The work I write this week is in response to the years of hard work I have just accomplished. I have spent my life thus far, learning. Learning in many ways, how to be human. Learning how to be perceived by others as I perceive them. Learning to understand the many languages this world puts meaning to through lines. I have come to find how various forms of learning influence the mind in a multitude of curious ways. As I come to a closing chapter of one learning style and open myself up to another, I find lines I formed three years ago, which created words and images this world tries to understand to be just as applicable now, as they were then. I find myself opening to a world or experience I have not been a witness to for many years due to hiding myself away in books and studies. I come from this cocoon now and realize, as I look around, for what seems like the first time, that “human bodies are like machines” -Duchamp but still, what we must remember is “we are spiritual beings having a human experience.” Our bodies are the vessel that allow our spirits to have conscious, physical experiences.

What do we do with this, I wonder?

In this questioning, I come to find a present moment, gifted with infinite time, to be the grace I appreciate.

"To see a <a href="World in a Grain of Sand" target="_blank">World in a Grain of Sand</a>
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand 
And Eternity in an hour."

Now, without further adieu, I say to you;

Our bodies are machines, machines with human emotion.

Our spirits spend their lives trying to understand who, what, and where we came from, while our bodies function as a calculated machine.

Why, at this very moment, there is a signal being transmitted to my brain, telling my fingers to move in a specific pattern, so I may capture these raw materials we call "words" onto this page.

Words that would mean nothing if they were not organized in such a way.

They would remain raw.

They would remain material. As means to no end.

Every soul is different and can never replicate the exact emotion of another,

But our machine-like bodies can.

Our bodies are the significant form,

While our souls are the aesthetic emotion.

We are forever growing works of art, for our lives are never planned.

We may plan ten years into our future and be swept away in a moment.

A tree may become a log,

A log, a plank.

This plank may come to know a coffin,

holding the remains to an end.

But this plank is only the means, does it ever have an end?

For it will go back to the soil where it first began,

It will hold the body that once worked, as a machine.

But without aesthetic emotion, a significant form can no longer be.

So go back to the earth,

Go back to the trees,

Go back to the imagination, which graces each moment with a present.

and appreciate it.

In every way possible,

appreciate it.

Have, all you, is now.