Blank eyes

I'm officially in a slate clean wiping phase of life.
I have no plans for the future past June.
I no longer call myself an activist. It's too evangelical. Too conducive to anger inside and alienation of others. Ultimately not my path.
I've been trying for a long time to not call myself American, but that was only in relation to being United Statesian. It was a PC thing. I'm no longer even call myself United Statesian.
Everything I know is fallible. Therefore for now, I must know nothing, so that I can rebuild my knowledge.
I cannot explain any of these. Well I could, but I think the meaning is lost in words. All I know is I have reached here under the influence of diversity of beings ranging from Acchan to Nina to Peter Stair.
Like I said before, concentrating on awareness. Making each choice consciously. Gaiia ascends, or whatever, right?
But at the same time, losing my individual consciousness to the awareness of the whole. I was going to say something about mitochondria and symbiosis but then I realized I was just saying it to say something. I don't want to do that anymore. I've tasted the cotton candy of consciousness, it melts and I need another fix.
Ok, noooooo. What i REEEAALLLY need to do is go to sleep.
nite.

Blurry Eyes

No longer sleepy. Blurry though. I think I got me some lense issues. Crossing fingers for Lasik to pull through.
2 hours left to stuff my head with the right steps in the right order to be done with fullness of energy and elegance of expression. Maybe Amma was right in asking if I should cancel today's class. I suck big time for having snapped at her yesterday.
The last few days have whispered, then shouted at me to go blank on any and all future planning. White space. No, black space. Well, colorless space. Space for me to figure out what I actually want and need to do. That's why I asked What's My Cause yesterday. From now till April 18, My Cause is to prepare to do this performance in as rich a way possible. Richness of aesthetics. Richness of collections for BOSCO. Richness of education about the world we are leaving for our children.
Side-cause, passing my french class on April 22 and getting the french units and the fall theater class units transferred that I can get my rectangle of calligraphied dead tree that says I'm an educated person fit to rule the world.
So there. And then? DNC and RNC are so hard to give up, but give up I must before I can consciously decide to take them up again.
I'm starting small. Brief mind emptying meditation sessions. Conscious actions like picking up a cup. Turning on a faucet. The way my shoulders are when I sit. How deep I breathe in. The slackness of my jaw and brow. What I'm chewing and swallowing.
Gah. Nonsense, all of it, it means nothing in the end, so what on earth am I after? Yet, precisely because it does mean nothing in the end is why I'm after it, because if it is infinitely nothing, then I am infinitely free to make it anything and everything.
Enough deeply meaningless PeepeeKaka. Back to the boob tube to watch myself swing my limbs around.

Eyes

Mine are a tad sleepy, how are yours? I dropped Amy and Kellea off at the airport. Went to an eye doctor appointment. Went to class. Checking email (or not, obviously, since I'm blogging away). Taking Amma to Rob, then to Gary Jackson. Go home slleeeeeeep. Need. It.

Moveon says they have 2million members. Hmmmm.

What is My Cause?

I'm slave to my electronic mail. I am whipped by my stanfordalumni.org enter password click inbox process that my fingers flutter out in my sleep. It's my connection to the outside world and when I plug in I look up to find an hour tesser into 5 minutes. My mother asks when I'm coming offline so she can make and receive phone calls. 5 minutes more I say. 5 minutes more I used to say when she came to wake me up in the morning. Sometimes still say. 5 minutes more, what will that do? More more more more.

We've been reading Aurobindo. Strange being he was. The first essay we read was a draught of the coolest sweetest spring water for my mind. The other essays we've read, sometimes rambly and poopy, but every one has been full of gems to make the mining worthwhile. They send bubbly rushes of revelation through my muddled mind. Enough of those and eventually a NMD or NMR or is non-NMD, that thing that Sopolsky talked about and apparently didn't happen often enough for the word to go aha in my little brain, anyway, yeah, that. That'll happen, and the intangible haze will be yet another single point of awareness that I'm collecting like holey stones from Pebble Beach.

Off to call Babaloush I go.

Two posts in one day. That's a counter-intuitive yet sure sign this blog won't last long.
Bush called for an Independent Commission to investigate the failure in intelligence on WMD in Iraq, main victim CIA. David Morris in his Alternet article says "Have we all undergone collective amnesia?" (undergone? some other word? not verbatim, whatever)
*!&!(!&!^*!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Last year in February or something we trouped over to a CIA recruitment meeting in the Career Center to hold up signs that said Thank You to show appreciation for the CIA report that had leaked out saying that intelligence said a) Iraq was not an imminent threat and b) the attack would exacerbate the chance of terrorism instead of combat it. Rumsfeld and crew ignored the reports and blitzed anyway.
NOW they want an investigation on the CIA?
Mashed potato brained idiots of the US of A seem to be laboriously holding up two fingers on one hand, uncurling two fingers on another, adding and counting several times over to come with answer of orange. Hard as a rock potato brained jerks in the Whitehouse seemed to add up quickly to come up with an answer of 800 billion, 80 million of which was spent on counter-terrorism in Miami in November.
Please note: no quotations or formatting has been harmed in order to squeeze out the sarcasm from any phrase used today.
On the upside, today ARF (Animal Rights on the Farm) connected with the grad student Student Animal Legal Defense Fund. Convergence lives on. (Names to remember, Ryan Schwartz, Matthew Liebman)

Cells die time before time and be born anew. Welcome to the first division of this One. I'm terribly busy unpadding my cell and unstraightening my jacket, so don't expect me to Dostoevsky on you or something, and don't be surprised if this one dies like all its other motherfos. Yet, something strikes me right left and center about this manifestation, so perhaps it will stay. If that's the case I'm just going to have to find out how to add images and change font and all that nonsense, don't you think?
To set the scene: In my mama's office of infinite feng shui, sitting on a blue armchair, Blues travellers on iTunes, typing on Mickey, my new best friend, silicon being far more useful along side plastic and metal than stuffed atop a chest full of flesh and blood. Ignoring my some 200 emails that have my inbox some 90% full, as I learn to distinguish between Want and Need, Going to and Have to, In the time I have before I'm off to french class.
Oooo. Leo Sayer's You Make Me Feel Like Dancing just started. What a great headbopper hipshaker.
I'd like to be a dancer. No. I mean. Really, a dancer. What say the universe about that?
Enough. Onward ho.