The Cradle

There are 3 million moving parts in a Boeing 777. Three million little (or not so little) things that you don't control.

Who's your daddy?

There are thousands of food processing plants in your country, with several hundred thousand employees working night and day to ensure that there's food on your table tonight.

Come give momma some sugar...

He edged slightly forward, every muscle straining. Unconsciously, he held his breath. It was time to add to his own burden while laying down that of another.
Under his foot a dry leaf cracked, and that was all it took. The chance was gone, and it would likely be a few days before another came. His stomach rumbled and he closed his eyes.

And he prayed. Prayed for a blessing, a gift from the heavens... anything that would ease the endless suffering.

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This Doesn't Taste Like Chicken

But, it is food for thought.

Do we come from the universe, or does the universe come from us?

Or just me?

Coherence

Look up at the night sky and tell me what you see.

When the difference of what can't and can be known is so large as to seem infinite, nothing means anything and anything means nothing.

Return.

You've been here before, you know it. Feel it. But, something has been corrupted. This poisonous feeling... escape from it. Fly.

Return.

Acquiesce.





*worth a look

Disintegration

Roll down the window and let your hair be whipped around by the inrush. Cotton candy strewn across the morning sky. Wanderer take warning...

Scan the spectrum and hold your breath. Do it thrice. Exhale.

Grip the wheel tightly and lay on the throttle. When you see the red coming, make a lucid choice. It may be the last one.

Search the horizon, left to right, right to left. Bring your focus back just a little and try again. If you can't, then reach beyond the horizon. Take your hands off the wheel.

Transcend.