Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Back in the Hermitage, making my move . . .

It's taken me a couple of days to recover from the aloneness I felt after wandering over, Sunday, to the St. Patrick's day parade. It smelled as though they had washed the streets in beer! Everyone was jolly and happy in the Sunny chill. I hear it's one of the largest - It took me a full two hours to walk against its grain.

Now, I'm back alone, calmer and happier. Considering next moves. I have no doubt about this moment in history, writ large, but I do have to accept that it's really only a moment in my own personal history. I get no more traction that I did 26 years ago with what I write. I guess it's what those sandwich board guys must have felt along the parade route. "For God so Loved the World . . . " I wonder if even the born-agains walk up and chat the Word with them, or if they are like that political guy on the corner whose eye you can't even catch?

You're not sure if he's bonkers, and his survival technique is all soap-box removed. The Jesus guys are earnest in their reachings out, but who really cares what they have to say? What would be the spark to make it new, other than something that happened, inwardly, to you?

It must be a game of odds. In any crowd, there must be those on the brink of awful revelation. You just want to be there in their face when it comes along, to provide the miracle of awakening. I think it must be a common enough occurrence. It must be how people get saved.

Like falling in love, whose odds can be improved by "going on" I wonder where the magic could be, though, when you force it along so. Likely, it was just watching people grabbing each others asses which made me so alone in the crowd. Evicted from that garden, as a superannuated Leonard Cohen might say. Does say.

(They told me on eHarmony that I could not be matched. So it's all just sour grapes from me!)

Here is what I'm certain of, enumerated for your simple and brief perusal:
  • That my conscious self is microcosm, near if not precisely identical in complexity to the entire physical unliving cosmos, and very dim in relation to the living one I'm embedded in.
  • That my own human brightness dims along with every disappeared species, when richness is lost and not, by evolutionary magic, restored in the direction all life has always moved.
  • That consciousness incorporates emotion as a sense of something actually real and not "just" subjective. Call it our sixth sense, a very small part of which is what we know as human feeling. 
  • That writing develops human consciousness, as much as it can mask and destroy that "sixth sense" which once actually did "know" God in person. Rigid Words present a false replacement for God, very like sex for love ironically enough. Earnest writing develops consciousness by binding minds together.
  • That a unitary God presented us, in history, with a direction toward systematic understanding, paradoxically both to banish direct sixth sense direct knowledge, and to approach conscious understanding, as demonstrated by mastery of our environment.
  • That this challenge to God is only as inevitable as our technological "advances", no more and no less. There might be infinitely many other possible stories, but, just like planet earth, this is the one we've got.
  • That technological advances have reached their absolute limit in their contribution toward expanded consciousness (it's the body aspsect of mind alone which gains strength, as virtual reality dims the mind for writing).
  • That there have been only a few signal transitions in our history on the planet, and that these few are the only genuine, so called, Paradigm Shifts.
  • First was the written word, with Christ and other spiritually awakened persons showing up early, at the crossroads out from dim story telling in contact with spiritual reality.
  • Next was the development of the printing press, and movable type in China and in the West. This dethroned the priests (well, at least that process got started), and signalled the start of narrative production as the main form of vulgar literature.
  • Finally, there has been an encounter with the elemental power of our understanding of the physical universe. We have only unleashed its destructive power, in the form of Atomic Bombs, and killer waste.
  • Part and parcel of this past century's bloody advancement has been the next phase of the Gutenberg expansion of consciousness - but this time it's vulgar publishing and not just reading that's been loosed upon the world.
  • Getting here has cost the gift of oil, life's legacy to Consciousness on Earth.
  • Nuclear fusion energy, which I guess is quite possible to harness, will spell our end in plastic Disney incarnation upon a man-formed planet, which our consciouness as microcosm can represent only by a single syllable.
  • Ommmmm
OK, so you've figured out that I'm not a big meditation as a way toward enlightenment freak. I've started down that road too, and like all talented people, it doesn't take that long to recognize a road to nowhere. I'm not a big Jesus-is-the-answer freak. I'm certainly not a big technology will explode shortly and solve all of our problems freak.

I am a freak, for sure. But Hello! Wake Up! It's not all about who has access to how to build a bomb. There is a next step to those equations, when we recognize - I think it is a simple recognition - that the boundary between our mind and what's "out there" is no more firm and solid than the one between species. It's fluid and evolving, always and only in the liminal regions. Along the boundaries. In the muck between ocean and land. Along the equator, up in the trees, on the slender surface of earth mixed with air.

In the mind, skating along the boundaries of sense, informed by what's been written, and by what's happening right here before me, womb with a view. I guess I'm about to turn it off, the view part into my womb. This medium here I'm typing on, shows films which talk back. I'm not sure when I've ever preferred the film version. It doesn't quicken right.

They can be ugly, these vulgar internet vids, like the ones, extremely well produced, which skewer Obama for not being enough different from Bush. Talk about back-handed compliments, as though the world could be turned on a dime, you complain when it hasn't been? Reminds me of the dreary life of a techie. Yes, we do have magic wands, but that's not how they work. The interactions are not even, in principle, understandable beyond a certain complexity. Gut instinct is as valuable as to RTFM. (Read the Fucking Manual).

I think right now, there are far too many words. Most of them, the Lonely Girl, searching for sponsorship by the Networks. I drown among them. It's not worth the effort. This game too has been rigged. Fuck you, you can't even read. Or won't.

(disclaimer - I'll probably be back tomorrow)

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