I'm reading through my years-old letters.

[OMITTED: A bunch of stuff I quoted from a previous message written to me.]

AAAaaaahahahahaha. That's the funniest goddamned joke I've told in years.

My humor might be a little off. I [insert myriad plausible excuses here, but know - in spite of my best efforts to rebuff its significance - that I really do think it's funny, and wish I didn't give such a shit that you might that I type all of this shit in here and realize a singularly and extemporaneously honest moment within my e-mailing experience. I don't know why I always sought your approval - it was reflexive, and I was hurt like a child when you (or any male I looked up to - "respected" wasn't enough) was disappointed in me.]. Wow. I can grow just typing to you, without sending this or anything.

I didn't intend to bring you with me on this therapeutic outing, nor did I request you come along - and I appreciate it.











Lata

(heh)




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[And the follow-up, begun an hour later]
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It's now that I get the real opportunity to explore myself - the previous message having been a spur-of-the moment thing, within the last minute, instantaneously, I was overcome by a sense of dire regret. I was appalled by the emotion as soon as I identified it, and my abrupt analysis pinpointed some of my current boundaries - now I know where to apply pressure. I have found a flaw.

I can say that because I have determined what I desire my perspective - inclusive of character, personality, beliefs, spirituality - to be. Until I began typing that sentence, my fingers stumbling, unresponsive under the weight of the realization that they were involved in granting, I did not know what it was that I wanted - I knew what I wanted, but I did not know that it was what I wanted. I visualized what I felt, and it was so simple - I see a dome, of a consistency I can't describe but would say is smooth, with a mist over it; the dome stretches at too abrupt an angle to be seen for more than a few strides, or maybe eternity - I have no concept of my own size and stride, only my experience of the place; still, I sense forever behind that translucent veil as much as I sense the edge.

Does it get better than that? Honestly, please. I'd say "for my writing," or "in my style," but I operate from within my own perspective and see brilliance - though [I doubt] it may change momentarily, I am possessed by a surety of purity now.

I'm sure I meant to type something else. Ah, yes:
The "open plain" la-dee-dah wouldn't be worth jack shit without its collaborative explanation, which is this: I sense the plain, somehow see and feel it. I purely sense it; it is a meditative plain that is sustained in spite of my focusing on writing this. While replaying my reaction (like TiVo, man), I sensed something jagged outside of the area immediately around me concurrently with the "what the fuck did I just do" moment. It was a a momentarily intense awareness of - followed by a residual awareness of - a distant location, tangible within which were the features of this flaw, this jagged outcropping of the same substance that makes up the plain, it seems. I haven't figured out how to get rid of it yet, but I think I just have to stay near it, and it will dissolve. I sense that that is the truth, as I know it is the truth, just as I know that all I have to do is think of its features and I am next to it, and that, if I want it to leave, I must hold myself there in awareness of it, in spite of my protest. Can it really be that simple?

Awesomeness.

I enjoy these, as they are as much my creation as they are that of some dimensionally greater being.
...
I believe I've conveyed to you before that I believe that awareness as we humanly define it is the frontier between the "third" and "fourth" dimensions? I think our lives would look like trees within the fourth dimension, too - as we would see the work of some second-dimensional consciousness (as I think awareness is the frontier between all dimensions) within a plant.