Leftover Nunaced Noodles in the Take-Out Box of Life

                 Now throughout the strings that dangle from my rather obtuse life, I contend like any Quantum Yo-Yo champion that at the tender age of 3, I was aware of alternate realities that surrounded my presence of being here in what is mostly interpreted as physical reality.   Though when I had that rude awakening of a few of the perspective cognitive thoughts that rattled by brain in the womb, from those pesky images in the neural pathways of spiritual guides, prompting me to remember their conversations, it was by and large a singularity that would dog me in later preoccupations with the present.
                It is they would say, an individual responsibility when choosing to take on the unrecognizable philosophical highroads, to gather what wits you had at any given moment and be aware that the initial contact wouldn't necessarily show up as instantaneous feedback.  Rather, they suggested, it might take years to make the connections on one or all of the linear projections that you would throw out into the Universe, at any given moment.  So that old standby quote that patience being a virtue or that change takes time, could alternately become a question of space inside those neural pathways.  
               In my case, when I wasn't trying too hard to throw the first stone while living in that glass home of my brain, those provocative conversations in the womb, or as constant barrages, until I suddenly awoke at three, it was misinterpreted as though I was intellectually challenged and the solution at the time for this malady I was exhibiting was to send me to a phonics regime.  It was then that I realized that keeping to myself was not a good thing, and that after I had been thru this phonic boot camp that I would abide by any social obligation or protocol to speak in no uncertain terms, what was considered complete sentences, rather than acting out my premonitions like some begotten charades interpretation.
              Alas, though I was now accepting some of my chosen responsibilities as a teacher, a guide or so "Help Me Jesus", a healer, it was obvious that those around me might of wished that they had waited until I had let my own cat out of the bag, seeing as how my predilection to converse at any given moment, was now, in only in it's infancy, driving them up the proverbial wall.
              I would take the opportunity at that point, to hone my embellishment skills so as to later help me in giving solace away in allegorical tales, from either my own personal experience with the outside world, or take something I had heard, and turn it into my own smatterings of understanding of the external world, so as to bear witness to these thoughts of alternate realities, or processes of thinking inside the take out box of lives.