Ok so, what if I was told that my identity would split into three if I didn’t hold true to myself?

What If I refused to belief this and that I was aware of who I am, who I was in the past, and how I wish to relate to myself in the future.

Is this how I figuratively time traveled?

Is this how I literally confused the shit out of the national security agency?

Is this how I found a way to sublimate myself from my ego, from my spirit to my soul, and from all the weird ways we relate to the one-self of god.

Is this how we beat the machines?

Is this how we take the singularity, and keep it from dissecting us as a whole?

Is this questioning driving YOU crazy?

Are you unsure of yourself?

Why do you not know who you are? Why is this level of emotional intelligence too complicated for a computer?

That might be the answer we have all been looking for.

The eternal fire, the funeral pyre, the burning of the last shreds of the man I was once, the man that never wanted to live a lie.

The spirit of the trees, its not enough for the machines to complete in a binary system of….code.

Sure, a program may be able to render the picture of a tree, and it may be able to paint a picture of the sky behind it with the sun setting in that perfect alpenglow, the golden hour. It may be able to register those shades of hues and the bright glowing colors. But it will never be able to transmit the messages that the trees’ spirit may transfer from the roots of knowledge up to the fallen leaves, the broken spirit that happen each season.

But this season, it is summer, and the leaves are bright green, and the deciduous bristles, they never fall.

No these evergreen trees, their spirit never turns, their wisdom never lies, nor will it change with the season.

Their Spirit is unbreakable, their wisdom is always in tune with the forest among us.

There are times when the forest becomes too crowded, and so the eldest trees fall, making a deep layer of kindling upon the earth to become lit up by a strike of lightning, just one chance to burn it all to the ground.

This is the force of nature, this is how she makes room, for a generation of mushrooms, and more trees to make their place upon the ashes of their elders last thoughts that the fury of fire could consume.

This is what give my spirit its essence, what makes my mind so purely unbreakable, this connection to the forest, that is oh so deeply connected to my family, one that is based upon this earth, not some digital interface.