The Astral Movie House

What if right after your death you find yourself alone, in a one-seat movie theatre, where you arise as if abruptly woken up from a dream.

Your ideal self-image from your life’s memories is manifested, and you look and feel, by your own opinion, as the best you ever have.

An 70mm film projector flickers, and begins rolling a film onto a realistic-as-life screen directly in front of you. A classic black and gray circular countdown starts backwards from 10, in the clearest picture you’ve ever seen, anywhere.

The film begins. Your earliest memory in life plays out as the first scene. You are taken aback. Your emotions criss-cross and crash, and finally, you understand: ‘heaven,’ ‘hell,’ and ‘purgatory’ will all be experienced here, in this single-seat movie house. You’re free to get up and leave at anytime, but the thought never occurs to you.

It all comes back, a full recap of your now-past life. The best moments invoke laughter, tears of joy, leaving you feeling like a rejuvenated soul; while the worst ones trigger despair, regret, and unkempt anger, mostly directed at your past self. But not fear. Fear is for the living.

The movie ends, and as the credits roll, every name of all your loved ones, friends, family, co-workers, people you met just once, all scroll along. You are credited as the lead role, and the director.

There you are, alone in your own private astral cinema – lessons learned, emotions drained, and at peace with your past life – a catharsis unmatched.

There’s a red EXIT sign to the right. A force within you questions where it leads, and beckons you toward it.

You rise from your chair, and walk toward the EXIT sign. It leads you around a corner to a long, maroon-carpeted hallway ending with a single door. It’s an industrial dark gray, with a few scratches, and a worn black and gold PUSH sticker on it. You stop at the threshold, take a deep breath, push it open, and walk through.

You new first memory starts. – RSM

ENERGY Falls.

Even in the healthiest of realms, my energy has kinda sorta felt like it’s

iN and out of a dry spell.

thE day’s only just reached a bit past 12 and it’s getting less

raRe to feel only semi-present at best, just maybe almost halfway ‘there.’

gauGe nearing ‘E’ on my mental fuel tank, lights flickering, like the bulbs at Shawshank-

partY, work, home, chill, whatever I do-my mind’s highways are slowed by a delay in my brain synapses’ commute.

 

brainFog’s been the forecast, no choice but to try and push past the

windblAsts that veered off course my last 3 out of 5 tasks.

the depLeted memory/energy ranks pretty low, whether I feel great or plain negative,

it’s bipoLar country we’re in, where dry spells silence the once wet wells and the rivers

flow-in’, aS

                     E N E R G Y  F A L L S, the river below flows, with much more kept behind the Lithium Dam’s walls. – RSM

A Cool, Quiet Mind.

Stare it down,

like your destination is already the place that surrounds you.

Stare it down,

the farthest part of the road ahead that you’re walking down.

Step by painful step, carry on, and adversity will give in,

for you are the one who will triumph;

Adversity is just the means to your ends, the road taken toward tranquility.

Patience, restraint, a cool, quiet mind-

these will turn the very obstacles that block your way into weapons you wield at the wicked, and unworthy.

Stare it down – the path, as you walk – and see how fast it begs to get out of your way. – RSM

Mind, Body, Soul, Music.

Moving to the music being pumped into my ears is a second nature; only breathing comes before it.

Sitting on a bus, going somewhere and a half, my foot moves around like it’s conducting an orchestra of what’s coming through my headphones.

My fingers tap the sides of my phone,
Head nodding subtly to the rhythm;

It’s only when I ask myself “What is there to write about?” that I realize that the music has already taken me –

Sending 4 over 4s through my veins, bass and treble through my capillaries,

nervous system fully synced with my current bop’s beats per minute, and I respond accordingly –

even while typing this, my subconscious is a subwoofer, the way I move to the music without thinking; my crown chakra tunes in to the tune’s vibrations.

I almost miss my stop, and I hurry out the backdoor, but from my seat to pounding pavement, I haven’t missed a beat. – RSM

Tha Turntable Chakra

IMAGINE imagine IMAGINE imagine

music could be GENerated, music could be GENerated

just by your thoughts… you think something, and BAM – tones, tambourines, tom-toms and other auditory tools tell a story, put on a show – justlikethat.

What if it was so simple, a subconscious rhapsody – radiating, rambling, rumbling rhythmically, with every breath you take, every move you make;

– just a series of vibrations that emerge from your mind.

No other external instrument, no other pre-requisite – just a pure, beautiful sound, decorating time.

Like an aura, but audible, able to be heard by all within earshot.

What would yours sound like?

Not a very fair question, cuz honestly, wtf – I just thought of this, and you’re not prepared, how rude of me – I’ll go first:

the song that would play would vary from moment to moment, and would change with how my mood sways from day-to-day in a never-ending figure eight,

and would oft play something trippy, dance-able, funky.

Right now, first thing that came to mind was ‘Oh My God’ by A Tribe Called Quest, so I’ll just go with that.

When people say “that’s my jam!” or “issa vibe” in response to a song, think about it – it matches the tune in their mind’s eye.

Not a lot to imagine at this point, is there?

Your soul’s song is real. So turn it up – RSM

To The Young Woman With The Red Vespa:

I feel your pain.

You tried so hard, and it really was a shame.

The way you parked so fast, clipped off your helmet,

and grabbed everything from under your seat in under 5 seconds.

And when you took off running, I kinda knew the deal-

sprinting down the bike lane in wedges – shit was real.

I heard and saw the train that just came, opening it’s doors, going my opposite way-

and everyday, a straggler or two has to run for

the train heading downtown at 7:34-

She saw the grand silver snake hissing, about to head out,

she had parked her red Vespa 3 blocks away, but was still 2 blocks out.

She turned on the jets – hair and backpack bouncing around,

It was her for whom the train bells tolled, and as that infamous sound

rang, she became Usain Bolt in a jean jacket and bangs-

darting across the street with wreckless abandon,

she had to catch this train, no ‘buts,’ ‘ifs,’ or, ‘ands.’

“She’s so close!”, I was (secretly) cheering for her now,

watching to see if she caught her train as I walked down

the very same street she ran past, knowing that feeling so well-

trying to catch a train, hoping it doesn’t glide past.

She made it to the steps of the Metra Station platform,

halfway up, hustling, this is what she ran for,

I’m on the edge of my seat, but I’m actually walking, to the station’s other side,

crossing my fingers, hoping that she’ll make it,

And then the doors close.

I see it before she does, and as she rounds the last set of stairs, my heart sinks.

She stops running, and walks the rest of the way up – breathless, defeated, and probably late for work.

Half a flight of stairs and 10 feet of train platform is all that made the difference-

A fateful little stretch of distance is why the woman with the red vespa missed her train,

despite her unwavering persistence. -RSM

The Window to My Aisle.

She prefers the window seat,

10% for the view, 90 for the sleep,

I like the aisle, so when I need to get up, I’m free, plus more shoulder room for me.

Every time we fly one of us might get the seat we want, and of course,

the other gets the middle seat, that’s just the way these things work;

Don’t ask me why airlines like to do rows of seats in 2 sets of 3s each,

unless it’s a huge plane, flying far overseas.

Either way, no matter where we go,

One of us meets other in the middle, sometimes begrudgingly so,

On the way to somewhere nice; it’s just a little compromise,

We meet each other in the middle, one adventure at a time. – RSM