Pneuma

Version 1.0 of 3/4/2010-3:14 a.m.

It is as if it has some infinite drawing power that wants you to seep through your shell and join it. It is beautiful. It is dark. Almost void. It is indescribable. The one moment it takes the form of your best buddy, the other it is your sleep and the sustenance of your dreaming cycles.

Can you look at it? You will see a form that changes continuously, similar to those Michael Jackson videos. It is almost as if it leaves you the freedom to explore it manually by thinking it. You think of something and it becomes.

Does it have volition? Such a good question. I don't know. I am not sure if it can be termed alive or something which we can describe as tangible enough to be explored through our five senses.

Does it feel? I don't know. I don't know. It seems to be some form of floating existence, without bounds, without anyone to comfort it or love it. It appears as though its love for itself is enough for all of us.

At the center of all this you momentarily catch the figures of various animals taking form. You have to be still! Be still! Don't think! When you don't think it appears in front of you. What are you? you ask it.

Silence. You try harder: I will ask it by not thinking: Hmm, let's see...I am not thinking now, so you can say anything you want.

Some sort of reality and fantasy together. An existential support base. But for what? Is it a disease? Is it the disease that has plagued our minds since time immemorial? How can I try to envision it?

It cannot be done... Don't think. Just listen... So you listen, and you discover pneuma. It floats above everything, and occasionally sets on something familiar. Right now is in a bee that's looking for pollen.

You focus on the bee, and try to address it. It disappears. Rather, it floats instantly to some other place. You cannot pinpoint it down. Late, at night, after your basic editor functions are complete, as you sip your French coffee and inhale one more drag of tobacco, you suddenly see it in the leaves of a nearby tree. You by mistake exclaim: What the...?

Shhh...hush, don't try to describe it. So you cancel your thought.

It has taken the form of a face made up by the leaves of that tree. It is in motion. If you look elsewhere, it vanishes. I can see you!... Instantly it transfers itself elsewhere.

You think as it leaves. What is pneuma after all? Isn't it something? It is that which floats above everything.

There are two kinds of voices: One is its voice. The outside voice. Then there is the inside voice.

The outside voice takes the forms it takes. The inside voice helps you "see" it, if the termed can be coined correctly.

Trying to approach it or touch it is impossible. At times it becomes so beautiful, you want to hug it so badly, yet it does not want you to do that. It simply wants to be. With you or without you. It doesn't really matter. It is pneuma. It has no need of anything.

You can cry, you can yell at it, you can offer sacrifices to it, you can try to summon it. No use. It is pneuma. It has no need for you.

Then you try to curse it, you condemn it for your mishaps, you yell obscene words against it. Still no go.

What the hell is it? What are you? You cry to the heavens as you look at Arcturus outside your balcony. Pneuma does not answer. It does not need to answer you. It answers only to itself, when it wants.

It can be inspiration, it can be genius, it can be beauty. It can be a cold blooded murderer, it can be a fly, anything. It can be anything. However, whatever it becomes, it is true to itself.

It is that, which keeps your heart beating. It is that which animates you and me.

Is it good? you ask. What is good? I ask. It knows not of the dichotomy good/bad. It simply becomes. It becomes something which is true to itself, when and if it decides to do that.

Does it love us? you ask. It knows not of the dichotomy love/hate. It is pneuma. It is that which just is.

If you try to explore it, you will end up in an asylum. Because you will keep seeing it and hearing it, without being able to touch it or get close to it.

If you ignore it, you will be afraid. Very afraid and alone. None of your surroundings will matter anymore, because you would have seen that all is pneuma. From your closest friend, to the entire Universe. A manifestation of pneuma to keep you company.

So how do I address it? you ask. What do I do with it? I don't know dear reader. I wish I knew. All I know is that it animates me as well. Therefore, at moments, it is in me as well.

Those moments are moments of joy. New melodies come forth, new ideas for paintings, new programming projects, all with such an incredible speed, that I have to write them down so I don't forget them.

If you see it from afar in your dreams, it is absolutely beautiful. When consciousness is not active, it takes the form of a singularity and generates billions of thoughts and forms per second that eject outwards radially from that singularity. However, the singularity itself is not visible as "something", rather it is the locus of the emanations. You see the emanations, therefore you assume that at the locus there is "something".

If you could only get close to the locus, that central matrix from which everything spawns outwards. If only you could! But you cannot, because it is pneuma, and it can change even that.

Life is good when you know that you live under the auspices of pneuma. You simply know that no matter how hard it is, the pneuma will not let you be alone. This conviction is the very definition of hope.

There is no hope... you say. But there is dear reader. Because now I know that you are part of pneuma as well.

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