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Colorado LASO piece (01.29.21.08:28)
*story is SUS*
He sighed as he recognized that, once again, for the millionth time that day, he had heard of the noises that the parrot had begun to mimic so many mnths ago.
The old house, with it's original decade-old plantation heartwood pine floors and hand-hewn wooden walls had a sort of magic that existed whether one accepted it or not; it simply was. He supposed, had it been the original intent, that the floors could be called nightingale floors since every step one took gave off a differential tone of creaking as one made their way across them. It was a long ago realized and an ever-present comfort to him now.
He had inhabited it, on and off, for roughly 20 of those 100 years. At this point in it's history, mostly due to his absence even when he was present, it was in a state of disrepair that was just this side of being ready to be condemned. He had certainly stayed in worse and if it were not in the middle of a gigantic forest, in a place most people stayed away from, he had no doubt that it could easily be found to be unsuitable for human habitation; however he was something other than human.
He had to guess the fact that everyone stayed away from and avoided him added up to the exact same reason the house had been judged unsuitable. Some days he thought maybe it worked the other way around but most days reality settled and he understood that he was in fact some sort of high-powered freak never excited for mass production. When it came to him having been judged unsuitable for contact with the general public, the events as of late had proven exactly that.
They had once again labeled him, hunted him, caged him and then as usual someone or something from somewhere from his past had come out of the woodwork, plucked him from their clutches and plopped him right back down in his old cage. Once upon a time he would have spent his days wondering whenever the next outing was going to occur but at this point he understood that he was broken and useless enough that it most likely would never happen again. He never expected to come to the point where that would be a sort of cold comfort but there were never really any glory days that he wanted to re-live in complete honesty.
The obvious overtones, not so obvious to the general consensus, that had been sold as the main narrative but in no way explained many of the instances that had come together in order to put him back under the bootheel of the government that had branded him has something other than safe. It had certainly many times utilized and enjoyed the ready availability of the skills that he possessed. The one thing that he couldn't quite believe was that even though they had noticed the proverbial 'tag on his collar' and the fact that he was off leash, they still tagged him with narratives that made no sense to postulate and then let him roam in a way that made it feel like home. He still wasn't sure they weren't just looking for a reason to put the Mad and Bad Dog label on him and put him down. Maybe trying to give him enough rope to hang himself as the story went.
The only thing that he could even guess as a reality was that all of the spiritual progress that he had made actually had turned him into anything other than a Mad Dog at this point in his life and somehow the recognized that.
His teeth were broken just like his back but that along with his neck and several other things, head healed. Certainly every day he felt all the residual effects of everything that he had expended in the way of efforts but his mentors and masters had walked with him down many paths to improvement. Some days they made him sport a crooked grin and other days he ended up sobbing until he threw up but there was one thing that was certain of, the memories were his again and for so long he had been without them. He in no way wanted any sort of pharmaceutical effects to interfere with him fully grasping them no matter what speed they came at him or where they dragged him to, even if that was hell.
Whenever you were someone that the state of Colorado had declared could not have cannabis you might as well decide to go on the straight and narrow no matter what and embark upon a spiritual journey, more especially whenever there was no way to believe more people than were watching actually were. You're not paranoid when they actually are watching and for that cure he supposed he should be thankful.
Solitude and meditation had always been welcome facets in his life, especially and this house but now it just seemed so loud. He struggled with the weight loss juxtaposed to the muscle mass gain because of the increased metabolism due to pain and there were times depending on the situation no variation in his vibration could boost his metabolism and would actually bring him to a weak point that put him in bed for days in the process. He had learned to modulate the effects.
He sighed as the toilet water whirled down and recounted the fact that many of the repetitive motions that he had taken in the last ten plus years invariably ingrained themselves in the bird as well. She was one of many ghosts that would always haunt the house, and at this point he might not enjoy the realizations that surrounded the actualization but readily accepted it as reality.
It had been 5 years since the accident took him out of real life for the two years that he had spent getting out of the wheelchair. Coming back from the dead was anything but a fast process. The parrot was supposed to have lived to be 30 but somehow she must not have been able to deal with the separation involved in the situation because at some point during the time that he lay in the hospital bed she had expired. She was nine.
By that same token the larger parrot that was supposed to have lived to be well over a hundred had fallen at the hand of a woman that he could not necessarily refer to as evil but could easily point two times that her attentiveness had been less than apropos in many situations. He had told himself at that point that he was glad that she had not gotten pregnant but in retrospect he was probably just as much to blame as far far the lack of actuality in experience during that point in their life. Gabriel was 11 whenever she forgot to water him during one of the times that he had had to be out of the state and most likely country.
He didn't find himself holding many grudges, however he did find himself with many a memory repeatedly clawing themselves up from the dark and deep recesses of his mind. He had come to realize it was less than ideal, more than not, because of his current actions as well as the ones that had originally visited the blame upon himself and others, to let them present unchallenged.
Nothing could change the past. It was the only thing more stubborn than he was. No matter how hard he wanted to make it change, grab it by the collar and shake it into alignment with what he wanted it to be, it only ended up as a dressed-up mislabeled psychosis that pushed him further down a path towards something that he never wanted to be. the past was a bully, dressed up in outdated clothes that needed to be thrown away.
His meditations felt new but the same old demons never stop circling no matter how long he stayed within the protective circle of new experiences and the growth potential that he had opened up through total concentration breathing. The most disconcerting part of most of the days were those moments whenever he would slip, when certain noises would find their way into his good ear and settle there.
The meanings of these familiar sounds, products of the hundred-year-old house, continuously repeated and through that he found many of the old patterns that had visited themselves upon him while he visited negative patterns upon others.
The cycle had been broken through disassociative distancing and reactive correction at his hands but the reformation that came from reconciliation was something that he had foregone on many occasions in order to not have to intrude on those that no doubt would never be able to reach the understanding point because they simply did not have the ability or desire to attain the ability. That wasn't a value judgment upon them, people lived within different stratum for different reasons in different parts of the world on different paths in their lives. He had absolutely no right to try to pull anyone out of anywhere that they were, no matter how negative or harmful it might be, not anymore. he wished that he could recount how many times he had asked if in the past any of the rescued he had affected were actually rescued but instead simply had their destruction put on hold. Nothing and no one ever stayed saved.
He originally had begun to believe that the selfishness that he called himself out for was something that would not change, however he began to understand that through realignment of energies one could expect different outcomes and inputs and until one did change everything would remain the same. He knew now that this was beyond his ability to tolerate or manifest any longer.
He had never had any right to have expected anyone to tolerate it at any point anyway but he would have never realized that if he hadn't spent so much time locked away with his own thoughts.
Most people spent all day everyday doing anything they could in any manner in order to be able to not have to deal with their thoughts. life for the general populace was nothing more than a game of escap
© Satu
He sighed as he recognized that, once again, for the millionth time that day, he had heard of the noises that the parrot had begun to mimic so many mnths ago.
The old house, with it's original decade-old plantation heartwood pine floors and hand-hewn wooden walls had a sort of magic that existed whether one accepted it or not; it simply was. He supposed, had it been the original intent, that the floors could be called nightingale floors since every step one took gave off a differential tone of creaking as one made their way across them. It was a long ago realized and an ever-present comfort to him now.
He had inhabited it, on and off, for roughly 20 of those 100 years. At this point in it's history, mostly due to his absence even when he was present, it was in a state of disrepair that was just this side of being ready to be condemned. He had certainly stayed in worse and if it were not in the middle of a gigantic forest, in a place most people stayed away from, he had no doubt that it could easily be found to be unsuitable for human habitation; however he was something other than human.
He had to guess the fact that everyone stayed away from and avoided him added up to the exact same reason the house had been judged unsuitable. Some days he thought maybe it worked the other way around but most days reality settled and he understood that he was in fact some sort of high-powered freak never excited for mass production. When it came to him having been judged unsuitable for contact with the general public, the events as of late had proven exactly that.
They had once again labeled him, hunted him, caged him and then as usual someone or something from somewhere from his past had come out of the woodwork, plucked him from their clutches and plopped him right back down in his old cage. Once upon a time he would have spent his days wondering whenever the next outing was going to occur but at this point he understood that he was broken and useless enough that it most likely would never happen again. He never expected to come to the point where that would be a sort of cold comfort but there were never really any glory days that he wanted to re-live in complete honesty.
The obvious overtones, not so obvious to the general consensus, that had been sold as the main narrative but in no way explained many of the instances that had come together in order to put him back under the bootheel of the government that had branded him has something other than safe. It had certainly many times utilized and enjoyed the ready availability of the skills that he possessed. The one thing that he couldn't quite believe was that even though they had noticed the proverbial 'tag on his collar' and the fact that he was off leash, they still tagged him with narratives that made no sense to postulate and then let him roam in a way that made it feel like home. He still wasn't sure they weren't just looking for a reason to put the Mad and Bad Dog label on him and put him down. Maybe trying to give him enough rope to hang himself as the story went.
The only thing that he could even guess as a reality was that all of the spiritual progress that he had made actually had turned him into anything other than a Mad Dog at this point in his life and somehow the recognized that.
His teeth were broken just like his back but that along with his neck and several other things, head healed. Certainly every day he felt all the residual effects of everything that he had expended in the way of efforts but his mentors and masters had walked with him down many paths to improvement. Some days they made him sport a crooked grin and other days he ended up sobbing until he threw up but there was one thing that was certain of, the memories were his again and for so long he had been without them. He in no way wanted any sort of pharmaceutical effects to interfere with him fully grasping them no matter what speed they came at him or where they dragged him to, even if that was hell.
Whenever you were someone that the state of Colorado had declared could not have cannabis you might as well decide to go on the straight and narrow no matter what and embark upon a spiritual journey, more especially whenever there was no way to believe more people than were watching actually were. You're not paranoid when they actually are watching and for that cure he supposed he should be thankful.
Solitude and meditation had always been welcome facets in his life, especially and this house but now it just seemed so loud. He struggled with the weight loss juxtaposed to the muscle mass gain because of the increased metabolism due to pain and there were times depending on the situation no variation in his vibration could boost his metabolism and would actually bring him to a weak point that put him in bed for days in the process. He had learned to modulate the effects.
He sighed as the toilet water whirled down and recounted the fact that many of the repetitive motions that he had taken in the last ten plus years invariably ingrained themselves in the bird as well. She was one of many ghosts that would always haunt the house, and at this point he might not enjoy the realizations that surrounded the actualization but readily accepted it as reality.
It had been 5 years since the accident took him out of real life for the two years that he had spent getting out of the wheelchair. Coming back from the dead was anything but a fast process. The parrot was supposed to have lived to be 30 but somehow she must not have been able to deal with the separation involved in the situation because at some point during the time that he lay in the hospital bed she had expired. She was nine.
By that same token the larger parrot that was supposed to have lived to be well over a hundred had fallen at the hand of a woman that he could not necessarily refer to as evil but could easily point two times that her attentiveness had been less than apropos in many situations. He had told himself at that point that he was glad that she had not gotten pregnant but in retrospect he was probably just as much to blame as far far the lack of actuality in experience during that point in their life. Gabriel was 11 whenever she forgot to water him during one of the times that he had had to be out of the state and most likely country.
He didn't find himself holding many grudges, however he did find himself with many a memory repeatedly clawing themselves up from the dark and deep recesses of his mind. He had come to realize it was less than ideal, more than not, because of his current actions as well as the ones that had originally visited the blame upon himself and others, to let them present unchallenged.
Nothing could change the past. It was the only thing more stubborn than he was. No matter how hard he wanted to make it change, grab it by the collar and shake it into alignment with what he wanted it to be, it only ended up as a dressed-up mislabeled psychosis that pushed him further down a path towards something that he never wanted to be. the past was a bully, dressed up in outdated clothes that needed to be thrown away.
His meditations felt new but the same old demons never stop circling no matter how long he stayed within the protective circle of new experiences and the growth potential that he had opened up through total concentration breathing. The most disconcerting part of most of the days were those moments whenever he would slip, when certain noises would find their way into his good ear and settle there.
The meanings of these familiar sounds, products of the hundred-year-old house, continuously repeated and through that he found many of the old patterns that had visited themselves upon him while he visited negative patterns upon others.
The cycle had been broken through disassociative distancing and reactive correction at his hands but the reformation that came from reconciliation was something that he had foregone on many occasions in order to not have to intrude on those that no doubt would never be able to reach the understanding point because they simply did not have the ability or desire to attain the ability. That wasn't a value judgment upon them, people lived within different stratum for different reasons in different parts of the world on different paths in their lives. He had absolutely no right to try to pull anyone out of anywhere that they were, no matter how negative or harmful it might be, not anymore. he wished that he could recount how many times he had asked if in the past any of the rescued he had affected were actually rescued but instead simply had their destruction put on hold. Nothing and no one ever stayed saved.
He originally had begun to believe that the selfishness that he called himself out for was something that would not change, however he began to understand that through realignment of energies one could expect different outcomes and inputs and until one did change everything would remain the same. He knew now that this was beyond his ability to tolerate or manifest any longer.
He had never had any right to have expected anyone to tolerate it at any point anyway but he would have never realized that if he hadn't spent so much time locked away with his own thoughts.
Most people spent all day everyday doing anything they could in any manner in order to be able to not have to deal with their thoughts. life for the general populace was nothing more than a game of escap
© Satu
