The memories of my car accident are still haunting me. It's not the accident as much as the sense of reality that I had while in it. Everything outside that moment feels dull, covered over, as though I'm not really experiencing the world.
To know that I have sensory input capabilities far in excess of what I'm using - that is frustrating and a mystery. In the past day, things have seemed brighter and clearer. I see more detail. Sometimes I get captivated by something as mundane as a broken old streetlight outside a bar. I don't know what's causing it. Maybe it's the yoga I've been doing - that's the only noticeable powerful thing I'm doing right now.
I think about my powers, and the potential of my powers. I don't believe in limits. Maybe the inertia of myself does inherently believe in limits, but I see beyond. And I don't know what that means.
I think about the self and the journey one must travel.
I think about dance and my future. I am yet ashamed of the grandiosity of my desire.
I think about man's relation to the things around him. Today I noticed how every single thing in existence has a a story. A history, a future, a composition of qualities that give it it's suchness. And there's really nothing else.
I wonder if man must become an abstraction to truly be one with the world.
