So, what if disease wasn’t inside out, but outside in? What if our body just shows the curse of the world running inside its complex system of human to human—soul to soul—interactions?
We’re a world of lost souls, right? Flawed people raised by flawed people, looking for a path to some sense of happiness, some loose longing that we all share to some extent. We forget that we all suffer from the same disease.
I and I. I can only be as good as you. I and you are the same. We’re all one big thought in one big brain, trying to stay sane. We forget it, though. Guy in the next door office is having trouble, guy’s a nervous wreck, we start shaking too, the shiver travels down the line. Give the guy a couple minutes, telling him you’re hearing him.
Cancer is a collection of cells that eat each other. The body turning on itself. What else would you call individualism? People turning on each other. Slamming doors. Cameras in the doorbell. Don’t pet my dog when I walk by you. What, man? Letting me pet that dog is gonna make me feel so much better right now. I got a bad thought I can’t kick. You could of just stuck him in the backyard but you decided to take him for a walk. So, let me pet your dog… all the time for up to ten seconds, no more, rarely any less.
Tangents. Cancer is people not having each other’s backs. Top to bottom, bum to billionaire, Wall Street to Market Street, uptown to downtown, coast to peninsula and the tundras and the deserts and all the oceans and those icy edge continents where the eskimos roam I’m told. Can’t be right wing, left wing; we call that broken wing. I and I.
You’re just walking around in my mind, in my dream and I’m in yours, in your dream. Literally, you could be born on one of those icy continents on the top and you could be an eskimo. Why are you here and why are we now? Make the best of it. Don’t take advantage. Creepy guys, I’m talking to you. If someone’s doing what your three year old daughter does when a drunk man stumbles towards her, then she’s not liking what’s going down.
But not just the creepy dudes. Everybody. Bossy girls and pompous guys. No one cares. Don’t judge each other, don’t turn on each other, lend your neighbor milk or butter or whatever if people still do that shit.
Cancer stops. Effects of cancerous vibration need to be healed. Traffic in the ether. Unsettled karmic energy shifts. Discomfort continues. See a little hope, though. Process of healing. Waves from one soul to another don’t arrive smoothly. Cracks along the roads of the streets between you and me, disrupting the proper conductors of electricity. The trees don’t have problems like these. They get along with all the birds and all the little critters, like come on in fellas, maybe tonight the fox can sleep inside the bed between my roots that are coming out of the ground a little and maybe tomorrow Mr. Coyote and his nursing lady can claim the palace. The other party can simply do the same three or four trees down, which is customary etiquette in the forest. No one wants someone sleeping in one tree over. They’ll be afraid you’re gonna steal their breakfast.
Tangents. Sorry, I get lost in the forest sometimes. I’m not sorry, though. But anyway, cancer is reflected on the inside when it is rampant on the outside. Woman to man, man to woman, child to child, camp counselor to laundry lady to custodian to accountant to lawyer to teacher to cop to convict to student from Wall Street to Market Street to everywhere else including those icy continents at the top and bottom where the eskimos roam I’m told. We’re tied up like pretzels, tangled in knots both steel and string and no one knows how any of it is working.