Helium River

The steps feel like leaps.

Existence then awareness.

From my heart to around my shoulders.

I often had trouble understanding what I saw when I looked directly at the flame, nor was I sure about how it really worked, I considered the origin of the type of fire that I was familiar with, this seemed to be a little different though. It had been there long before I had the coat. Sometimes it would react to different moments or changes in my surroundings. Sometimes it felt like things slowed down whenever the flame would begin to spiral.

The split second faded into its connection with forever, that same glow coming from all around us.

We converse, adding to each other’s holograms and bouncing thoughts off all the reflections surrounding us.

The reflections had more of a shine when we spoke to each other.

The sky ahead of us was calm, and the smell of water evaporating off of metal began to fill the air. The steam created its own metallic clouds.

Sailing further with the wind of the shuffle. From my heart to around my shoulders.

The steps feel like leaps.

Existence then awareness.

Synchronization then reflections.

We set out hoping luck will come hang with us, the steps feel like leaps.

The magnetics and reflections push and pull with the winds. The wind from the shuffle kept the swing suspended in midair. As each push and pull takes the swing higher, the view becomes wider, showing more and more of the reflections within the shuffle at the top of each swing. At the highest point in the air the swing would stop for a split second just before it came back down. In that second— no gravity and no time— just that moment of being weightless.

The potential that sits with each moment eventually becomes forever just as the future will eventually become the now.

The split second faded into its connection with forever, that same glow coming from all around us.

 

 

Untitled design

 

 


A few more interesting poems:

https://poets.org/poem/bird-came-down-walk-328

https://poets.org/poem/old-pole-star

https://poets.org/poem/meeting

https://poets.org/poem/unpacking-globe


 

 

“Reality and imagination are threaded and sewed with the same needle, a needle that has ink and a cap.” -Arron Leland

 

The potential that sits within each moment eventually becomes forever just as the future will eventually become the now.

 

 

Untitled design

 


 

“Reality and imagination are threaded and sewed with the same needle, a needle that has ink and a cap.” -Arron Leland

Echoes and Ocean Currents

Setting out, setting out

The potential that sits within each moment eventually becomes forever, just as the future will eventually become the now

These moments are what help us believe.

v_esc= √(2gm/r)


Curving my steps to a view of what’s just outside of the edge of the compass. Where space collapses into the moment, then the moment collapses into forever.

Sometimes I digress with description, will you go blind with me?


An oil slick primed for a spark within a blink of the horizon’s eye, wonder the warm background almost a coat itself. The heart arcs overhead, I can hear it but my eyes can never catch it. The smell of burnt wood lingering in the air. A taste of radiation poisoning. Wonder seems to be the warm background, static at times, blue and static.


When looking outward I fell inward, into the shuffle and the environment.

Linear, the background was warm and static. The potential that sits within each moment, and my genuine interest in that potential seemed to bring the moment to a stop. Now, the smell of the rain was not too far off. Awareness gave me the moment, but the moment had always known forever. The infinite snapshot. Not separate but echoes in sliver, wonder the warm background.


Our eyes lock as the compass points north, similarities between the flame that sits near me and the horizon’s eye. The metallic splinters rung with the silver echo, the pain in my hand traveled up through my arm but once it got near the flame the wave of pain rolled back down and destroyed the splinters in my hand.

I met you, I met the moment, then we met forever. Electricity filled the air, dense electricity. Dense electricity in thin air, making each breath sharp and electric. While trying to fight the sudden arrival of lightheadedness we decided to see what was going on. Defined as a reflection, a snapshot in the winds of forever, as we try to fit the tornado for a straitjacket. The colors became brighter and the static background became warmer.

A bit of warmness in each reflection. A quick shuffle within the echo. A small flame under the ocean currents in the sky.

I finally gathered the courage to look out the window, I could see the ocean currents taking different routes. Amongst all of them, and even from this distance I could see a new ocean current made of ink rain.


The clouds were off in the distance now, I made a mental note to come back later and try to see if any of the other currents were affected. The edge of the reflections splintered off into the shuffle. The sliver echoes bounce off of the flame that sits on your sleeve.

Braveness in the forever that you are a part of, forever in the moment that you are a part of. More flames gather under the ocean currents in the sky. The heart arcs overhead, I can hear it, but my eyes can never catch it. The smell of the rain returns with the winds from the shuffle. Fallow the tilts in the compass, dense electricity and thin air. Wonder seems to be the warm background, static at times, blue and static.


 

Happy New Year, some of the best poetry is created by the moments in your life that feel like bits of infinity and what you really love has fused with your heart. I hope this year and the years to come are filled with moments like that for you. Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you soon.

 


 

 

Poetry written by Arron Leland
I’ll try to catch the part of me that is falling. Until then I’ll try to learn how use my wings from the butterflies that hand me the phone when you’re calling. – Arron Leland

Imagination’s Parachute

For a split second I thought I saw my reflection in a passing breeze. After a moment, the breeze sat still. Then it spiraled into a small tornado, while somehow maintaining its stillness.


Lending my desire for perfection to humor for the clumsiness that follows. The entire journey goes by in a split second, and the other half of that second hasn’t happened yet. The reflections stutter then speed shuffle all in one motion, blinding me for just a moment.

A taste of radiation poisoning. I could smell the rain. Wonder seems to be the warm background, static at times, blue and static.

The wind at this altitude was different, magnetic amongst other things. A tilt in the compass, millions of maps flicker during the shuffle.
Gravity affects the surrounding clocks.
The arrival of a copper taste distracts me from what is going on.
Just as my imagination’s inkwell began to fill up, turbulence shook the room. My reflection in the oil slick stretched as the ink spilled out. It fell backwards, missing the engine schematics sitting on the table. The small ink bottle rolled toward the open window in front of me. I watched as it spiraled through the rain clouds. Left-over ink flew out, creating an oil spill in the second and third sky.

Sometimes I digress with description. Will you go blind with me?

Another tilt of the compass
Further away my steps make the edge.
Discovery expands the floor beneath us.
The sky appeared glassy, like the sky was its own telescope. It seemed almost linear, layered, with levels behind it, so that from where we stood we could look into another universe.


A few more interesting poems:

https://poets.org/poem/muddy

https://poets.org/poem/unexplorer


Image by: https://www.shutterstock.com/g/genova
1st poem written by Edna St. Vincent Millay
2nd poem written by Orlando White
Main poem written by Arron Leland
I’ll try to catch the part of me that is falling. Until then I’ll try to learn how use my wings from the butterflies that hand me the phone when you’re calling. – Arron Leland

Photon/S.S Blue Radiation

A single snowflake falls into the rabbit hole.

Walking back to the lake to see our reflections, curving each step to the tempo of our hearts.

A glimpse of the original blindness.

The last part of Societies Muse will tie it all together. After Societies Muse the idea I want to go over is The Tilts in the Compass which is also a reoccurring theme here. There will be a set of poems exploring that concept just as we did with Societies Muse.

 


 

Blink, blink then become

Carry your ideas on a halo; the aura always throws them off. That same glow is coming from your cup. We sit at desks, designing seats for the rocket. Broken cup holders and questions of an inflight movie make all of us laugh. Is everybody here? Carry your ideas on a set of wings; the aura always throws them off. That same glow is coming from your cup.

The steps feel like leaps.

Flares light up the road.

             No satellite’s eyes could see through the ink in the second sky.

I pace in worn-down shoes for nothing,

Although I wonder how my shoes had become so worn from walking on a cloud.

The steps feel like leaps.

I miss the forwardness from back then; now, forward actually means what it is. Then, it meant hope.

That same glow is coming from your future.

The electric charge, the lighting in a bottle, the static that forever fills the air.

What sways the heart and gives life direction?

Mimic the breeze that makes your hair stand up

I pace in worn down shoes for nothing although I wonder how my shoes had become so worn down from walking on a cloud.

Becoming accustom to lava and mud

Accustom to ocean vents and the creation of new islands

Frankenstein’s neck bolts as ice cubes and sparks from the bottle fell into our cups, as the sky poured electricity into the atmosphere

The neck bolts brought my vision back

Existence then awareness

Blink, blink then become

 


 

Thanks for reading and here are two articles and two poems that hint at some of the ideas that I will be covering in the last part of Societies Muse, and I really enjoyed reading these two poems and I hope you do too. Have good day and thanks for the support.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2019/04/190415160820.htm
https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2019/08/190805134054.htm
https://poets.org/poem/moment-1
https://poets.org/poem/blessing-wedding

Mimic the breeze that makes your hair stand up

That same glow is coming from your future.

 


 

Image by https://www.shutterstock.com/g/arztsamui
1st Science Daily article written by Stuart Wolpert
2nd Science Daily article written by Erica k. Brockmeier
1st poem written by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
2nd poem written by Jane Hirshfield

Main Poetry written by Arron Leland
I’ll try to catch the part of me that is falling. Until then I’ll try to learn how use my wings from the butterflies that hand me the phone when you’re calling. – Arron Leland

∞/Belgium/Thin Air

I’ll try to bring this idea full circle with the next post, thanks for reading.

 


 

f=g (m_(1 ) m_2 )/r^2

 

The longer I tried to stay awake the more my imagination took over.

Gravity becoming less and less, falling awake. Even while I drifted, falling awake.

Aesthetics melt, becoming another type of rain, both types move with gravity sometimes choosing to side with it, other times choosing to disagree. What would be perfectly modified for us to see.

Even before my vision was swallowed by the blindness, I only knew what was in front of me by curving each step to the tempo of my heart. In cursive I loop my way through these lands curving each step to the tempo of my heart.

The tempo of my heart Morse codes itself into my steps and creates the path that turns into the cursive loops, sometimes it creates a linear loop.

Gravity becoming less and less, falling awake. Even while I drifted, falling awake.

Fighting my sleep long enough for the sunlight to comb over the area I was in. Swept away from my sleepiness, and into the wonder by the traveling sun rays. Lucky and naïve but these moments are what help us believe.

The mist fluctuated, curving as my steps did. Each small piece of the mist began reflecting the particles of light, giving a disco ball effect to each piece of the mist. Along with that effect came the blue radiation.

Standing still within the now, I miss the forwardness from back then. The fleeting but infinite sits in between the spaces of the raindrops, splitting interpretation into sets. I miss the forwardness from back then.

The planet’s orbit curved to the tempo of the solar system’s compass, sometimes the curve was sharp enough to create a reflection.

Atlas felt the comb of the sunlight’s eyelashes. The spark of wonder sat still with the infinite between the spaces of the raindrops. Wonder reflects off of forever and lights the lineage and trajectory of thought.

Lucky and naïve but these moments are what help us believe.

Setting out, setting out

The potential that sits within each moment eventually becomes forever, just as the future will eventually become the now, but the further we go the more the perception of what now is melts.

The future will always become the now but there will always be a future until we find the “infinite moment.”

 

v_esc= √(2gm/r)

 


 

 

Poetry written by Arron Leland
I’ll try to catch the part of me that is falling. Until then I’ll try to learn how use my wings from the butterflies that hand me the phone when you’re calling. – Arron Leland

Atlas and the Original Blindness/Navigating the Surface

Down the rabbit hole, and further into the idea of the muse we go.

 

 


 

 

The speed at which,

Look out the window for Schrödinger’s cat and the heavens shift.

Lucky and naïve but these moments are what help us believe.

The blue radiation melds with the expanding spaces, the potential within each moment expands the floors even faster. The arrival of the original blindness lets me use only my heart to see.

No matter where my journey takes me bits of blue radiation will surround some points on the map. Trails of light, and campfires sit in places where we tried to understand the loss of sight.

The land spaces on the map were curved and rigid in many different places like the letters of the language I use. The poetry of the earth is written in lava and mud and eventually cooled into the lands we know of today. In cursive I loop my way through these lands curving each step to the tempo of my heart.

Sun rays comb different sides of the planet as the solar system tilts like a compass.

My own consciousness greatly resembling,

My own heart greatly resembling

The horizon’s eyelashes comb different sides of the planet as the solar system tilts like a compass.

Make sure to watch the time throughout our journeys many nights go by but when I’m with you it seems like the sky has only blinked twice.

I try to hold up my eyes after the heavens shift to watch the night sky. Atlas keeps the horizon’s eye open, letting us see through the sky’s lens. Atlas held up the sky just as I tried to hold up my eyes to let my imagination flow a little longer. The longer I tried to stay awake the more my imagination took over.  As I looked out to the sky’s lens that Atlas held open my dreams looked out the window of my eye from deep inside my heart.

I thought about the countless formations into which the chimes could be arranged and the countless formations into which the raindrops could fall, and the countless formations my thoughts sometimes take.

The curve of the continuum found its way into the tempo. The ink rain found its way onto the map. The ink slowly covers the pictures of the land on the map just as concepts overlay letters to give them meaning.

Look out the window for Schrödinger’s cat and the heavens shift.

A feeling that captures the moment, radiation and ink began to float outside of the context.

Dark spots in my vision began to swallow my sight entirely.

 

 


 

 

Poetry written by Arron Leland
I’ll try to catch the part of me that is falling. Until then I’ll try to learn how use my wings from the butterflies that hand me the phone when you’re calling. – Arron Leland

Windows and Mirrors

Here’s another poem elaborating on the concept of the thought experiment, as to how it directly ties into what thought experiments are well, I’ll let you put that part together. It’s also somewhat of a continuation of the last poem, hope you like it.


Let the idea branch out, Rubik’s cube floors and tiles of all types. Squinting eyes and reaching out, just beyond that reflection is another reflection.


 

A few blinks later.

I can feel the weight of what’s outside of my perception.

Mirrors sets, glass skies, and marble waters

Sets of infinities reflecting each other.

Back and forth, with the wind and on a whim.

 

My shoe soles and the surface.

My eyes and your eyes.

With infinity behind each of our eyes, every moment in front of us becomes a piece of forever. I can still feel the weight of what’s outside of my perception.

The snow had melted and evaporated at this point. The moisture in the air let me know it had only changed forms. Watch your step, stairs or levels of square plains. The stairs were made of windows. Ironically, they were too clean for me to know if they were open or closed. On the fourth plain in the middle of the floor there was an edge.

Within and outside of my perception.

My shoe soles and the surface.

My eyes and your eyes.

Back and forth, with the wind and on a whim.

 

I sent my eyes on ahead to take a look at our tomorrows. My eyes came back after going forth, only to see that our tomorrows are a piece of the infinities that our perception barrows. Our reflection within that will help us see a little further ahead each time we look forward.

 


 

Poetry written by Arron Leland
I’ll try to catch the part of me that is falling. Until then I’ll try to learn how use my wings from the butterflies that hand me the phone when you’re calling. – Arron Leland

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