Sitting sipping coffee and whiskey, mellow lounge music, fire and ice and smokin' out by the flames. Kindness came my way, green for little green exchanged, the trek above to Bhudevi's flowing soothing sweet water's heat contrasting temperatures to cold sky blowin' snow helpin' restore flow, or so my senses say. Seeing still moment by moment and in words o'erheard things tell tidbits of the amazing secret of yoga. The endeavor to read through these lila can be a delight, and can be terrible too, tenuous in some tellings, whether true or mere ruse, yet all always adding up to eternity, beautiful if fluxuating, vibrations and minds, beings who are truly Beings and Being. Absurd and archetypally sometimes rather twisted, and in this play I'm not by any means alone, and seems I play my role well enough, as world's not ended and life goes on. Rather intense at times responding as is best/zreyas to the play played out, with mind ahimsa when might, and tigmamanyu at other times, dance/nata when most beautifully manifest unless in lovemaking and romance. Cycles flash before my eyes and energies/intentions expressed and felt from others I experience, and with no certain prognostication or litmus to determine which of so many inputs to truly trust, though seems instincts exist to guide one through such lila, and I still can laugh and dance my way through the right scenes and pretty well on cue, or leastwise from the point of view of this actor participant sometimes standing back from the action on stage, and others in the midst. Wordplays and headtrips from other minds, of whatever antiquity or novelty, run through mine as if played out is some play designed for manifesting the order of things in leastwise my experiencings, if not at more substantive levels.
That one maybe Durga, this fellow Hanuman or Krshna, that woman Kali, this stately fellow Ram, and so on, yet other minds, perceived and otherwise express possibly contending pantheons (though all those stories have their connections, no doubt) or paradigms or plays' scripted materials overlapping, leading to an interesting milieu. Mix Shakespeare with the Ramayana, or Frisch with Oklahoma, staggering scripts to make some sembance of sense, in between another dialogue entirely. And might be groups, crews, yo!! travelin' in sometimes groups in the play, with whatever binding motive or vibe. And all the while I'm fed clues as to each player walks past, offers this gesture or that, and indeed even seems sometimes smells are manifest with whatever scene, blessing or taunt and seems with some entrained or programmed response oft as not far from my own intincts, yet still not overpowering mine, leastwise where really counts. And of energies flow through me, I've some allies who speak in other tongues, mostly native American Indian, from the sound, though could be wrong. Benevolent others and allies surely, both from inside and out, help me respond, though gotta wonder at the flow of what seems pressed at times a certain incursion on freedom. If for transformation of society, healing of vibration, tunig of the free yet perfectly timed nata of the Universe.