Seeds of Heaven

I can’t resist posting this picture, of the absurdly-idealized vision of van life from fellow moon-denizen Spacemind, who clearly lives INDOORS, judging by the absolute lack of neurosis, exquisite attention to detail, and totally-unrealistic depiction of van life in this painting below.  I want to see the puffed-up cops asking for your “adventure pass,” or the tweeker lunatics throwing racial epithets at you that don’t even apply, or the plain rat fact that everyone is a rat, everyone, from your scared and withered grandma to the “tough guys” with the tribal-style tattoos and smug, self-important faces, all of them will notify the authorities that there’s a “free man” on the loose, and you will spend the night in the parking lot of the nefariously-titled “Safeway,” which, I want to see that view.  I want to see the rotten pile of garbage bags strewn throughout the desert, the clouds of biting flies, the march across the gummy, oily parking lot, through throngs of slow-motion halfwits, who, are they savoring the walk across the parking lot of Wal-Mart?  Tortoises live for hundreds of years, and have an excuse.  Are you trying not to leave?

Denial, actually, incarnate.  That is the only possible explanation.  A life of realized denial, animated daily, unwittingly, by every act and motion.

I just turned to drugs.

Anyway, this vision is ridiculous, which is to say, capable of being ridiculed, which I am doing now, as beautiful as it is.  Proof, perhaps, of Heaven, which is to say the magnetic inclination toward purity and freedom, often buried under comfy, downy layers of open sewage and flame, the impossible return to innocence and freedom everybody is ironically killing each other to achieve.  The utopian vision that would be possible, were it not for all those pesky others.  Those others that everyone, incidentally, hates with religious fervor and self-defined indignant purity.  We settle for the sewage, because it’s a realistic goal.  We embrace it and call ourselves empowered.  And it’s easier to write a bad review than a good one, and to mock this painting rather than applaud it, because it is ridiculous, and “unrealistic,” and impossible.  And it is.  It is pure hubris to think that NOW, after all these years and millennia of war and slavery and murder, that now, of all times, we suddenly have the capacity for utopia, of all things, within our rotten, corpse-like grasp.  Please.  Perhaps ADIOS is the only answer, which is Spanish for, of course, “to God.”  My God yr God, whatever, don’t be so self-important, that’s what keeps us all from God.  Stop worrying about the others.  Didn’t some stoned yogi say something insightful about it once?  Maybe that famous holy stripper, the bald & dolly “Llama.”  If I had been worshipped as a kind of god since before my birth, I may have some beneficent things to say about humanity myself.  I’d rather talk to a street junky, y’know?

Oh and before I forget, Spanish is another European language, a readily-apparent fact that eludes the perception of almost everyone.  So please get off yr high horse.  You are your own oppressor.  I know, because I have always been my own, myself.

Anyway, here’s the painting.  A product of the seeds of Heaven, planted somewhere down in all of us.  Beautiful:

Image may contain: sky
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