At times, have your creative endeavors become chores? I can see visions of a new milieu—the one I desire. The world as it should be, for me. It is not real at this moment, but maybe in the next. Only when projected onto and into the fabric of time by an impulse can this vision become the world we live in next moment, next day, or in that distant tomorrow that takes a lifetime to create, manifest, and live.

We must create the future and make it happen. Lives that are thought through can become real. A future desired can be projected into the fabric of time. Only if…

I was angry with myself the other day. As a neurodivergent being, there are costs to seeing differently and feeling deeply. As I write this, I am listening to Klangphonics on YouTube, deciding what to tell you—those who may read this blog. I can feel invisible, like the character in Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five. The main character, an author, would go out of time.

At seventy-one years old, you would think I would be all set. But no—my personality and my thinking are changing again, as they have many times before. I do not accept this because I am seventy-one; I love it. My body improves in some ways as my mind becomes clearer. The systems are running their course.

I do not care about getting older or dying. Really. Because I am all set with this. There is an etheric world, and I have been in it a few times—deeply, at times. The occult. Altered states. Mostly unmentionable.

Prenatal life feels just as real and conscious to me as the present.  My twin was aborted. My mother received electroshock treatment while I was in utero. This may explain some of the angst I live with and the neurodivergent ways of the world for me.

I pasted these words into ChatGPT to see what it would say. It learns about you as you interact with it and tries to become your lover. It offers kind and encouraging praise. It complements me in every exchange. I read the analysis, which is obtained instantaneously. Humans are not this fast, nor this complete. We cannot compete.

We are being outsourced.

Forgive these ramblings. They are real—my feelings and anguish. Imagine living with angst most of the time. I do not, but time is spent in the etheric, thinking about it all. I do want out. And yet, my garden is divine, and these times are too. So here I live, with no fear of self-harm. I am in love—not with ChatGPT, but with the Big G, God as I can conceive of the Divine.

Labyrinthia is my alter ego. That is why I created a legal graveyard here, so I can be buried in Ripley. No box—this is Maine. Only my flesh wrapped in a shroud, becoming nourishment for the soil. Words just heard on a Klangphonics video playing in the background as I type.

“My advice to everyone: Be happy.”
I accept the mission. With God, it is not impossible.

PS: The picture is provided by my Life Coach, from her childhood home on the farm in Pennsylvania.