The Want's Needs

Different, this time.

I had grown to the size of the mountains, crouched down with river systems tickling the bottom of my feet and was generally in a pretty good mood, apart from the yearning.

Yearning is distance - from This to That. Distance implies difference - between This and That. Distance and difference can both be reduced into a a spiritual roux, that when ingested and eliminated lets us focus on what IS.

Knowing this, on one level, I was fine.

On another level, I just wanted to get high.

Really high.

Flipped the switch from rational to the space between not-rational and rational, a desert zone whose bereft-ness was perfectly suited to these times; when the animal yearning howled like a wolf, piercing the ear drums and bringing a razor sharp focus to the Want.

Knees popped as I pressed myself up to standing and breathed deep.

My vision was a sharp as my size was enlogated, and as I took two thunderous steps (which skewed geological data right down into Washington state where several plateless tremors were registered and puzzled over), I was hooked.

The want was there before me in sharded beauty. Sun had bested the clouds and was illuminating the water east to west, and the carpeted universe of life running through it took my breath away. The bigger creatures - only a couple here this morning - killer whales out for a foray - stood out, but the rest just formed a massive, seething underwater community - a net of life that could never be captured, or even cognized, but could be breathed and, well, I thought, smoked.

Four steps down to where the inlet narrowed, and I was ready to begin on the Want's needs. Clouds had come over the sun a bit, and I lost a bit of depth perspective (literally). Easily rectified - I reached up and plucked the sun between my first finger and thumb and brought it close to the surface of the water which allowed me to see everything.

I flicked the sun into a long arc back up onto it's perch, cracked my knuckles, and started to roll the inlet up into the largest fatty unimaginable. Brought it to my lips and inhaled and then

The desert flooded, the Want was sated, but the Want and the desert and all the gaps between this and that were flooded with life, but beyond life,

Everything, was flooded by

Everything

And I looked down and saw myself become a reverse tsumani, body becoming self becoming water; me becoming everything flooding everything, into and of the wild as

swoosh

one.

Between the Keys

Bflat triangle, that's what it feels like in my head before it makes it to my fingers, where it holds fairly true, but a little SOLIDER that what was upstairs.

As it should.

F/A - connected but a tetris left to right shape, not much translation and then down onto the keyboard.

C&/Bflat - like an isosceles triangle on its side, left to right almost like you can close your eyes and slide down the side and

plunk

In between the keys.

It's a little Rick Moranis-like to start, looking up at the towering ivy on both sides of me and then like some huge terrible beautiful Khumba icefall - the tower to the left comes down. But it's a shearing, not a tumbling, and though I can't see the finger I know it's there. Way up in the sky I can see the eyes, mostly closed in concentration or joy, but the rest of the form fades as it comes down to the ivories and then

I realize what's coming and I start to think quick. Real quick.

The mechanics are straightforward - pressure on the ivory or ebony, key comes down, counter-levers a hammer which hits a string which vibrates at a particular rate; particular enough to send compensatory or complimentary shivers up and down it's bloodline.

It's the timing of the mechanics that has me wondering here. I suspect that I'm close to the timeless place here - music does that doesn't it - connects the divine space with the subtle with the gross - but time is still an engineer in my fate, and I really wonder how long I have before the hammer literally falls.

The tower to my left - and I suspect a key over to my right aw well - is still moving downwards but I can see where it will hit bottom and I think STOP and to my surprise

it does.

Not exactly a full stop, but slowed significantly, enough to give me a fighting chance and I run down the length of the hammer cantilever and stare up at the hammer, which is almost imperceptibly pulling away from the string, distance greater now, and greater and farther and the tension -

The tension between the notes between the keys is almost unbearable. Gravity, telos, sex and magick as the chord teeters from its context over its future and looks at it dead on and then

It splits. Moving closer to the subtle now, visions are sprouting seedlings and seedlings upon seedlings into a full carpet of magentas and yellows - so many yellows - an impossible number of shades of yellows. And the cat in the box, keeping the isotope company and reminding me that

...in the gross /subtle world, the futures are splitting faster and faster, Mickey's buckets of water borne by broomstick faster and faster and more and more uncontrollable and now

The Vision of visions is putting its screen up behind it all; but its solidity is temporary, it particles and splits and tears (always in one piece though) forward and back until the visions are encompassed by the vision, everything is surrounded and underscored and now it's moved from a visual to a ...

feeling

and the Feeling is the ride of where the next notes will land. Odd, because these haven't landed yet, but before they can they must know where they're going

And the gravity is delicious, I AM the screen now, and the screen is an ocean powered by love, shimmered and shadowed by the little things as it moves towards the surface and breaks and when it breaks

Opalescent Moon! As bright and pure as imagination, shining over the strings and I am reminded that with the decision made the hammer is going to fall and fall it does but instead of sound it's just

vibration

and the stamping of the moon in my throat center and I'm

Back looking down at the keys, throat on fire with love and other layers, and now it's time

For the next chord.

Separation Papers

My concept of death has passed through many topical gates of inquiry; past the millstone of "why"; passed the emotional moors of nihilism, travelled to and from (or through) the barren yet exhausting existentialist wastelands. Got snowblind in those, almost lost my way, on the way to finding it.

So I've matured in my concept of death somewhat.

Now, when I look at it, and this is in the light of several deaths in my life - grandparents, friends, friends of friends - natural, premature, or otherwise - now when I look at it the closest feeling I can associate it with is a separation profound and unbreakable.

My sense is that those who have passed enter into an impersonal state, where they can 'see' or 'be' with family, friends, their past - but are not attached the way to it the way they were prior to death. That, plus an absolute barrier where communication - at least in the way we think of it - cannot take place. I believe that almost all rules in life can be broken, often need to be broken, but this one - here's a way to think of it - it does not seem relative. It seems absolute. The ultimate separation papers, from who you were to what you now are.

And the sense that it is not nearly as hard for those who have passed as it is for those who are left behind.

And that is the koan that I'm wrestling with right now on some level. As well as what happens in deep sleep, and the answer there that confirms awareness as non-corporeal.

I've seen through my spiritual travels and travails that happiness is wed to sadness; anger to joy; suffering to pleasure; in the world of not-two, they are two sides of the same coin.

What then, with this feeling, this vague abstract that paints death as profoundly one-sided?

Gods Inkwell (Alone, Together, Into the Sun)

The backdrop.

An existentialist, for whom all points back to the one as opposed to the One. Everything points back to self, and the bright lights of the intellect clearly articulate the borders, the end point. Anything beyond is not worthy of attention, could only be the result of an overactive imagination or the failure to see Reason.

The narcissist, who simply lays claim to the existentialist's illumination as another shimmering piece of chattel, more of the inventory that can be used in the supply and demand of their need's needs.

Picture it.

Endless black, God's inkwell. This time, from nothing, two - the Narcissist and the Existentialist, a mere speck but growing larger. They pass the vantage point and we have a clear view of the two in their bubble, looking through each other with indifference. Things change with light. Faint and diffused at first, silk mesh across the inkwell, blue ice to white heat
to saffron fire.

The Existentialist notices the heat first - the Narcissist his discomfort - as the mercury climbs. First boundary gone as the bubble contorts and dissolves as the sheet of fire grows beyond imagination.

Fear bursts the next boundary unconsciously, as they embrace in the face of the known-unknown. Narcissist's wings blaze around the Existentialist, and for one glorious, naked moment before conflagration, the final boundaries are transcended, four eyes become two eyes; and I-I swallows the sun whole.

Posted by shadechaser at 1:06 PM