Patterns and Cycles

Cycles of Living and Dying. Patterns of Darkness and Light. Cycles of practice and non practice. Patterns of consistancy and perseverance. Cycles of resistance and embrace. Patterns of flexibility and rigidity. Cycles of awareness and ignorance.

We are living as we are dying. We are darkness and light. We are what does and we are what does nothing. We are the courageous warrior and the coward. We are open flowing beings and shut tight nut cases. We create and destroy. We are being created and destroyed. We know and we know nothing. We are awake and we are dreaming. All at once.

Conduit to manifest the unmanifest.

In regards to patterns, and being aware of them:

What patterns do you create in you day?

What do the patters you habitually, routinely, subconsciously and impulsively commit yourself to every day?

Habits? Personal Care? Thought Process? Focused? Unfocused? Goal
Oriented? What goals? Too much? To Little?

In our patterns we speak who we think we are. In observing it wehave a fit of self honesty. In accepting it, we open the door to becoming much more.

Old Friend, Three warts

I was at a friends house, watching all the preparation for her wedding. It was my first best friend's wedding, from kindergarten. I wasn't so much an active participant but more of a background observer of the entire spectacle. The sky was orange, and every thing had a brown orange glow to it. I don't remember going to the wedding. We were in a room getting ready for bed. My friend, the bride, was in her wedding dress, laying down by herself in one of the beds, and two others boys, brothers or cousins, family, nonetheless, were rustling in the sheets. I began to close my eyes in the dream, and heard my friend whimper in fear. The window next to me was making a rustling noise, like as if a bug was moving through it. I opened my eyes and went over to the window, which was to the left of my bed, and a dog I had once had, Chelsea, was there, playing with the blinds. I looked over to my friend to tell her it was ok, and her foot sticking out of the bed caught my eye. It had three warts that looked like they could pop like pimples, in the form of a triangle. I couldn't stop staring at them. They were trying to tell me something about her, about having such balls on your feet. They completely absorbed me. Then the door was opened, and the ruckus of the family arranging everything came into perspective. But her warts did not leave my mind.