Apr 9, 2010

"The Voice of the Architect"

Last night I received a text message, that while at the time I'm sure was sent tongue-in-cheek, the truth is it made me think.

I'll start from the beginning, because I think the background is important. If you've read this blog at all, you know all about my clairaudience, you'll know all about my crazy stalkers, and you'll know all about how I find a lot of people highly annoying. I won't get into any of that. My friend Kelly and I hang out quite often and always talk about dancing. I figured it'd be a good idea for us to go out on a Thursday night and have a little dance party. I had to make arrangements for her to be able to leave work around midnight. Every now and then I like to make dinner for the staff of the Twisted Spoke, because I know how gross it is to be forced to eat the same food every day. My friend Peter came over early, as did my friend Courtney, and we had dinner at my place. When we were done, I boiled fresh pasta - and packed dinner for the Spoke. Bread, salad, pasta, Italian sausage, fresh parmesan - it was rather good if I do say so myself. Basically, I did some good for my fellow man that night. There was the extra added bonus of going out with my girl and cutting a rug. The goal was to get us out of our usual hang and stop the cycle of madness. I used to go dancing every Thursday, and for some reason or other I stopped. No mas.

At 11:00 I left the Spoke to go home and shower and change. It wasn't a massive change, so 30 minutes later I was back in the saddle, at the Spoke. Dancing didn't begin until midnight, so we had time for a pre-cocktail before we changed venues. I walked in to find my girl sitting with someone I wasn't expecting, and quite frankly wasn't really fond of. I'd invited Peter, and she'd told me she invited someone, but I didn't think that someone was the person I was staring at. As I'm sitting there, I see through the windows of the bar - one of the people who I'd consider mildly stalkerish, and quite frankly creepy. We have names for these people, but at the risk of giving away who it was - I'll simply use the term "gimp".

I text my friend Alex, "God hates me. "Can't get a word in edgewise AND the gimp? Time to go."

Now the truth is, when I sent that text - I really didn't expect a reply at all. At the most I expected a smile of recognition the next time he'd walked past. However, as I was staring at my phone looking for a phone number, up popped a text. The message stuck with me the whole night. I danced and it rang in my head. I went home and it rang in my head. I went to sleep and dreamt about it. I woke up and it was still with me. I've been up for about 4 hours now and I still can't shake it.

Truth is like a memory. When you hear it you re-member. You come back together. Truth hits you and like some elixir, everything is suddenly made right.

"It's not karma, but you're definitely not listening to the voice of the architect."

Funny, that thought. Because it's the most truthful thing anyone has ever said to me, even if it was via a digital - wireless - text transmission. As someone who has actually heard that voice I can truly say that he was right. Not necessarily related at all to the events of the night. Whatever, I mean I was sitting between someone who can't shut up, and someone who makes me uncomfortable- like I've never been in that position before. It was a deeper message, even if it wasn't intended that way.

You are definitely not listening to the voice of the architect.

Now the part of this all that strikes me, way beyond the message that was delivered to me, was what I sent back. Without giving it any thought at all. Just typing in words into my phone I said something quite poignant about what has been happening to me.

"I listen to all voices at once. The voice of the architect is like a 10,000 part harmony. Hard to hear the truth over the music."

Usually when I send a text message, it's like having a conversation. I think before I text, and usually I filter before I send. This was not me typing. I mean it was but it wasn't coming from conscious thought. I was in a noisy bar, with creep on one side and motor mouth en la otra. There was a great movie that I've seen playing in front of me. My friends Kelly and Peter were pretty outrageously loud and drunk and flamboyant as always. But me? Where was I? I was not even in the room I was in. I was holding a phone in my hands but I was somewhere floating above the bar looking down on the room full of people and watching the most discordant music flow from their souls. As much fun and sadness, misery and joy that was going on in that room, I couldn't filter it. Why? Because the architect was sending me thoughts through someone. Because I was listening to the architect, only I couldn't hear - I was reading the architect. And suddenly, I was back on the bar stool trying to get the group going.

Sometimes, for no reason you can comprehend, you are re-minded - that is - your mind is given back to you. Sometimes you stand under the truth - and understand its meaning. Sometimes all it takes is one little nudge from the most random source to realign you to what your nature is.

The truth is that there are a lot of moments in life where the architect, as it were, talks to you through someone. Sometimes that someone is on TV, or their words ring true for you through text on paper, sometimes what you need to hear is delivered to you through a billboard on the side of a bus. It doesn't matter how the message is delivered, it only matters that the message was delivered. And for me, it was. The first ultimate truth in a long time.

Even weirder is that right before I got the message, I read another message on the wall of the ladies room. Someone had quoted Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn".

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty."

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