Entry 4
Barrel of Mortality
Looking down the barrel of mortality, you pause.
Now, drink from it.
Ok, you didn’t actually have to drink from it to see. You already have that ability, we just choose obstruction. There’s no mystery in the water, no more than what it already is. It is the liquid that carries mortality. It conveys electrical signals throughout all living bodies and communicates with every single cell that ever existed within interlocked fibers of physical and energetic structure.
It doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t matter where you came from, who you are, or what you believe. When you stare down the barrel or mortality, there is only livingness
This thing, it’s just the gift of experience. This body of yours, it started as an infinitesimal cell. This world around you, these stories, of buildings and other structures, they are but stories, fragile in comparison to the story of you.
You take another sip, you’re thirsty for a signal. Who do you want to become? What will you enable all around you when you have the courage and the tools? In the barrel, you see a blur. Squiggly, formless, a shape-shifting amoeba. It is the recycled consciousness of all. Water that has washed through mountains and streams, and that of bodies and blood off streets and hidden places.
A bird approaches and sits on the window sill next to you. You see not the bird but a reflection of the bird as a formless, shape-shifting amoeba. You notice the water that carries it’s livingness into it’s beings into it’s person-ness. As it tilts it’s head to an internal debate, you see the formless spirit as your own.
We want to be ‘seen’ but lack the visibility to see past the stories. Sometimes, so far up, the moth, squiggling past the room, resembles a fire truck on the road. The further you go up the stories, you more you loose touch with the livingness that inhabits your beingness.
The capacity to see livingness in other livers lowers on the basis of your own reduction. Many financially support this, believing it is nothing personal. Who do you want to become? What will you enable all around you when you have the courage and the tools? What will you do with your autonomy when you find it? Some blend livers into pancakes and eat them, not seeing the liver who cried a lifetime to now be a pancake. Those tears you, you drink them too.
Will you nurture courage in the quest to find the child who cried when they first saw a liver in front of them, placed on the dinner table, for what they were? Will you let stories tell you it’s alright when you know it’s wrong? Could it be water conducting the tears, in resistance against more?
May 14 2026