| Posted On: | 2006-10-01 23:22:43 |
Connected…what we live for?
The eyes of the angels in my life have more depth now that I have love. Only fools banish love to wonderland, only fools let lightness of heart become an ephemeral spell. Even in the treacherous enclaves I have wandered through, in the void, and in my self-deceptions there has been love. Wonderland is a fantastic place and wonderland is the wind, the spirit of freedom. But love is larger than freedom…I have been a fool for a long time now.
The unexpected adventures of spinning through space and time, the beautiful music, and the joy of dancing have set me free. To disintegrate from ego existence trance is required. It is only in the state of trance that an individual can forget her physiological being and connect with a more primordial way of knowing, before history books wrote up the world, let’s call it lunacy. Lunacy is fitting, the moon is magical and mysterious, and its knowledge is esoteric. Trance enlightens the spirit with lunacy, and when the body moves to the undulating rhythms of music (an auditory representation of the great fabric of Infinity and, inasmuch, an environment appropriate for teleportation) then the body becomes the music and auditory representations become manifested in physical form. The body becomes Infinity, the self becomes light as air and floats away (neither gone nor defeated) it meets Everything and makes love with all of creation.
Connected; that lingering sensation of calm and peace. A city made entirely of artists, an entire social order made up of dreams and afternoon discussions in fields filled with straw the color of honey. In this decentralized community, wandering home, discourse can’t be written because the language has no alphabet. And every conversation is wonderful gibberish that proves itself true by its very vocalization, and we are happily lost in the steady stream of consciousness ever expanding, a wave that never breaks. The mundane is animated; fairies dart through the forest and tickle the universe to reveal itself. I mix my mana with a white rock, blessed by a pendulum (one with such power that it guided two of my kin through the dark of an overcast night to a particular destiny, a very large and very wide, flat piece of tree trunk that would prove to be a companion in home making and thus love making) the rock begins to talk and tells me a story about grasshoppers. The story is a fable about god, about Eternity. The grasshopper is a fascinating organism, of course not more or less than any other, whose minutia in construction is a symbol for humility. Further, (always go further) with every shake of my body, my hair flying in my face from the tremendous fury of spiritual communion, a grasshopper trembles with me. Indeed we are connected by an energy that cannot discriminate between spirits; the absurdity is only an awareness of other-worldly positivism.
Connected…learning how to hug. To find oneself vulnerable in the arms of another, to speak without lips or voices, the quiet exchange of beings bringing each other into being, the mutual confirmation that we are because we love and without love there is truly nothing. It takes the other to know oneself, existence is ungraspable without the gaze of someone looking in and confirming that life is in fact happening now. A hug is confirmation of existence.
Connected, once again through a drive to create, we find ourselves in the consumption and recycling of inspiration, a never ending cycle, a balanced eco systems. Another trance, one in which we are obliged to meander slow and aimless, faith is exercised and we disintegrate the idea of purpose, replacing it with action for itself, for no reason at all; subconscious suggestions that can only be heard on the right plains of perception, in trance. The psychedelic experience has never been reliant on short cuts, (but short cuts, it should be noted, are not the paths of scoundrels but of shamans) trance can be achieved through meditation, a concentration of attention that leaves the mind simultaneously empty and full. Meditation is the liberation from conscious thought while tapping into the Everything that escapes the usual synaptic explanations for sensory information (even neural pathways have habits, we have all been made victims by chemical addictions at one point). There is nothing and thus there is everything; a riddle for logician-magicians.
Connected…exploring in the Dark, the other side of karma we publicly condemn but secretly engage, even if only in repressed thought, is the forgotten side of truth. Connected to a possibility that is charged by fear gives the spirit courage, and courage is a virtue of many gifts; one of which is the aforementioned faith that fuels telepathic creativity. And here we should perhaps stop and note an internal connection, a subconscious self-reflection from my current trance; the discovery that the Dark I manipulate plays its part in bringing me light and love was a destiny that I guided myself to, the boundaries between structure and agency when considering the ultimate Why of self are the driving forces behind surrealism. It is when we surrender to the surreal that we betray destiny, better to hang tableaus on my walls, beautiful reminders and beautiful representations of humanity’s fallibility, better to remember surrealism than to live it.
Connecting…debriefing trance, deconstructing the process of art and linking questions, and linking motivations, and linking whatever arbitrary rationalizations we adhere to, by a common essence whose representations, while many and mostly unrecognizable, allow us to construct from pure possibility a communal infinity in everyone of our (mostly fragmented) experiences. And the sovereignty to choose what we believe in is a truth that defeats itself by applying at least its own certainty into the question that unlocks 42, but is true nonetheless. Once again, a paradox is only one layer in the three dimensional fabric that is alive with a sea of motion and unlimited micro scoping potential, and thus eternal expansion. In metaphysical relativity a paradox is just a construction of an explanation, a choice made by the mind positioning itself for energy transfers.
(Riding out the sickness of excess and spontaneous joy on low dosage amphetamine inducing a dreamy insomnia, a lucid narcolepsy, that unburdens me from the memory of my travels softly…a slow dissolution, an amalgamation of imperceptible changes, a sweet fluidity that is evasive and soothing.)
