Asclepias viridis (Spider Milkweed)
About Spider Milkweed: Since it grows most commonly in Texas, this variety of milkweed provides monarch butterflies with a valuable source of nectar on their journey north from Mexico. This native wildflower produces curved green seed pods that gave it the common name of Green Antelopehorn, while the abundant white crab spiders that inhabit its blooms resulted in the name Spider Milkweed. In 1753, eminent botanist Carl Linnaeus gave this plant its Latin genus name, Asclepias. Asclepias, the name of the legendary Greek representation of medicine and healing, is especially appropriate since this plant formerly had various medicinal uses. In spite of its highly toxic nature, Spider Milkweed attracts flocks of butterflies; butterflies are immune to the plant’s poison, and actually become rather poisonous themselves as protection from predators.
V if all existence is mirrors, would that make God a narcissist A ?
The story centers on a circular animal-like creature that is missing a wedge-shaped piece of itself. It doesn’t like this, and sets out to find its missing piece, singing:
Oh, I’m lookin’ for my missin’ piece
I’m lookin’ for my missin’ piece
Hi-dee-ho, here I go
lookin’ for my missin’ piece
It starts out on a grand adventure searching for the perfect piece to complete itself, while singing and enjoying the scenery. But after the circle finally finds the exact-sized wedge that fits it, it begins to realize that it can no longer do the things it used to enjoy doing, like singing or rolling slowly enough to enjoy the company of a worm or butterfly. It decides that it was happier when searching for the missing piece than actually having it. So it gently puts the piece down, and continues searching happily.
Quoting: The Missing Piece, Shel Silverstein [link to en.wikipedia.org (secure)]
the book of changes is eternally becoming, ever incomplete , for if the unity consciousness had been perfect when it was whole, then why would the Gods have become like men….?
if one only practices self exaltation, then thereby one degrades the self, since others are overlooked in hubris, and we flail, romancing our own shadows.
…have you ever observed a work of true genius and felt elation as if looking at your own work? Of course we can only take ownership for that which is ours and nobody else’s. But as for inspiration, it is the spark of creation that cannot be branded or traded away or sold.
We humans have pride, we have modesty, we have pettiness anger and hatred true…. bitterness and sadness and the saltiness of despair are part of our orbits and geometries, just as the point of a lance is in the angling of its tip , but, we also have – giddy joy in sharing happiness that only grows at it is given away.
Songs, stories, a canvas of color and a feast for the eyes, all the decadence of our collective godhood.
Humans are not miserable because there is too little to go around, but because we have forgotten how to remain anchored to earth without the great equalizer of our misery. We do not feel worthy of serenity or our lives would be serene. Evil is the consequence of a twisted and deeply rooted self-hatred, perpetuated by the confused darkness of an unexamined life.
It’s not that we are barred from paradise….it’s that we are addicted to the aesthetic of drama, we are drawn to the glamor of tragedy, we are bored with order, craving destruction, even while we repress our true feelings and pretend we are what we despise – we emulate the elite even as the very celebrities and wall street wolves we seek to become are still running away from the persona of the stifling facade…even more cumbersome under the onus of greatness.
True…people fear death and cynicism is worse than ever. True, the ecosystem itself has gone haywire, sensing the schizoid circadian rhythms of our solar system. The extreme climate change really does look like weather-man madness, rain really seems capable of inundating even the most jaded of Dawkins with a tear of spiritual splendor, even unmoved by a God Helm he is cut out in awe by the san grael waters of the electric sky…
when you wake up to the arkitechture, the monsters and bogeyman of the spirit are revealed as comedic thrills upon the landscape of an amusingly convincing theme park ride…
we can live whatever way we like – gamers can play , dreamers can go lucid to weave the dream, lovers can explore the rejoinder of merging with beloved, philosophers can debate the logos of gaia’s goldilocks tenderness , ask the stars why nurture such a breadbasket in this lonesome corner of the universe….
we are not under compulsion to enact scripts or seek a perfect order of governance…in fact we could stop working this moment if we wanted and dance all night , leaving the unoccupied machina of our labor to collapse inward upon itself, destroying the entire infrastructure of the first world….
but I digress. there is a place for the beggar and the godlike, the pious and the wicked, the gracious and the thrice spurned…for the greater hand behind the veil there is a portal connecting each individual human heart. one shines , enlarged in glory to a giant, and passes the key to his brother upon each shoulder, and so each day the world turns , souls exchanging footsteps with fortune.
and the seeker may as yet become the consecration sought, the sweetness of grapes on the vine may yet remain upon our lips as we transcend all dimensionality, becoming all things and giving of ourselves to all….we could step between the fabric of materiality and abandon the shades of self-tortured souls which remain trapped here upon the earth even while Gaia beckons….
the only punishment for sinners is the ultimate masochism of the sadistic impulse; when we abuse each other we have only ensured that the interconnectedness of all existence will mete out the same pain we deliver at a symmetrical point upon the opposite pole. simultaneously does the present carve synchrony of the future and past so the present is always eternally evolving as our spirit does in the greater eye of the earth in the mind of the Sun.