It's a big ass sky

When I asked My Dad to look in upon my web log his reply was
“I haven’t really looked at any yet, my impression is that they’re like shouting down a deep well”
I suppose that’s a definite possible.
But this is just my journal and the well I’m always plumbing is my being. I just have to know everything about me and then hopefully by extending outward, will learn everything there is to know about the human condition. I am someone who WOULD like to be the fly on the wall even though I know full well it would hurt my feelings very much.
But even the act of hurting is so very educational that I seem to frequently throw caution to the winds and choose some of the most painful and idiotic approaches to situations and life in general. Just for the experience of it. Just because I can sometimes dredge up that puzzle piece that makes the picture ever so much clearer.
When I used to study Magick I would often follow this exercise: When I walked or skated somewhere I would just let the traffic and streetlights decide how to go. Just to see what arose. I followed impulses and I think some of that is still ingrained. I tend to go on hunches and from gut feelings instead of logic. The analyzation comes afterwards.
Most of the newer magickal books deal fairly straightforwardly with intuition. The classic instruction is that it is essentially a muscle, and it gets stronger or atrophies depending on how you develop it. They instruct to listen to the inner bell in order to learn to distinguish it’s own sound from the static and the death knells.
OK that flowery part is me, not the books.
This society doesn’t offer much instruction for the leap before you look-ers. It counsels prudence, careful scrutiny, wise investments, and never, ever spend the capital.
So that even when one knows, just knows, that something is true, good and real we will hunch past because the voices of reason are clamoring in shrill fear, drowning out that little kid voice saying “I wanna ride the roller coaster”.
Sometimes little kids DO die at Disney and sometimes they die like my cousin, alone in a trailer full of beer bottles, and sometimes they die like Amelia Earhart pursuing the ridiculous impossibilities.
They none of them don’t die, but they some of them don’t live.