The violence of standing still. Inside a system, bound to one’s environment, it is possible to discover an optimal energy level to define matter. An optimal interaction of matter to proceed to simple and then complex structures or elements, to proceed to life, to complex organisms and then back again.These optimal states are echoed in the complex societies of complex organisms. Once such states are attained they offer up great scope for ambiguity… The mistake of a dominant and true paradigm ordering a complexity of interaction is the primary mistake and yet everyone senses that there is a dominant and true paradigm ordering a complexity unto completion. Such an over model cannot be accessed by under model and every higher model entered must by definition remain under the over model or the order within its experience will be made illusion and become disordered because it is lacking an overriding model. This is dysfunctional and this is also the demonstration of just how wide a width band certain optimal states are provided with. Indeed, dysfunction is also the noise of one optimal state skipping over into the next or another or into Death.Dysfunction needs to be made to feel more comfortable. It needs a reprieve, to be made to feel less alien when discovered side by side with adaptation. If not then the negative function of dysfunction, its ugly familiarity, will continue to perpetuate an ever more simplified progression of tragedy (soon to be barely indistinguishable from celebrity).There does remain a distinction between one order and organising. “What comes into appearance” writes Goethe “must segregate in order to appear.”

Duality is a graceful functioning of unity. Sensation, our senses, some curiosity and our communication – no matter how muffled or desperate – these are our feeble yet persistent needs that always stand at the start of organisation and our feeble organisation is but the gracing function of duality echoing that which cannot be echo, unity.

A great yearning brings the chase to a ravished and ravishing nothing. All the light you pursued becomes darkness on an impregnable path.

Delusion is now possible for a time, if time it is. Begat phantasm shall keep you company. If you demand satisfaction here it will fatefully curl into painful self-fulfilling prophecy. You may impale yourself on branches or flay your hide in the briar and then construe this as a victory of Self. Emptiness is opportunity to become bloated full with the visionary camouflage of envy lust hate and self-pity. It will all be underscored by self-pity for you are lost and in pain and this must be taken to prove something, to prove your self is full worthy and it was neither your fault nor your responsibility.

Alternatively emptiness may continue the chase, emptily. A kenotic no victory and no self hurrying to nowhere; this is the flamboyant subterfuge of creation.

To take responsibility without forgiveness is an equation for great anxiety. The great anxiety has certainly provided fuel for the chasing reactions, and one must be grateful for this. Our adrenalin has served. Up to this point, this sharp cutting point, the ravaged gestures of panic have served and now the trace has scribbled around a thick crown of thorn and no battle will overcome it. Angst and resisting indignation only deepens the hurt. If you struggle and insist on being a righteous identity to set an example for the world, so this increase of “you” becomes nothing. It is all wound. Can I not abandon that and let me play or at least medicate? It is all wound and this cut must flow and be nothing but flow, ceasing struggle, anxiety, identity, and thus dying. All flow is death. There, a discovery to be made over and over, a discovery that can be written about but understood only in experience: flow without source ceases. Every woeful cascade and each fountain of joy, one after the other they all pass. We often do not allow them to pass, splashing around in stagnant waters as if to simulate an ocean. Yet once they have all drained, and as each moment of turbulence subsides, there is one flow remaining. One remaining, one sustaining, one very deep current never to be disturbed by any petulant floundering; the yearning. It is an invitation to swim and an invitation to drown, both at once, and it will not invite nor can we ever refuse.

All failing and all becoming, all order and this black impasse; all is entrusted grace, the only possible ground. The ground is not ours.

One, the only ground that is trust, one is the ground that is not ours. Everything is in this field, God and of God, pasture even while we hang, ragged and knackered in some shitty scrubland by the side of the ring road, we are in God now. Imagine a secret liquor from an unknowable gland, heaven, and it has leaked into the cage. And once heaven touches the broken gestures of the caged, there can be no more cages.