Origin

I see our origin as a moment of wormhole wonder that was willing to imitate another world in a galaxy like ours.

In Andromeda constellation, lines of Milky Way mass are multiplying to motion in the many little stars engaged in a dance of chemistry that move to a beat of a microcosm developing in a gas cloud. It is a story of life carried by man’s need to ‘omina‘ their origins to a mother, making imitation a macabre literature of man’s mind.

Life is not what drives our obsession of origin, inoculating our psyche to accentuate it’s mission of meaning. Imitation is a work in progress that is always moving forward, forever searching for the truth but never listening to the spiritual wind in our minds eye.

Noises of the universe in motion are longitudinally willing to communicate, taking a lone planet in a far-off galaxy and making an attempt at contact. It is lost in translation, away in a metaphysical mutation of noise that is blocking our minds from information introducing us to our origins.

Life is a gift that is earnt and not motivated by money, religion or societal forces. Indignant in a ‘moonlight line of will’, a light in line with the moon and loaded with magnetically charged particles of ‘mentite’, attracted to an oracle omnipresence of molecular ‘amore’.  It is a notion admonished by a sense of spiritual mood in light of the collective will.

Light of long held belief is always ‘Ishmael‘ in altruism, with a love of reality, only if it suits the cause it intends to influence, like a lost, lonely child looking for a home that is suitable. Loins of matriarchal will is strength lined up in a maternal acrimony of world order, initiated to create a utopia lined with rules to live by and momentarily given wind of free thought to maintain a sense of happiness.

In time we will see our future in a light made of truth over lies and without a history of violence clouding our way to ‘moonlight illusion’ in view to our creator.