Entry 2 <Date Illegible>

Sometimes I can hear the way the earth listens. I can hear the ways the wind changes - hopigiri 8 direction eyes. The extraneous noise, the noise that means nothing is what I mostly hear. I miss taking deep breaths, trying not to disturb the holy places of the earth. The kind of places that feel old, like dragons sleeping beneath the ground. I dream of dragons. little sister to the ancient gods. The gods that have names locked away. Piece of the elements that know those names and stories, the inner bits, the essence of self given in those names infusing each element with a ki of its own to build a new name. Every person, every animal, every piece of glass, book, stone has its own ki born from absorbed elements. Reincarnation, the beginning, the screw that never stops turning. Archimedes would be proud. Science has grown from an infant depending on its church-mother to an angry adolescent full of piss and vinegar so sure that it has all the answers. Child of mysticism casting off its parents seeing them as antiquated, old, outdated. An elitist. The world must obey laws. Who makes rules? All false. We can make any reality – our thoughts, our energies, our truths define our perceptions. So why did we choose this form? “What was the face you wore before you were born?” Energy may be the only real thing in the universe-nothing else exists. Energy finds a way to express itself and change its environment to suit itself. “If you want something, you must want it with an exuberance that erupts through the skin to join the energy that created the world.” The beginning. Quantum theory is this pieces of simple energy interact to form the universe. Gravity is only free energy ‘flowing’ between its communicating counterparts. Sight is energy, sound is energy. The sheer fact that one sees or listens to the world changes it. My reality is different from anyone else’s. I saw the face of god. One of them, at least. Watched the mists part and saw a woman standing on the air, walking next to the ship framed by green mountains. Blonde, or maybe dark, grey robes that touched every part of the wind. I saw in the old forest a figure cloaked, striding into the trees. “A face more beautiful and terrible than any that walk the earth…a voice like the braying of hounds, the horns calling at the hunt, yet soft, full of power, a voice that controlled the heavens, time, life, and death.” Daughter of kinds. Traveller, eyes that see past, present, future in a single instant images of space of universal change contained in a heartbeat. Sleeping giant, eyes closed waiting and seeing only in dreams that morph and slip away like waters in the sand. Trials of men flashing past, dim, painful, loud, begging for release. Eyes stay closed and the images fade into new beginnings. Shadows in sleep. Mankind stagnates. Mires itself in the murk and muck, glorifying what it has done, not what it will do, lacking itself into rule after rule after rule. The earth sleeps, the universe settles, pulling its wonders and strengths in close, resting. Man thinks to control it…dreams and flows, relaxed and cooperative in its sleep. The possibilities when it wakes, the shape of god, the broken hand to shake off the dullness of hibernation and take up the reins of power.