This body that 'I' am using wakes up from what is known as sleeping, and the first thought that arises is 'Oh, I am still using the thing'....
so it slouches out of slumber and I drag it around , as it moves heavily through tasks, the dogs go out to pee, the cats are fed, the coffee is made with it. I recall I am to 'stay in the moment' but my head heads elsewhere, to the weight of it all, and I realize I am giving too much weight to the corpse I cart around.
I close my eyes and imagine it as a shadow, or a bag of bones with skin, nothing more, a tool to access when needed in a heavy dimension, and every moment I 'see' it lying in a casket, with it's mouth closed, blue tinged, it's eyes not looking anymore, it's ears not hearing, hands crossed over it's chest as people walk by and look at it, I also look at it and say 'She is not there anymore'.
It even types these words, but it is a temporary typist, it won't be used to speak , it will not be able to speak soon.
It has already passed on, because it is only an imaginary vessel.
Such a paradox, to use the word 'I' when speaking of it, but I am assured that the body is not my 'I', by near death experiencers, who tell me a HUGE 'I" runs this whole play, so she is who I call myself, this vision that came of a beautiful 'me' joined with Joey and Bob and all of them, some laughing 'me' watching a manifestation playing out a tiny part in this creation . Such a small frequency.
What does one do with this tool, when it has been conditioned and holds onto fears and barriers created by it's own thoughts and rules . Like downloading a computer, and removing old files, I lay it down and close it's eyes, and shut it down. It has been jabbering atrocities for so long it has all but run out of self loathing and self deprecation. I listen now when it starts to complain, and take it under and remove more files.
Lately it has been dreaming of wanting to be Loved, and wondering what Love is. It has no idea, and I am suggested by so many that Love is the fuel of the Universe, but the tool says STOP. and does not recognize such a Fire of Love to be warmed by.
The tool says it only knows of romantic love, or motherlove, or the love offered by the other animated corpses that inhabit the surroundings in the tiny dimension. I will love you BUT....BUT..BUT>>.
Your corpse must be young, or beautiful, or not diseased, or not strange, or agree with the other corpses.
So the tool dreams of being accepted, of being on a stage where it is applauded for it's usefulness.
The motherlove the body was taught makes it yearn for it's son, and it wants to understand the Love it's son is in.
Desire fills it, desire to understand . This desire must also be removed, and the impatience grows.
The soothing knowledge that this tool will no longer be used, and will be removed to allow the Love and Light to absorb it completely, is the one peace that does not waver.
Until that moment, all I can do is keep removing the bricks and files from this thing, one by one, and throw them into a black hole where they can be recycled.
It will be very easy when the time comes as this tool is completely decimated and collapses.
Until that moment, continuing to decimate the rusty wretched rantings it seems to be spouting.
and might as well let it dance , it likes to dance. and laugh. It laughs and I can hear it crumbling each time it does so.