God Bless the American Synapses
A Tarot Reading For A Neuron
I hear hammering off in the distance, in the rhythm of trotting home after a victory. Something is being built by hand, and the sound is resonating with an urgent frequency about an ending resurrecting an addition to life.
Sizzle… BOOM! Fizzle…
Oh, it was just fireworks…
No, wait. You hear that right?
It’s like the pervading hum of machines being carried by the wind.
It’s… Silence.
God, I can never get away from the noise. Even peace and nothingness have vibrations bouncing around all over the place.
Snap… POP! Crackle…
It’s a neuron firing.
What’s it trying to tell me?
That there are people in my country spending billions on flashy dynamite, while my family and neighbors are struggling to make it to the next billing cycle.
But these people next door, in particular, are throwing a wonderful party, a beautiful display! How can I be mad at them for showing off the thousands of dollars they literally lit on fire in front of my face while I get such a perfect view of patriotism? I should be grateful to be in such a rich country.
The local food pantry gave us enough meat to last the rest of the week, and I have just the right amount of ketchup and brown sugar to make BBQ sauce. Luckily, weed is legal and reasonably priced, so I made sure to have a couple of blunts for the night. The magic I plucked from the grove will reveal the fairy realm at the end of each tendril in a firework.
I’m not a drinker.
I’m blessed to live in such a free country.
SCREEEEEEEEEeeee! Plip…
Every day it’s lit.
I was able to harvest spinach from my garden this morning and eat it for breakfast.
My child is the epitome of beauty, health, intelligence, and love.
My husband and I are having problems, but I know that we will get through it and be sexier than ever.
I get to stay at home and figure out how to build a life upon the foundation of forgotten American dreams.
I have a car.
I just got a big Chinese bird tattooed on my thigh.
I’m pretty sure this is somewhere in the middle class.
This mid is lit.
Litty… LIT! Lizzle…
What am I to do with this information?
It seems as though I’m a beggar and a host of the party at once. Having the opportunity to independently distribute my wealth,
(with higher tithings than the Bible originally asked for as a fee called taxes,)
I have the shame of a victim and the guilt of a sinner.
It’s a privilege to be humble, in God we trust.
Psh… CRACK! Psh… CRACK! Pshhh…
I guess I oughta just keep moving on, and on, and on.
So far… being high on self-efficacy and having just the right amount of delusion to believe in a collective power, paired with a pinch of enlightenment to see inner suffering contributing to war… has given me an okay trip.
Seems like everybody but me is bursting the sky with loud, colorful lights, filling the valley with environmental hazards, reflecting back what must be billions of neurons synapsing in my body.
I get to wave my sparkler around like a magic wand and enjoy the dream for free, and I hope you can too.
Tarot Display
Six of Wands (Dendrites= Receptions)
There are rumors of war and of peace, and I read somewhere that there was an experiment conducted testing that the more financially successful a human is their empathy scores descend. That is the more power one has, the less they give a shit about the powerless. Can you blame them? It’s natural.
I can see it in my own life, I think about the work I had to do to get to this position of self-discipline, ascension, power. I had to sever ties with those who kept me down with their doubts and fears, poorness, powerlessness. I wouldn’t say that I am any less compassionate or sympathetic, and surely my problems even out the blessings. However, success in any form brings one to the next tier of awareness, and when you’re a little bit higher than the crowd you once stood with, you must move on for your spirits’ sake and hope for the best for those who didn’t make it.
The 6 of Wands hoots and hollers victorious cries, but the soldier returning home from the battlefield remains silent. When you hear the noise for exactly what it is, war and peace, you can’t just turn around and rule over the masses, you must go forth on your own star-spangled path and settle your personal affairs.
Six of Rings (Soma= Processing)
I can’t hate on those with more abundance when that is something I wish to have. I’d like to think that if I had the money I wouldn’t blow it away on bombs that pollute the air and scare animals and give flashbacks to veterans, but I can’t deny that it might be liberating to ignite one of the big ones that I rightfully earned and contribute to the celebration of being independent, without all the shame and guilt of being privileged enough to exploit the charity.
I’m as much of an American as the next guy. Just another person who’s ancestors traveled away from their roots to give the next generation a better chance at making the dream come alive, at the low cost of countless lives and their cultures. It wouldn’t be right to assume the lack of loss to those who seem to have more.
The 6 of Rings takes the sounds of the primordial drums and translates it as a beat to dance with. The biggest gift of all is to be yourself, as an example of truth and an influence of rhythm. Donate a portion of your energy to those around you so together we may revel in your natural glow.
Three of Wands (Axon Terminal= Response)
Well, it turns out we aren’t much different than fireworks. We are loud, obtrusive, traumatic and beautiful, useless yet impactful. We are made up of booming synapses destroying and creating meaning then celebrate the display of power with more of the same.
I guess I just have to accept that being here means that I have dominated and took control of more than just a few innocent, wandering ideas in my quest to colonize worth. Some neurons were left to die to reinvent new modes of transportation for certain messages to make it out alive.
The 3 of Wands is the finale, shooting colorful mistles one after the other at the glass ceiling of the American dream. Nothing shatters, and all that rains down are ashes from the cremains of illusions because, from now on, there’s no other barrier to put blame on, other than myself.
Stay flashy,
The Cosmic Joke
Happy 4th of July, ‘Merica!
Thanks for reading, if this lit any fireworks in your brain, let me know with a comment, like, or share! ✌️❤️🎆