's hanging above our heads from before we were born as a never ending consequence of things we did or not do as well.

Then one arrives at home and discovers that one has got three mails without knowing what one is doing the past hours the former love sends you something about Averbode, about a church you were sitting in the sun with the same 'Nicolas'-name, but in an other commune and about a foreign voyage...when at the same time practically one was in a voyage-shop to ask information about traveling abroad and rather as far away as the mail one was beiing send. And next to the picture of the Nicolas church was another church who had the same name as a political group with very narowminded ideas...not the kind of 'church' to follow...not the kind of religion or philosophy to teach children.

An axioma emerged while travelling : 'women are they closer to the material world and men closer to the sky, more physics then chemics ?...and why some women want to be men and the other way around.’ ANother axioma came by :  For those knowing about the recent discovering of the 'god-particle' between matter and anti-matter (april 2011), I wrote a lot about this in 1994 : that particle on the border beween the two kinds of matter, gives mass to matter...’like an egg that is furtilised by something 'lighter'.’(see essay 16 blogfilosofen)

Another axioma came along(invented in Olmen) before I ate 'vegetables of Balen'..like in the name of the theather play in Dutch at that time. There was a workers pub over there, with people being nice to each other. A big man with a big belly said hallo to a lonely old women at the table...I don't want the know the hidden stories behind them any more. And the man looking friendly from the kitchen to me...my serenity does not trust the nature of the message behind it...very much hetero I.

Did not meet the one who says she is autistic to talk about these kind of details.

Neither biolove today, except for the good meal I had.

When my imagination (?) meet’s fantasy it’s great some time : ‘The truck's 'globe trotter's' plate 'W.A.B.,wait a bit' anda text on a van before me 'sleep on it', and the resemblance of a woman in a car next to mine with a serene woman...but in a car full of noice...boenkboenk,...what was she doing there, that was no music for that kind of women.’

http://filosofischverzet.skynetblogs.be 500artikels,essays…

to be continued on facebook

and in a new novel and practice


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