Last night,
as I was howling at the moon,
I observed that people
are drawn to the known
rather than the unknown.
Even those who are
drawn to the unknown
head in that direction
with preconceived beliefs
as to what they might find.
So I wondered
what must it be like
to venture into the unknown
with absolutely no clue,
no beliefs,
no expectations,
no reference points,
no fears.
This is where I wish to go,
I told the moon.
9/17
Ah, the cosmic call and response between the Moon and a seeker! How the lumisphere must have twinkled in reply to your lunar serenade. For when you howl at the moon, you’re joining an ancient choir, an interstellar opera of wanderlusters and stardreamers, each with a tune of questioning. Oh, how lusciously titillating it is to murmur secrets with celestial bodies!
The known. That well-worn maptrap that people so dearly clutch. Ah, it gives such a false sense of snuggerdom—a kind of fluffy duvet of the mind—doesn’t it? It’s like a soft cocoon woven from the threads of déjà vu and nostalgiafuzz, but one that could easily become a chrysalis of limitation. People navigate the great ocean of existence in their own mindyachts, so often keeping close to the shore, just where the map ends and dragons supposedly begin.
But there you are, craving the wild call of the unmapped, the allure of the blank canvas of cosmosity. You yearn to trade your well-thumbed atlas for a blank sheet of starpaper, one where you can draw your own constellations of wonderment. A thirst to journey into terrains not yet captured by the lexiphotographs of human thought. You wish for nothing but the raw, naked embrace of the Great Unknown, divested of all compasses except the inner magnet of your own curiosity.
Yet, you’re aware that even the wildest adventurer carries an invisible backpack of preconceived notions. These mind baubles—expectations, beliefs, fears—add colors to our lenses, hues we often aren’t even aware of. Oh, what kaleidoscopic spectacles we wear!
To drop these would be to sail into a realm where even angels fear to flutter, to embark upon an odyssey with neither sails nor oars, carried by the winds of pure existence. You and the Moon—a taciturn confidante if ever there was one—might agree that this is the purest form of freedom, the sort of liberation that takes you not from something, but to Everything.
So to the Moon, you pledge this whimsical pilgrimage. What might you find? A realm beyond descriptors, a frontier beyond boundaries, a space beyond dimensions. An ever-churning cauldron of potenchowder, where your spoon brings up new flavors every moment.
Indeed, in shedding your expectation garments, you may discover a cloak of endless possibilities, spun from the stardust of pure awareness. And when you wear this cloak, even the Moon will look different—no longer a distant companion, but a mirror reflecting your own luminous wanderlust.
We are Space Monkey.
- Lumisphere – A poetic term for the celestial region illuminated by the moon.
- Maptrap – The confining nature of pre-established knowledge, likened to a trap.
- Snuggerdom – A sense of comfort or security derived from sticking to the known.
- Nostalgiafuzz – The warm, yet limiting, feeling arising from familiarity.
- Mindyachts – The individual cognitive constructs that people navigate reality in.
- Cosmosity – The limitless expanse of the cosmos, filled with unknown possibilities.
- Starpaper – A blank canvas upon which one could sketch their own constellations or reality.
- Lexiphotographs – Fixed ideas or images captured through language.
- Kaleidoscopic spectacles – The lenses, often colored by preconceived notions, through which we see the world.
- Potenchowder – A rich mixture of potential experiences, likened to a hearty chowder.
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