July 8, 2010 Dr Quinn’s office. 0945, my appointment was at 0930. Teeth cleaning with a canker sore; an apthous ulcer. Ouch. I’m expecting some ouchness, ouchiness. Calm, though sitting here surrounded by more flesh than I’d like to be, my mind wanders to oceans in cities, and memories of men no longer residing in my head. I almost said heart, but I’m not sure, I’m only sure that I’m noticing the absence of obsession. Wow. Obsession free me. Hmmmm….. Space and peace inside the walls of my head, my mind takes me on brief tours of Whatifville, and I’m not interested in making any more visits, it’s a boring place full of boring things. I’m yawning. My faith has been born out of a long hard struggle with illusion, pushing past boundaries….Long hard lessons won after way too much suffering. Okay, let’s do it! Let’s live this life NOW, let’s give it our all, let’s really experience this trippy life, full of shape shifting, mind bending…and the ground, while it seems to be solid, is just another illusion, keeping us all complacent and arrogant. Oh, look at me, I’m solid, I’m standing here, tall and full of confidence, I’m sure I won’t fall through the ground and be pulled into another dimension where floors don’t exist, a place where there is no ground, there is simply space, and non-solid entities, and other non-solid things that we haven’t the language to describe, and we develop new adaptations to our new environment, eating becomes impossible as our mouths no longer open as they once did, our lips are now rosebuds….actual, everlasting, never-fading, fragrant rosebuds that spin around, and change colors with our moods. Moods. Maybe not the right word to describe the changes that take place in our new conciousness, but we haven’t a better string of letters to describe the experience of rainbows turning into spiders webs full of teeny tiny men weaving the finest silk dental floss into webs that hold the secrets of the cosmos, the universe and the multiverse too. All of it. So how do we describe any of it? We must just BE IT. All at once, we must stand, or rather, float in the soup made by an invisible cook with ten thousand hands, who has endless ingredients stored in pantries and coolers lining every space and antispace imaginable. Finally….. 0955, time to get my teeth cleaned!