I'm changing

When logic and proportion
Have fallen softly dead
And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen's off with her head
Remember what the doormouse said:
"Feed your Head
Feed your Head!"

There are still remnants of who I am lingering around--the passion, the determination to change the face of public education, the belief that I am only living one chapter of a very long life, that I've been around for along time, and I'll be back again. My mind feels full of memories hovering just below the surface, memories of what I've learned before, how I've died, who I've killed, all I've done, all that's been done to me... and they come back in shadows now and then, lurking. When something similar happens to me in this chapter, the shadows close in and the experience is that much more potent because I feel all the previous encounters with that experience. Does that make sense? Have you experienced anything like that before? Somebody showed me a way to bring all those shadows out into the light, expose them, reveal them, so I have once again full memory of what I've lived through before. But it came to me in the form of a religion, and I lost that religion. It was never really part of me.

So I sit here, listening to a woman who speaks of white rabbits, and I'm drawn in. My childhood, my upbringing keeps me away from drugs--what would my parents think? I've been told it will mess with my mind, with my track of memory where all that I remember of my past lives is stored. It will move the memories around, blur others, and my perception of time as I remember what happened will be permanently damaged. But I also believe that my mind is exterior to my body--so how do the drugs go exterior to my body? There must be some connection. And I know all my memories are not in my brain. I also know I could slip into the beingness of a drunk artist, if only I didn't feel so destined, or pushed, or obliged to make a difference in this world. I believe we are in a downward spiral, and I'd like to fix that, but I meet with so much opposition, so many people trying to shut me down that sometimes I just want to bury myself in my words, in others' words--let all them tell me how it is, don't bother trying to change everyone else's way of living.

Tom tells me of the book he's reading online... written by the guy who discovered LSD. What am I supposed to think of that. I can't do anything, he will pursue his interests with or without me. I know.

I wish I could find away to stop wanting to change the world and just be an artist. No I don't. I could be an artist and if my message reached people, that would make a change, but how do I get creative enough when so much day to day shit is making me stupider? How do I open the creative floodgates?

I used to love working with charcoal. I even have some pieces that I'm proud of. I should find a way to get into that medium again. It's so tangible, so alive. So messy.

Thank you ghost. Angels guide me to the morn.