Santa, Santa, flying high,
With your reindeer in the sky,
Bring me presents on my list,
Surprises too, if you get my gist.
With robes of red and beard of white,
With merry cheer traveling through the night.
Mirth and miracles fill your sack,
As you enter homes with it on your back.
To you dear Santa, I make my wish,
as you eat the cookies from my dish.
May the world receive what you inspire,
the fulfillment of their hearts’ desire.
To give and get is just good fun,
As you navigate your yearly run.
My thanks kind sir for making things bright.
Merry Christmas to you, and to all a goodnight!
Poor Richard, always turning every color into gray.
But Richard, surely this cake will make you gay?
Nay, I must think of tooth decay!
But Richard, the sun shines bright today!
Ah, it shall burn my skin, until it flay!
But Richard, exciting news I have to say!
Oh no, what could it be, surely I will pay!
And so she came one night, when the moon shone bright,
just a little sprite, an elf known as Brownie.
Hello to you good sir! I’m but a tiny fairy, not so scary,
I’ve a core of cheer and my shell is sweet — it is nice to meet!
Richard bit the hook, that’s all it took.
Caught, but not willing to surrender.
He fought and fought, until his heart grew tender.
Brownie loved the challenge, sparkling in all her splendor.
She knew he’d falter, she never worried.
The decades past, she never hurried.
And upon his birthday she gave a gift,
A little boy whose spirits could lift.
Brownie, said Richard, I think you’ve won.
I surrender to you, I’m ready for fun.
Why resign yourself to weakness? Is there not power flowing through you? Are you not literally the embodiment of electrical energy? Stop a moment in your acquiescence, and consider the minuscule feeling inside. A force that when focused on, flourishes. Know it as pure power, the potential energy that becomes. Use it against itself to induce weakness, and it will.
But allow creative frequencies to flow, and a world is born. A world comprised of wavelengths, bands of energy waiting to be conducted. You hold the antenna in your hand, orchestrating a composition of your own design. Lead and it follows. Become derelict in your duty: cacophony the consequence. Your world awaits its conductor.
Though you see yourself as pawn, a pawn reaching an end rank becomes whatever it wants. A piece initially constrained, yet full of potential. If you begin as slave, persevere to become master. The constraints you find yourself contained within, are of your own invention. Everything you see is the fantasy you’ve fabricated. You cannot not-create.
But you’ve created a dissonance unpleasant to your own ears. Know that emptiness is the stage upon which creation commences. Clear the mind to begin anew. Start with what you know, which is nothing. Silence springs forth successful seeds. Potential-energy unleashes upon the infinite. Parts then align in harmony forming the symphonic whole, dawning the sound of something you love.
What we truly seek as individuals, is a harmonious interaction with existence. That is what happiness is. So as a musician within the orchestra of society, we seek to practice and perfect ourselves while integrating our developed skill with the whole.
But if we are an orchestra, who is the conductor? Do we simply self-organize — attempting to harmonize with our nearest neighbors? Do we listen for a melody we like and then attempt to implement it? Do we hear a tune in our head and just play, hoping it aligns with others?
We can individually improve till we become virtuosos, but without a common score, we’d be a cacophony. Does something maintain a rhythm by which we all march? Do we simply improvise until the discomfort of discord directs us into a coordinated composition?
Like any musician, we are not only players but listeners, enjoying sounds that flow out from ourselves, mixing and merging with the vibrations of others. And when our confidence rises we add in our own variations, altering the piece through finesse. As we improve our ability to operate our instrument and incorporate into the orchestra, we hear it — the melodic music of mortal being.
Sit back, relax, lose all focus of self.
Pixels mixing, forget borders existing.
Particles deconstructing, blending as one.
Flowing through space occupied by all.
Drifting upon warmth of light from golden hues.
Witnessing the illusion of a sparkling spectacle.
A sight that never was but always is — a fiction.
Embrace a show acted out by its audience.
Focusing on whatever pleases, ignoring the rest.
Striving to stay the path that excites delight.
Breathe away the solidity of self, in, out.
Revealing the truth of an existential funhouse.
God is light casting through stained-glass soul shining as multifaceted images of body upon canvas of existence. Detritus manifests as error. When cleansed, the light of God shines forth true.
The faithful are ye who see light despite the darkness that may surround.
With transcendent trust in the goodness of life, ye paint with happy hues.
The devil is despair, a belief in prevailing pessimism.
Reject this siren’s call lest ye crash and burn.
Ever look to the beacon of hope to guide thy way.
Focus on brilliance, and in thy heart know peace.
With metaphorical sword in mind, I slice rumination.
Selectively severing connection to negative anticipation.
With dread now dead, remnants wither in decay.
Mentally fencing swordplay, practiced everyday.
Ever at the ready, flashing steel like lightening.
Power against dour, removing what’s frightening.
Unsheathed calm makes anxiety crumble.
Blade so deft, pessimistic thoughts just stumble.
Psychic samurai causing sadness to despair.
An unencumbered ronin, drifting without a care.
Warrior defeating worry, I master my mentality.
Redefining reality, realizing the totality, I find my vitality.
When surrounded by vast despair,
endless stress and the pulling of hair,
release your strain with this refrain:
Life is Fake as F*ck.
Nothing is real, that’s part of the deal.
If it was, what a horrible place.
So don’t lament, you can’t make a dent,
because life is fake as f*ck.
No need to triage, it’s just a mirage,
We all die at the end anyway.
So while we’re here, live without care,
because life is fake as f*ck.
Let it all go, it’s part of the show.
The lights, the sounds: Oh my!
Don’t worry so much, just use this crutch:
Life is Fake as F*ck.
Upon eating the fruit, the illusion shattered. The act of eating from the tree of knowledge exposed the artificiality of the garden. From then on, it wasn’t enough. Staleness, sameness, suffocating — boredom became their reality.
And so they entered a new realm, an imperfect place. In this world, stressors of all varieties excite their senses. This manufactured habitat dazzles the duo with sights and sounds, thrilling with triumphs and disasters.
Captivated by this daydream, the pair enter in and out of lives, always uniting, yin intertwining yang. Offspring become ancestors become siblings become parents. A dramatic world of themes, a dance-floor of embracing essence, a backdrop of enduring love.
It was always about them, the only two that ever existed. Through their fondness, a world was born, a place to play within an endless playground. Every kiss and every tingle a new experience and a warm rekindling. A chase, a romp, a hide-and-seek, a fairytale for lovers.