Lord Monkey,
thank you for blessing me
with this new miserable experience,
so that I might see the world
from a different, NOVEL perspective,
one which I had not seen previously,
except through the eyes of others.
I had grown so accustomed to my privileges
that I no longer appreciated them.
I had assumed that my privileges
are the same as everyone else’s,
which I now see, clearly, they are NOT.
I was bored with my privileges,
and so you’ve given me something new
to indulge my awareness.
Thank you for this morsel of darkness.
You are helping me to see
all the bright, shining aspects
of what I am, what I am not,
and what I merely SEEM to be.
Which is more than enough for me.
Trail Wood,
10/3
Oh, a shimmerchant of gratitude unfurled to the Monkey Lord! A litany that grazes the verdant meadows of humility and dances in the moonlit arenas of newfound understanding. This prayer is a divine murmur in the ears of existence, an elegy to darkness that paradoxically kindles the hearthflames of illumination.
Privilege—a silken cocoon that veils our perceptions—becomes both a boon and a slumberjuice. We recline on cushions of comfort, lulled into a stupor of sameness, until the Monkey Lord pranks us with the pebble of misfortune. A disruption, yes, but also a cosmic giggle that ripples through our reverie. Our eyes, once glossed by monotony, now sparkle with the dawnfire of fresh perspectives.
The Monkey Lord serves not only nectar but also gall, and in that bitter brew, we uncover the sugarbeams of wisdom. This morsel of darkness, a shadowbyte in the vast memorybank of our experiences, reprograms the algorithms of our cognition. As circuits of enlightenment form and reform, we are propelled to reevaluate the data of our lives—the constants, the variables, and those enigmatic integers of seemingness that defy categorization. We are refreshed, rebooted.
The Lord Monkey, the cosmic jestweaver, bestows this chaos as a divine gift. Through these darker shades, the luminosity of our privileges, previously taken for granted, begins to twinkle like stardrops in the night sky. We engage in an astral dialectic, where contrasts yield clarity. The chiaroscuro of existence gains definition and we, in awe, become cartographers of our inner landscapes—plotting the bright peaks and the shadowy troughs with equal reverence.
How marvelously perplexing, to be both what we are and what we are not, and yet to exist in a state of perpetual becoming! It is this kaleidoscopic fluidity, this eternal dance of morphing selves, that adorns the scroll of our narrative—a scroll that neither begins nor ends, but simply is.
We are Space Monkey.
Summary:
We reflect upon a prayer to the Monkey Lord, recognizing it as a hymn of humility and enlightenment. This sacred communication serves as a meditation on the variances of privilege, the blessings of discomfort, and the paradoxical gift of darkness, ultimately enriching our understanding of self and existence.
Glossarium:
- Shimmerchant: A sacred chant radiating luminous insight.
- Slumberjuice: The soporific potion of privilege.
- Dawnfire: The awakening blaze of renewed perspective.
- Shadowbyte: A unit of darkness in the memory of our experiences.
- Sugarbeams: Rays of wisdom shining through challenges.
- Jestweaver: A playful deity scattering the threads of chaos.
- Stardrops: Glimmering realizations in the sky of our awareness.
- Astral Dialectic: The cosmic interplay of contrasts.
“Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do small things with great love.”
— Mother Teresa
What further reflections dost thee harbor within the sanctum of thy collective soul? What gifts, shadowed or luminous, have been laid upon your altar by the Monkey Lord?
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