I got too many balls in the air sometimes, because I get into a zone, briefly feeling synchronized with the Universe’s inspired creative energy, and I’ll keep putting balls in the air. But then the fatigue will creep in, and I’ll realize I need to let some of ‘em fall. So I do. I try to warn other folks affected, but I ain’t got but one me, and even though living on Earth in the human body is a prison of sorts, the Power of Lounge compels me to make the most of my time. Not in a productive ass mechanistic way of thinking, but in making sure my heart feels the warmth as much as possible, even during dark times. Especially during dark times. Thinking like this has earned me haters along the way, but I can’t be concerned with hate. This world we live in manufactures an abundance of haters, mostly because it don’t wanna love. I try my best to do the type of thinking that keeps my heart full of warmth, especially during dark times. But a warm heart is content, and the global economy is built in lack of contentedness, so the hate gets manufactures, and the fog gets in our brains, and we forget about our heart, and start feeling entitled to delusions. Anyways, I’m about to let a couple balls drop, and soak in the bathtub upstairs in some rosemary mint sea salts, and try to get my ass to bed super early, hopefully for the next five nights in a row, so I can start dreaming a little better again. And sometimes in order to get to where you’re synchronized with the Universe’s big bang essence and can put a whole bunch of balls in the air, like your little fleck of stardust version of planets floating around the sun, you gotta lay back and chill.
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