Modern Behavior, Evolving Language

If you were to ask me, humanly speaking, I would say we are in a stage of our evolution where hunting and gathering still exist—only now they live inside human experience and the quality of livelihood—and not the searching for berries or bringing home meat kind strictly.

Speaking from the human experience that comes from generational low-income survivalhood, and the behavioral mechanisms that grow within those planes of existence—inside those who then go on to express these traits as personalities—

(oh, that poverty line, how it feels like my spirit’s been tangled to it and my body is the buoy that warns of its barrier. As my mind tries to register that I am working my first decent job with good benefits and it’s still not enough.)

Retirement feels like the experience of drowning, as my tangles come undone and no net is there to receive me… am I the old lady dropping herself into the ocean at the end… as my heart tries to form into its truth.)

Perspective is shown to us everywhere—on screens—what is considered normal: acceptable forms of behavior, the negatives, the neutrals, the positives.

I say acceptable in all forms because we see our own monsters on TV, on social media, on the streets.

We live in a world that accepts that we can be our own villains, because our energies never align enough to know what our true values as a whole are.

We are truly fractured—fragmented in more ways than our bodies and minds can hold—as the systems meant to manage these energies strain under the weight of mismanaging the human spirit.

In the past, we came together to change our livelihoods in relation to our bodies’ needs, our minds’ needs.

Our ancestors did this. We are them, as they are us—here and now.

How could we forget that we are the force behind our own human experience—

but not alone. No. Never alone.

Sometimes it feels like this has all happened before.

Surprise squirrel in a tree

Because it seems so obvious to want to live a life with real value, through experiences you harvest yourself.

Yet all the resistance and pushback from those in power, throughout their reigning, feels like true physics working against the human psyche—controlling the masses as if by magic.

And magic appears when the mind is relational—connected to a body that endures and a spirit that forgets its own power to conserve its evolutionary energy.

As I hold myself in opposition of myself, a polarity emerges—shaping the geometry of my human relations.

On cave walls, on screens, in the streets, in the air, into outer space—they dare imagine a world where we walk on roads that lead us where we truly want to go, shaped in formations aligned to the stars we choose as our North.

In Polaris you are named—

North Star on the horizon,

one, two, three—

you orbit outside of me.

And as I look toward your light internally, I am reminded—mind, body, spirit—that I am three systems learning to orbit their own walking, living reality.

As a body, I must function in a society where sick days are given inside systemic dysfunction, where vacation days are stolen away as they add up.

Learn from the past—but the future is always unclear in the present moment, as external bodies carry insidious unknowns, feverish and variable.

The mind tries to decipher another. Their spirit only wants to rest—to play video games, to watch TV on the couch.

A tired, sick child. When their body becomes ill, their internal world anchors to pain, and the mind wants escape—to rest the body.

Then you wonder—is this midday rest longer than his system should be having, or is this anxiety surfacing?

You hope you are not transferring more energy of yourself than necessary through care, through love, through the act of helping another system survive—

inside a reality where my own body, mind, and spirit must go out each day to give to a society corroding from the inside out.

Noise becomes an energy of itself. Consciousness brings all senses online. Memory forms the light that illuminates consciousness.

Dreams come even in darkness—electrical, biological, chemical—sensational through every sense, each cranial nerve carrying its part, sights, taste, smells—sounds streaming through two sides of a pole.

Reactions rise up or they fade away—responses living in consciousness as it charges itself. From the root up to the crown, sensations stir—swirling in internal chemical reactions.

A voice comes from a throat, sound produced in streams of conscious thought.

When voice comes through the barrier, words connect as if magnetic, meaning shaped through mind, body, spirit processes—each one a category that spiderwebs outward, overlapped and rewoven.

Puns made to be intended just as much as they are offended.

Pinpoint and unravel all the tones and syllables in each pattern they sequence.

Produce through evolution’s crafted muscles and energy powered mechanical mechanisms.

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