Out of body out of mind. Life

I lay and thought myself a boat as I rose out of my body to float above and see below myself as in a mirror image there asleep, how strong ones sense of being in this mysterious world, a world in fact of no space, as elements are there between us even though unseen, our senses ours, and yet they can detect another's within them too, we're not so separate as we always think, floating in the element air connected there. Just as the candle flame when pushed into snow does not expire, it burns on with the oxygen in the snow. H2O.

We grow from seed like plants and spend our lives like them becoming seeds again, so our bodies are only the husk, the seed pods in the end spent and unneeded more except to nurture those who need our help, so to expire and become yet again part of the earths crust. Why should we feel sad, or wish to live forever? The natural flow of birth and death is what is here, our "fine" tuned minds can contemplate and create heavens and hells, grand ideas outside ourselves, fantasies, enact plays about other worlds and spaces, yet here we are on this earth's crust, we have to follow as we must, its natural flowing creed, no greed will let us find another way another day, another life, we are and we are not, that's LIFE. 

Its all as simple as that.

We are the variations on the fugue of life, the original fugue is life. We are one, each one living cell the variations on the fugue, the millions and millions of variations and I am one of these, the most puzzling beautifully simple fact of life. Happy am I to have been able to take part in it, this life. We each make our own mark, our mark on our own lives and on those we meet.

From what our minds contemplate come extensions, individuation, fantasies on themes of what we experience, perceive and out of these musings about all life comes art. We sweep the brush, filled with rich colours across the white sheet of life's canvas, each in out own individual way, the winds and weathering of our lives adding or subtracting colours as we go. The finished canvas, one puff in the journey of the dandelion seed, is written, shouted, danced, unique each living thing; wonderful, exquisite, and each has her/his own song to sing in her/his own way. We can rejoice when we find those who can understand us and with us sway and in that pleasure have a happy day. A day of life.

The philosophy is simple, life  is simple, it is  humans who make it complicated  and difficult to understand.

And what do you think? Margaret Ann Waddicor.