If there is a perfection
of the hidden self
then self hidden is perfect
and that it is hidden must be part of this perfection.
For self to be self
which is to come to its perfection
self must yet be turned out into the world.
Wide Wanderer they call self, Wide-Traveller.
It is said that the self will re-shod your horse.
Leave it by the smithy overnight
just an appropriate gift.
Self to self giving.
Self to self given over
the wandering, turning self out
from the hidden to the open
road travelled to seek the activity of the perfect,
tattered paths of the simply sought.
The perfection of the hidden self
which is hidden therefore perfect
cannot yet attain perfection anywhere but in the open.
The wreckage of destabilised tribes.
Stones in the dell.
These stubborn dreams still trip us up.
The self in the world is ever an imperfection;
the back and forth vulnerable
Reflection is a division.
All light is divided all ways, in this manner is the spectra perceived.
Perception is an analysis of the reflection, a division further divided.
We daily partake of the infinite in this manner.
(( Neither is there a smallest part of what is small, but there is always a smaller (for it is impossible that what is should cease to be). Likewise there is always something larger than what is large.
— Anaxagoras ))
By reflection the world is infinitely and minutely and exquisitely constructed.
The construction is light infinitely reflected, light reflected from light.
Reflection is our manner of infinite perception.
Our infinite perception is entangled with many qualities of the spectra.
Matter is the mannerism of reflective perception, a spectrum of qualities.
In the spectrum of qualities consciousness is reflected.
Consciousness knots together reflection. Light multiplied by light.
The eternal, that which holds the infinite, is subject neither to division nor multiplication and therefore it is beyond perception.
The eternal is open to awareness via an infinite reflection. From what may such an incomprehensible force reflect? Its own light, which we the knotted reflection cannot perceive.
Primordial language generated as an awareness of incomprehension.
A sheer surface of mute return, this word as the first reflection.
Reflection, refraction, perception; first consciousness as a knot woven in an infinite drop.
A light which balls around itself; in this curling motion the finite is invented. Therefore by perceiving the falling the falling does not go on forever.
The curl is the first shape of creation.
The curl instantiates infinite light, invents its finitude, and insinuates eternity.
Every system awaits
Every madness nearby or buried might be nurtured and executed only in a specific system.
Everyone now stops and asks of madness: Who are you?
What are you?
Madness is a system that always wants to answer.
System is a madness which is always silent.
The system that awaits its own system; the systematic tools of interpretation, the ongoing methods of interruption, so a moment slows in order that it may be named oracle, or other, or wyrd.
In the slowness there is something attractive. A mechanism of the unreal glimmers, the shininess represents an existence becoming actual and tangible. The brakes on the system are a decoupling and splintering whose fragments each contain all of the system from which is split.
The transport speaks.
The signal sent into restless circulation.
A privilege of being a pedestrian is to be continually set within story time.
Two vans drive by in livery proclaiming: Freedom.
Immediately behind follows a van whose bold letters proclaim: Sanctuary.
Quickly then, a fourth van pulls alongside and its signage says: Cinderella.
Ah, El of the cinders, phoenix divinity; my mind and heart arise in consonance:
You shall go to the ball.
The harmony of the night will ring out through the world; the star of love shall resonate and re-shape all forms.
We take another step and another. A sign by the junction proclaims:
As a dog returns to its own vomit
so I return to the infinite.
As a dog will try to eat its dinner
several times over
so I am sure that there is taste in here
a food of goodness and divine savour
except the meat has fallen off the platter
this gross overspill of stuff
matter and the awkward rhyme of splatter.
So an infinity can be located in materiality.These innumerable grains of sand, the shy stand of number which will forever evade the count.
Infinite number as material presence must yet be held.
Infinity rests within that which can hold it.
Only the eternal might bracket and cup an infinite.
If such materiality which is infinitely going on is not held, even in miasma or mist, then such infinite matter as we apprehend
a bootstrapped reality pulled up by its own become.
Then it is nothing. Infinity is materiality encountered through nothing and that nothing through which the infinite falls is eternal.
Presence of nothingness, the infinite partakes thereof.
And infinitely that which is nothing shares its own lack of substance, materially and presently, and thus the eternal moves thought within the potent of here and this.
By material expression
awareness and substance
can be found as an infinite operation within the present tense.
The given, given even of nothing, becomes something. Something is now nested within its own fecund void, which is eternal.
The eternal is greater than the infinite, even as it may only be detected within the infinite movement of substance.
Here and this snares thought and perception. Awareness is entangled with the infinite materiality of finitude.
This entanglement is connection made via regard, such connection as modelled in the neural pathways. Entanglement evokes consciousness.
Consciousness is not necessarily made, not necessarily called forth, and consciousness does not necessarily pre-exist the regard by which it is noted. Even so, consciousness does appear to be necessary. It is the entangling agent.
The agency of the woven.
Confessed library dreamer
the earth is struck from above and below simultaneously. The shelves bulge as if a rubber mask suddenly and grossly inflated. Manuscripts and sheaves of paper and reports cascade upon us. As we burrow through this academic rubble we exchange further reports of our language clogged reverie, explaining in detail how, when dreaming of books, those books are always wanted. Books violently desired. Books hoarded and piled high and of impossible reach.
A fearful droom. The human resource department have a token system by which to reward good uniform, although no one outside of the department is aware of this.
An anxious dream. The head of department is collecting brightly coloured tokens in a very large bowl.
An overwrought fantasia. Students remove an entire bay of shelving, taking even the brackets off the wall, and begin to fill this disrupted space with their own artistic creations. The bowl of tokens is tipped over but the rebellious learners are brazen and casual about the anarchy thus far inspired.
An instructive musing on a series of concentric constrictions.
We dig a labyrinthine set of tunnels and pits and then watch it fill up with our own projections.
In this mesh of hallucination the first person is also the observer and the observer is also the observed. Those who disrupt are also I. Those who need space for great creations and all the contents of all the books, also I. Those determined to control and hoard, these also must be I.
Bureau is from burra, a shaggy cloth used for covering desks and tables. Bureau is the covered writing place; bureaucracy is to set in order by a covered form of writing. If a root is not rested upon then it will not be squashed, it will not become scratched nor in any manner disfigured.
The written surface is always disfigured.
Veils are pulled over an essentially uncontrollable situation. Once a fine collation of layers settle, then the layers may be controlled.
Language is immaterial and material simultaneously. Language is in the same moment layered and controlled, revealed and uncontrollable. Emptying and approaching; the gift I have hidden is the gift I also wish to reveal.
What is that
which the key unlocks?
Who calls the key to the text or is it the text that must come to the key.
Come word, come key, come co-mingle:
Some fumbling in the dark
but persevere, if this is key; perspire if need be, for something shall come tumbling out.
Isms, prisms, lenses…
Prisons… but let us say fences…
Sometimes the very same text acts here as liberation and there is a dowdy don’t know what demanding all hush up and sit down.
If we make a list let’s pretend it will be a ladder.
the consumer response to lack remains an ever retreating mirage.
Lack in awareness and lacking awareness of lack yet aware of something lacking in our awareness.
An entering into the weight of absence.
How is it that this universal force acts locally? And indeed, the universal force of this force is to create the local.
One cannot buy into this, nor spend one’s way out of it.
With this in mind, and absent from mind, to be absent of mind. […] For to absent mindedly go forth mindfully; the real work with lack is toward a positive consciousness of lack.
Even so, there was invented a form of cultural activity specifically set against a sense of lack, specifically formed as a boost to counter gravity.
It is rocket science; the view from space. The view to deliver weapons, to deliver television, and now it will deliver telepathy and utter transparency. To utter the word “transparent” is to be seen.
Emptiness and the lunar landings have become bonded to a promise of fullness and, if not exactly transcendence, let us a say a form of “over striding.”
Over striding fullness is the product we want and we want this so seriously that huge amounts may legitimately be spent in order to possess.
The coffers can be emptied in order to perfect the un-possession which is over striding fullness. The impossible product that would be sufficient to a life replete. The war and the sublimated war may be fought, balanced on that which is lacking.
Even so, lacking the balance, there is velocity. In the clash of speeding objects one finds a mummery of desire. Theory can fit this description as well as a handbag as well as the continent sized aquifer; all these wants brought about by lack of knowledge, by lack of grace, by thirst.
Even the wants become lacks, being lacking, the wanting of wants. Satisfy me always, so it said.
There is the running, the running into turns. The turns turning, and returns.
A paradoxical entering into lack that speaks of completion whilst never denying essential absence.
Absence at the level of essence does not automatically denote the absent essential.
The compulsive turning, returning, going toward, empting the hoard; this movement pulls a skein of presence. A web of holding even so we are falling
the local is insistently pulling
The ecstatic ecstasy is outside the ecstatic; this is inside. The ecstatic ecstasy is enstatic. Enstatic enstasy becomes ecstatic.
The skein is rope to pull us along and yet it is also the geese flying their V of communion, their communication of shared flight and purpose.
This is a question of consciousness.
The final, most difficult obstacle to transcending all thought & cognition is wanting to talk about transcending all thought & cognition.
This is a question of a question of consciousness; a consciousness of a question of a question of consciousness.
Oh, and dread:
A question of a consciousness of a question of a question of consciousness.
So what is
How do we position awareness and query; here?
Here, beyond the prospect of regressive tropes spiralling beyond sense.
A labyrinth. A broken labyrinth. An imagining of the broken labyrinth as a site of awareness.
How can we be here, beyond the prospect of regressive tropes spiraling beyond sense and evading all possibility of sensible awareness?
The spiral form regression may precisely cease in light of awareness rendered.
Insensible awareness ceases to be conscious of itself and ceasing to be conscious of itself it desists from question.
The spiral form regression may precisely cease in the fact of awareness. Ceasing in the spiral, awareness becomes insensible. The rendering light, both a material put down and a tearing from.
Hurrah! My time line is measurable.
I too have stood beneath sun and stared at stone. Eventually the stone stares back.
This is not a question of consciousness, this is a statement of the actionable.
My time line or my time punctum? In point, in flow.
“I suppose I’ll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies” – Lemony Snicket.