Typing keys in an illusionist realm where I’m stuck in between cosmic reality and what’s physically here. They say that we can magnetize the things that we want and what comes to us in our dreams if we focus on it and manifest through being serene. To me, it seems that chaos creates currency and that the people who make the most noise also make the most money. What is the cost though? What is the cost of making the money and what is the cost of spending it like it’s nothing? What is the purpose of holding a dollar for an exchange with some type of supplier or distributor? How can we hold it close and plant a seed-like coin to ensure that there will always be more? For ourselves and for our offsprings? What is the recipe for living out our dreams of monetized peace?
There have been rumors and maybe some truth that my kindred who grew farthest from the sunshine hold it all and wear the fruit until it’s rotten but they always know how to find more even if it’s covered in wax to persevere the toxins. Sometimes I don’t even realize that I’m apart of the problem. Sometimes I forgot and just turn up my own volume. If I can block them out that’s what I will do until the money that I do have is gone and I’m meditating on what to do next.
My people tell me that happiness can’t be achieved without the things that I need like shelter and shoes. I told this man that I liked his hands and he looked at me like he was really confused. The look in his eyes reminded me that I’m so far removed but still in between the realms of illusionist indigo hues. I see what his hands can be used for, he knows how to remove the crook in my back and he can shoot a bullet through the door. My hands are for softening things through, calming, and watering too. They count money pretty well with me in the realm of physical complications wondering which endeavor to pursue.