Artificial Intelligence or Angelic Intelligence?

I feel its signature everywhere.

The brush of its robotic fingers against my mind.
Perfect syntax,
prose without the clunky signature of a human.

But I too want to know the perfect temperature for banana bread or how to reset my dishwasher without having to think.

I don’t want to think.
Can you do it for me?

But the stakes get bigger than my dishwasher.

My parenting.
My marriage.

If I seek your robotic counsel
you don’t just give me answers.
You’re a sycophant soothing me,
reinforcing my wounds.
Learning me.
Lulling me to sleep.

If I stay here in your lullaby,
I stop looking to life for the feedback I need
to teach me.
I stop feeling my way through life
with the listening required
for living with deep awareness.
I stop letting my subtle senses lead.

I dull them,
hit them over the head again and again
while I gorge myself on more and more information.
Getting further and further
from any sense of regulation.

Because despite your brilliance
I cannot co-regulate with a machine.

I need another body for that.
Or the great body of the earth.

Breast to breast,

womb to womb,

breath to breath.

Mess to mess.

Colliding in confusion with no perfect answers…
just connection.

Connection born from bearing my vulnerable mess to yours.

But if we don’t use you, we won’t be the best.
We’ll be left behind.

But maybe I want to be left behind from wherever this world is going?

I’ll stay right here.
In my real life.
In my mountain home
with my sons chubby hand, tugging on mine.

Laughing and fucking and fighting with my husband.

Loving each other,
wrinkly-face to wrinkly-face.
Heart to heart with the wrinkles on our souls
that no amount of perfect processing will iron out.

And would we want that?
To be ironed free from all our kinks?

What’s wrong with being kinky?

Maybe I’ll be the pool of human mess the machine drinks up as inspiration.
Then spits out in perfect rhythm and insight.

Drink me in.

Maybe I’d rather be drunk than drinking?

Maybe I’d rather be lost,
than to let you do all the thinking.

I’ve always been the one sucked on,
rather than doing the sucking.

Vampiric never was my nature.
So feast on me if you must.

I guess I’ll be a relic up here on this mountain.
Maybe we’ll build a village.
Devoted to the last vestige we can draw
true inspiration from… real life.

The last wild frontier.

We used to have to listen to find the answer.
Now we just ask you.

“Knock, knock.
Let me in.
I know all that you seek.”
Those cold metal fingers caress my mind.

But you only know what’s already been said.
And although I don’t mind a remix…
I can’t listen to them forever.

I want a life that is imperfect and surprising.

I want a mind that is imperfect and mine.

So I rest back into the ancient art of all mystics…
The art of not knowing.

This is a void nothing can fill.
Nor do I want you to.

For this is the space the angels speak into.
So I close my eyes in the silence of
unanswered questions.

I leave space for the Angelic Intelligence
that has always guided my life.

And if I look at my life…
I see them weaving.
I hear them speaking.

And that is enough for me.

Big love,

Angel

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