Are you a stoner girl?
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@stonerjelly
Are you a stoner girl?
follow my words/visions/dreams/musings at: https://aeshamunaf.substack.com/
words/dreams/visions/magic @ 6:28
life can shift dramatically, but some things remain. like your favorite time of the day. if you’re an aesha, that would be 6:28. to honor it in the am and pm, i’ll be offering some of my scribbles, sips of my mindsoup, and other dreams/thoughts/visions. welcome to the circle. come and go as you feel.
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A soft, low hello
to the stretching, yawning dawn -
I am here again.
(saturnian)
A slow kind of twirl. Looking around, mesmerized. In this seemingly infinite matrix of interlacing gasps, I am no suspended rock. I sob and sob and petals unfurl, things burst open, a gate unlocks. I laugh and laugh, full-bellied - and rise up to meet mountain peaks. There's a thought lurking at the back of my mind these days, and sometimes, I feel it really close - almost there - and I anticipate the emotional flip-flop, ohgod, butofcourse, et cetra. But it doesn't come. It has a lot of kin, living in the fine cracks of my consciousness. I can sense the little civilization that I had believed to be extinct. Sometimes I wonder what I would say to the little, young me. So broken, such a liar, so alone, always sliding between the what-ifs and why-nots. I think I might know why my poor shadows don't slip out of their safe zones easily. They don't trust anyone. Least of all, me. I guess that's the hardest thing to admit. That you have been severely unkind to your own self, even when you were trying to do your best to get by, and get on. More so, then. That you really didn't mean to, but you built walls to drown out your own mind, because, who can sleep (eat, work, laugh, travel, live, love..) with weak, tired wails traveling across their psyche, every fucking moment of every other day? So, it's okay, really. I forgive myself my own hasty fixes. But it's a little overwhelming when I go for a slow stroll around my headspace, and bump into discreet walls and blocks and caves and locks. They all have my signature but I can't seem to remember the feverish nights I spent constructing them. And yet it's all there, every frenzied diary entry, stunning proof. So now I will wait, willingly softening each day. And when the traumatized little flashes decide to venture out, and shoot uncertainly across my mind's sky, I will patiently breathe and let them have their space. I will let them burst into indignant sparks and angry hisses, and watch the brilliant display unflinchingly. I will hold myself and breathe. And when they grab me and shake me, ask me things, I will let them berate and bicker, spit the words that had long choked their light, and I will feel it pass, and just breathe. I will let the tears flow quietly, and try to hold space. And if I have anything to say, I will try to speak honestly, in few words and zero metaphors. Otherwise (and ideally,) I will be still, and present, and try to be the kinda kind I always craved.
thin places
You, girl. Are you the goddess of tomorrow’s despair?
- haha -
With all the surging waves inside their aching bellies, they row towards the horizon. If ye believe, they say. If ye believe then there is surely some land. If ye sayest so, there is quite literally, most probably, a seat for each bottom, a shell for each mollusk.
P.S: Not all mollusks have shells, though. Octopi, being magnificent examples.
P.P.S: Incidentally, octopi die soon after mating/giving birth. Even though they have 3 hearts, 9 brains, and blue blood.
P.P.P.S: It’s called apoptosis, ‘cellular suicide,’ or ‘living fast and dying young’
Dhyana
The birds chirp wildly and I want to do something equally liberating, equally joyful. So, I exist. I breathe and think of all the brilliant colors I’ve ever seen, I think of the pretty trippy threads connecting all the people, and I see hearts - millions of hearts - throb as one, and I see worlds whirling, whistling, humming along to Aum. I see myself as an outline, now I flesh it out. I feel my soul shiver as wave after wave of warm love caresses me. I think of you in all your perfection and all your humanness. I think of me in all my perfection and my humanness. It’s all so exciting and so beautiful. I am alive in this moment. Who would have thought?
Ambrosia
There’s a definite turn of page, she said. There’s that musk of crushed flowers, the kind you smell for days after a wedding or a funeral. He nodded, wondering if he really understood the scent, or the girl, or the situation. He couldn’t really be sure, but he decided he liked it.
To me, with love
It’s so much easier when you think in terms of space and timelessness, stars and clusters, orbits and attraction, karma and desire, lessons and rewards. Some old baggage stitched into my body, some bone-cracking, nerve-wracking, tragedy-inducing debt of my soul - now released. Now I soar, now I soar, and suddenly, light light light. Forgive yourself systematically. Forgive yourself for everything. Forgive yourself for every tiny moment of helplessness and hopelessness. You didn’t remember who you were, what you were made of. Forgive yourself this digression. You needed to fall to know that you are the stars and the music and the dance and the dancer. You are the entire symphony in motion, the swell of the sonata in life. And if you forget again, if you stop flowing, if you don’t feel like dancing, forgive yourself some more. Forgive yourself this digression. You are not your mistakes, you are not your past, you are not your emotions. You are so wonderfully, so beautifully, so perfectly you. So wholly you. Love yourself like the lover you’ve been dreaming of. Maybe it was you. Maybe he was you.
11:11
When the night drips slowly into your throat and you look up, you look down, the thought of me dances in your eyes, there are stars shooting across seas, there’s a breeze blowing over beautiful trees, there’s a balloon of a smile widening, widening, widening and slowly, a shower of colors, a storm of emotions, so utterly distinct, so completely welcome. I don’t know what to say, brew the coffee, change the channel, I will show you a new color I discovered. You know you can hold your breath for longer if you don’t care about dying? I’m so fascinated! I’m so in love! It’s so normal, like butter on toast, like a doodle in a note, like you and me driving to nowhere, like you and me holding each other’s hand silently. It’s so simple, nahi? It’s in our skin, in our smile, in our hair. It’s all over everything, like a filter, like a soft, gracious film over everything sickening, everything disheartening, everything heavy and low, making me see a beautifully different world. You, my newfound oldlost eyes. You, my always kinda smile. You. There’s nothing that makes me happier than the flyaway thoughts of you chilling somewhere, singing a song, smoking, smiling, moping..
Hey you,
Your eyes, my eyes, your sky, my sky, your road, my road - It’s all one and the same, honey. And it’s always gonna be so.
Pour yourself a glass, love. Pull your chair up to the window, stay awhile and look outside. Know that every color you see, tickles my soul. Know that every emotion you feel, surges through my tiny frame too. It’s no secret, is it?
Oh, baby. I want you to live, live, live. And I’m sorry if anything about me ever suggested otherwise.
He swirls around in the last of your tea and you raise your eyebrows, make a silly face that you never make, and silently kiss him. Swill him around in your mouth and savor his laugh, his candour, his eyes! You don’t remember much else, but his soft essence, his deep, musky essence, his hard-edged stubborn essence, all of it so familiar, resounding so true. So, close and far, near and duur - you don’t care. His voice croons as you dress for work, and you realize you’re singing his songs. The sun smiles broadly, you remember hot days when you smoked with him without checking the watch, and you start the day feeling loved and alive. You start the day feeling like even if life were to unroll forward in this same trajectory of stillness and emptiness, you would never be able to shake off the feeling that everything’s absolutely magic. And you would always know that all the things that shook your world, storm after storm after storm, were just to shed the old leaves, were just some decisive steps forward.
No one sings like you (anymore)
Black Hole Sun
Spirals
There’s no way I’m accepting that I’ve come here to run around in mad circles, or that life will always be cyclical. No way. It’s as redundant as thinking about things in a linear way. I don’t want to form a stupid, human conception of what it really is, but I will put it into words (pictures, songs, doodles) some day. The only images that come to my mind right now are brilliant spirals. Just spirals.
⭐️
It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society
- Jiddu Krishnamurti