Archive | June 2012

Levels Of Magnification

“A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.” ~Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

It seems to me, at times, that people go around like drones and sometimes I like to pretend I am an alien researcher, stationed at Earth Planet gathering information on the holodeck (yes, holodeck, for often I have trouble convinced by my eyes as they are limited and handicapped and tend to hallucinate strange indoctrinations installed by too much time among the civilized and its bureaucracies and categorizations. And demand of identification-may-I-see-your-papers-please? No, it does not, but as long as we are pretending let us run with it, whaddaya say, eh?). Sometimes, when my mind is set to receive I hear/see snippets of their lives, they occur like intrinsic conversations, save it is not me speaking. Reading people can be interesting. It can be easy, as a matter of taking notice. This man wears a gold band round his middle finger on his left hand: he is married. That she is absent conjures many questions only he holds the answer. The bag on his shoulder holds a bible, a folder and some stapled papers, and a highlighter. He is probably a priest at some local church. More questions. The salad and healthy drink says that he is minding his weight or dieting (as his body is not muscular or lean, we can rule out that he a food connoisseur of sorts or that he is a health nut. He was probably once fatter—his arms are a bit flabby—or perhaps he does not want to become fat). The lines and sag of his face says that he is 45-50 years old. Has he been a priest long? His manner is odd; I cannot quite place the word that describes his peculiar movements. The way he lays out his food, picks up his fork, fixes his chair, reaches for his drink, something, but I’m not sure. Is he angry? Is he upset? Is he burdened? Did he have to come up quickly with a sermon to replace someone else? Is there something on his mind that his sermon cleverly (maybe passive-aggressively) covers?

“All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.” ~Alfred Lord Tennyson

Sometimes, the snippets—so like Dreamtime or daydreaming or time travelling—reveal the answers or just how a moment was prior to or after this moment. How could that be true? If I see a leaf on a tree and the fractal does not end at its tip (for at what point does the fractal terminate? Where, pray tell, does the fractal end and the air (space) begin? At what level of magnification are the ‘two’ divided? When does the wave stop waving?) when does this moment end and the other begin? When does his existence divide mine? When does knowing begin and end? Where is the line that severs space and time and precludes seeing? If we exist, then walls and the illusion of distance do not separate our lives. Consequently, he is an ‘open book’. Are not all of us in some way? Are we not unlike the leaves of the tree? If one alters the level of magnification, one’s mind can peer into the aftermoment like looking through a portal. Doubtful? Perhaps; consider this: waveforms do not end (lest you take this for an absolute statement, I tell you it is not), so then neither does experience.

“All experience is an arch, to build upon.” ~Henry B. Adams

“Every moment is an experience.” ~Jake Roberts

Experience continues as long as light travels (and light is but a waveform). If I can see the light, that moment is Dreamtime; I can “hear” snippets of any experience. It is simply a matter of tuning in to the right frequency, no? Why is it easy to accept the radio or television, yet not the idea of Dreamtime?

What do you think the brain is?

“Experience comprises illusions lost, rather than wisdom gained.” ~Joseph Roux

Looking Up Peers Infinite

“When we look up, it widens our horizons.  We see what a little speck we are in the universe, so insignificant, and we all take ourselves so seriously, but in the sky, there are no boundaries.  No differences of caste or religion or race.”  ~Julia Gregson


“It is better to have your head in the clouds, and know where you are… than to breathe the clearer atmosphere below them, and think that you are in paradise.” ~Henry David Thoreau


“The sky broke like an egg into full sunset and the water caught fire.”  ~Pamela Hansford Johnson


“When scattered clouds are resting on the bosoms of hills, it seems as if one might climb into the heavenly region, earth being so intermixed with sky, and gradually transformed into it.”  ~Nathaniel Hawthorne


“Going around under an umbrella interferes with one’s looking up at the sky.” ~Jerzy Kosinksi


“A cloud does not know why it moves in just such a direction and at such a speed… It feels an impulsion… this is the place to go now.  But the sky knows the reasons and the patterns behind all clouds, and you will know, too, when you lift yourself high enough to see beyond horizons.” ~Richard Bach


“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”  ~John Lubbock


“Look at your feet.  You are standing in the sky.  When we think of the sky, we tend to look up, but the sky actually begins at the earth.”  ~Diane Ackerman


“Excuse me while I kiss the sky.” ~Jimi Hendrix


“Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature’s teachings.” ~William C. Bryant


“The sky is the daily bread of the eyes.”  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson


“When I do not walk in the clouds I walk as though I were lost.”  ~Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943, translated from Spanish by W.S. Merwin


“Thank God men cannot fly, and lay waste the sky as well as the earth.”  ~Henry David Thoreau


“How prone poor Humanity is to dam up the minutest remnants of its freedom, and build an artificial roof to prevent it looking up to the clear blue sky.” ~E.T.A. Hoffmann


“You must not blame me if I do talk to the clouds.”  ~Henry David Thoreau


“I never saw a man who looked with such a wistful eye upon that little tent of blue which prisoners call the sky.”  ~Oscar Wilde


“When you realize how perfect everything is you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky.” ~Buddha

A Slow Vibration

“. . .I just don’t fit in anywhere, man. I really don’t. I don’t agree with anything either, not even with what I just said, so I think you see the fucking problem here. I’m stranded without a fucking clue, . . .” ~Bill Hicks, Love All the People

You see, there are these whispers I “Hear” whenever I Read, See, Observe, Touch, and Taste (but not with the mouth) and it is these whispers that cause me unrest. For within these whispers are answers: deep, substantial answers to the so-called mysteries of the universe. I know that they are because I Sense it. I can Feel it (not in the way of emotion), because I Intuit them. I Know despite the handicap of my eyes which only sight in a limited form and can only detect but in one dimension. The whispers are mostly in the words (perhaps behind the idea of “read between the lines” and defined in the etymology of the concept “read.”) Reading has nothing to do with oration or rote. Quite contrariwise to the formal education (read: indoctrination/conditioning) compelled by schooling institutions. Quite contrariwise, indeed. Nevertheless, there are certainly whispers, you must have a right (not in the sense of righteousness or opposing wrongness) Mind to See and Hear. Reading is to peer into the depths of something or one, down beneath the grime (read: bullshite), the programming, the chimeras and flagaries, the faeries and faery tales, the illusions and delights; past the veil, and behind the curtain. Down the rabbit hole and around the corner. It is like trying to Comprehend the voice of a running stream, deciphering the layers of sounds, sensing the gurglings, gargles, and bubbles. A faint vibration given voice and the mind interprets. One can hear one’s true self in those frequencies. Do you See what I Hear?

“All matter is the same energy condensed to a slow vibration. everything that exists is simply energy molecules.”  ~Alan Watts

There are no recordings of this because it has no form, no outline, no name, no substance; more intangible than intangible can conjure. However, there are whispers and one cannot hear them (even if one is befitting) among the taint and torment of the Noise. I think people are availed all these Things because they make noise (for they all make noise in some way, and sound is but one kind of vibration, mind you). In the Noise, the real senses (Eye, Ear, Nose, Tongue, Skin. . . Mind) become deadened. And after generations, gone; as recessive as full-body fur. No longer needed genetically. Not when currency (in paper or plastic) suffices and provides. Providence becomes “the state” and god the television pulpit. A tragedy of epic proportions. On a generational level. Do you See what I Hear?

That be progress?! That enhanced and augmented vulnerability carefully veiled in noise?! With but a stroke of a computer key, the world returns to pre-industrial age. A stroke of a computer key? Computers are available by the billions, in the hands of anyone! With reaches into the jungle as easy as the suburban neighborhood. A vulnerability so open it boggles that mind that it is not infiltrated. That is until one comprehends the Whispers. You see, it is not knowledge that powers, but words. Knowledge, the accumulation of information, does not apply. It is irrelevant, the information. What is relevant is that information exists, in words; concepts captured, as in little pockets of in-form-ation. Trillions and trillions of bits of data, strung together in certain and specific structures, like a well-written story and whispered into the air. The perfect frequency. Everywhere, there is not space without it. But to Read the words rather than become influenced by them, altogether another notion. Reading destroys the lines of demarcation and difference. The famous “trippy” idea that all things are connected and are one is like saying that everything and one is the same, or of the same. Sameness does not imply similar. For ones are more like fractals and although at one level of magnification 1 looks like 2, at another magnification 1 and 2 are singular. My psychiatrist says to separate myself from certain occurrence, because to immerse myself into it is to render psychosis. She is correct. In other words, change the level of magnification, step back to get a look at the bigger picture, see more of the fractal, listen to the whispers. She knows more than I. But there is also more than words, they too whisper, behind that too is a deeper level. It is like mining, like quantum mechanics. The trick, as Feynman also said, is not to fall prey to acting the Fool.

“Consciousness peers out from a center which it cannot see–and that is the root of the matter.” ~Alan Watts, The Joyous Cosmology: Adventures in the Chemistry of Consciousness

The Fool laughs, yes, but the Fool (and his clown) can play mean jokes that deceive and lead slowly (tortuously slow) to despair and desperation. The Fool stops and stands at but one level of magnification and calls it god then worships for eternity, counting himself among the saved, heaven bound. He cannot Hear because he loves, wants, needs, desires and aches for the Noise. His master, his giver, his lover, his thoughts. He does not mock he ridicules and punishes. He does not point, he accuses. The Fool is doomed, but has much noise to prove he is free. Banners and neon lights and documents and pedigrees and signs and certifications and authorities and other such pomp and blather. He does not notice the pity because he is busy being pious. Do you See what I Hear?

I may have strayed too far from the Whispers (lest you See what I Hear, eh reader?) but that can be another day. There is time. There is always time. . .

“It is, and has been, and will forever be, this world of ours, a fucking joke. The real world lies beyond its veil, and the Artist, all Artists, have lifted that veil for themselves, and therefore for all, because we really are All One.” ~Bill Hicks, Love All the People

Do you See what I Hear. . .?