Keys for the children,
door for the adults
Keys to our wonder.
I wonder what they unlock.
Keys to open splendour.
I wonder if we could.
One red key.
Two yellow keys.
Three blue keys.
These keys might unlock thunder.
I wonder if we should.
Blue key and yellow key,
Yellow key and red key,
Red key and blue key,
Here we stagger, astonished by our blunder,
for we have squandered all our stock.
|The Skating Minister by Henry Raeburn|
to transformation seems to be
experience experienced in the process.
Where is caught experience?
Where it is transforming.
Inhering potential is received as change and change is received as an inheritance. Our wealth is of an inherent probability weighted toward change.
Thought process itself will be subject to process.
I have built a grilled fish as if it were an abstracting machine.
But I have not built the fish.
I have burnt fish on occasion.
The abstracting machine is also a tasting machine.
Here in my mouth it goes to work.
Transformation is indeed tasty but when I bite down on the key I break my tooth.
As a concession to mind
we make art.
A falling through action allows that we may show that which must also be seen through.
In sight of this concession the vertigo decelerates to a mere hovering.
One holds up a symbol, it seems robust, almost solid, and yet it is designed to be looked through. A lens does distort the view, even as it enables it.
We make and making will be.
We will be including art, play, pathway and the lunch in our making.
We make as a concession to the nature of mind.
Mind is constructed of elemental forces, forces are construed of almost nothing, and yet this elemental quality has material requirements. Materials require form to give form. We come as gift.
Coming into our inheritance, the shell opens to reveal coiled levels of rest and each level behaves as if entirely permeable to the other even though, when we step back from this treasure, these consensual nests return to an impenetrable aspect.
There is no exclusion, there is only articulation.
The apparatus of consciousness is narrative. (One seeks inside the shell not by skewer but by story.)
Narrative brings awareness closer.
In the play of pattern and seeking sequence consciousness functions so as to shape and ascertain its own double edge.
Such concessionary play is carving order of the real and cutting its own reality as a key to unlock this conundrum. Clavis cleaving, being close to and opening.
Conundrum, a word of unknown origin.
The drum of consciousness, the beaten timing of narrative, rung rhythm of awareness. This need never be stopped as understanding; always there is the lure of standing under the fount.
To pattern further
and to make far the patterns.
So is subjective communication acting on a pivot of the possible.
Therefore we ask in order to recognise a pattern. There, foregrounded as connection, we note a pattern.
Patterns are always only ever possible. Stars do not really create these figures. The seasons only seem to pass in a predictable progression. The archetypes have no voice, and yet they speak through a palette we have donated.
By the craft of “as if” and the subtle pass of “seeming so”, in the cauldron (and colander) of our perception, the possibility of an object is articulated as its own diminishing.
It, the as if and seeming so, appear and at once begin to recede in deference to the subjective.
Arising seductive patterns, an adaptation of the diminished object.
A further pattern of possibility has caused the key to vanish.
A phase transition.
Why do we want a phase transition?
How is it that we seek the further pattern?
The stars above the stars are calling.
An object-less subjectivity creates an event.
A moment within the sieve of perception;
a subjective temporal event within the perceived.
A pattern now.
A blossom, and in these petals trace pollen’s fecund telling.
of each word has a map of energetic point cascading over its form.
of each face
is a terrain of energetic connection cast out among cadent networks.
Clash and mesh of expression
in each letter written on network;
the word whittled into mesh, falling ever through the net yet linked
so as to never fall utterly.
The dust is still the net.
The microscopic is full of scampering energy, the curlicue and shaving of letters. The loose broken bits, the crumbs of expression, all this still charged with a breath of expression.
Each connection of each word
of each expression, a cadenza.
The soloist is held coherently. They are held in coherence by the breath of another.
One does not seek to banish another breath and imagine that this will allow your solo to be heard or your beauty more justly recognized. If one banishes another breather their breathless absence becomes the acceleration of your own fall.
Sometimes the sound of a falling solo is exhilarating, the
onomatopoeia which provides
an omniscient delusion
and this can delight
until hitting the ground
But such is typical of the flagrant misuse of a musical metaphor.
ordering shape and other awareness of this
locked into point of other time.
This is locked. Ours is a hope for upmining. Upmining is also known as breathing.
This bound moment is unlocked, a mass weighted and yet received. Weight also may be an unlocked moment
The lock and the unlocked in time are neither a lock nor ever unlocked.
There is the found ocean below us, ringwoodite, resonating evidence that water came from within…
Sweetmeat, our inner ocean is literal and a speaking of the psyche and so so the planet is a cake of fire / water / earth / air.
in a rainy town.
Thus – Thought will erase itself in event – Pattern.
The liquidity of thought will erode or otherwise attack any concrete expression. Through the dumping ground of brain and mineral heart this fluid, disallowed from common or open flow, is a leachate in which magnificent and terrible residues are dissolved, to be then deposited in the elsewhere of our attempted communication. If you cannot bring yourself to God then at least be wary of all other substitutes.
There is an injustice in having to be in one place at one time. One suspects that we are creatures destined to be multiple and connected; all points, all places. It is discovered that a window in a gothic cathedral can be described as “not a hole in a wall but the abolition of the wall.”
The concierge says that the key is functioning perfectly. Perhaps it is the door that is causing you problems?