| Expansion of awareness
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| Or Gaia’s breast
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| Or possibilities with love and technology
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| Grandmother spider we could pick up
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| Weaving the divine web
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| Fools think that grandma spider is trying to eat them
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| But they struggle from fear
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| Consider how dark it gets before dawn
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| Weaves all day, left us alone during the night
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| She’s about to wake up again
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| We are awake, drinking crisp dew for breakfast
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| And ready to weave the web denser
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| This web has no circumference
|
| It’s stardust, trees, cushions, and computers
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| I am no me, but the source living itself out through me
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| My identity, whirlwind, ideas confused and never solid
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| Spinning, slow motion, is completely dissolved
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| I am a vessel
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| I have been an infinite number of people
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| The areas I dream of are fountains, floating screens, busted metals, flowers,
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| little floating pixie pods, like fireflies in the tree branches
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| Aiding photosynthesis
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| Or having consciousness like birds to sing to one another
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| Nature’s new masterpiece
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| A constant animatronic orchestra
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| New robot creatures and anything in our imagination getting fused and folded
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| inside out
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| Is my imagination mine?
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| Would I like it to be private?
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| If my imagination was a private matter, aside from Mother Nature,
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| how could she and I ever collaborate on actualizing our dreams?
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| Fur, mana, fruits, touch, floating, ants, blood, body art, walker, fish, salts,
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| smoke, telepathy, funky maypole parties, wine, sex
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| Freedom to play with an always wet ocean of lust for experimentation with sound
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| or object
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| Bringing up kids as supernatural man-apes
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| Pure and free from culture and history
|
| Intelligent apes form, this time around, their music, dance, science,
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| and spirit, will take them into space
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| History is dead
|
| In my me, I have we
|
| I am the present moment
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| The thousands of years in my blood
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| Sage, traveler, mage, performer, stamina up, gypsy frog spirit guide,
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| gliding along cars and hovering around streetlights
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| Party like a freaky thing and get bored by the hermit in me who’d rest with a
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| goose down pillow rather than tear it up just for a feather rain
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| Jello-lone melancholy and drunk on dreams, kissing, the perfect music,
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| and spiff up the party
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| Live out the whole color spectrum
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| The cosmic mood ring
|
| Who is the least bit open to mystery
|
| Nature will give you clues if you are brave
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| We have seen the birth of the god and everyone
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| Out of pure self love, no vanity
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| Computers and transports
|
| Love is a silky and breezy thread
|
| Love is a silky and breezy thread
|
| And is not human centered
|
| Love is the center
|
| Communications, growth, and love are the fuel for the web to get more complex
|
| every time the moment goes by
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| If you watch, it is always different
|
| Death is no violent
|
| If you ask the leaf on a tree in autumn if it is scared to fall off the branch
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| It will say, «I have given all I am to this tree
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| And I am tired, and I’ll float on down now»
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| Imagine the way breeze feels against your leaf body
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| While you finally don’t have to hold on anymore |