Sunday, October 22, 2006

Doors, Windows, Walls, and Bridges

“Oh Petey, the merciful the compassionate, throw us a freaking bone down here in 4D and reveal to us, the unworthy, who is the Beast With Two Tracks?”

Before getting into the answer--if Petey actually has one--please indulge me for a moment. Some of you original cosmonauts may recall that on perhaps three occasions over the past year, I’ve given thought to packing in the blog, only to continue my daily upword and inweird raids on the wild godhead.

There are probably a number of reasons why I haven’t stopped, but perhaps the most important one is that I cannot stop. This is not to confess that I am some kind of tortured soul, like Dr. Sanity or ShrinkWrapped, who are sadly addicted to blogging. For them, it is a day-day-day struggle with Internet Abuse--and let's be honest--probably outright Internet Dependence.

In my case, when I first started the blog, I naturally put pressure on myself to come up with something interesting to write about every day. But that soon grew wearisome, as I would be thinking about it all day. There is no way I could have continued working that way while still abiding in primordial Slack.

At some point along the line, I began the habit of waking up each morning no later than 5:00 AM, checking in with a few of my favorite blogs, waiting for my brain to come on line, and then writing whatever came to mind, with no prior thought or preparation.

In the past, I had never been a morning person. Quite the opposite. As soon as I felt like my brain was starting to fire on all neuro-cylinders, it was time for bed.

But now--here’s the interesting part--if I don’t drag myself out of the rack at 5:00, my post starts writing itself. Various unbidden phrases, sentences, and paragraphs start flowing into my head, and if I don’t catch them right away, they just disappear into the ether, never to be heard from again--lonely little thoughts without a thinker, blowing about the cosmos in search of a home. Reminds me of a line from a typically immortal performance by someone who routinely achieved aesthetic perfection and therefore proved the existence of God time and again:

Wind that speaks to the leaves
Telling stories that no one believes...

The thoughts pass through my head, out the window and into my back yard, where they brush against the leaves, perhaps goosing a bird brain and coming out as a surprised CHIRP CHIRP before they scuttle down the street and over the subjective horizon.

Sky, so vast is the sky,
With far away clouds just wandering by,
Where do they go?
Oh I don’t know, don’t know...

I was up too late last night chatting away with my son's fairly liberal godmother (a scandalously tantalizing subject for a future post), but my third eye nevertheless opened at 5:00, when I heard the term “destiny drive.” Then “object of destiny.” Then “successfully amounting to nothing.” Then “your timeless true self is extended in the temporal world in the form of your destiny.” Then “time is what you require to make the journey from God to God.” Then “the soul is all that it knows, but in order for it to know what it knows, it must first unknow what it thinks it knows.” And so on.

So here I am, trying to pull it all together in the form of a post.

Let’s start with the idea that human beings, in that they are in the image of the Creator, represent the unsurpassable summit of nature. To cite a mundane example, take the most beautiful woman in the world. In fact, there is no such thing, because there are too many of them, and perfection cannot surpass itself. A beauty that could endlessly surpass itself would be absurd, and would drain beauty of its transcendent meaning.

We only recognize beauty because we know it absolutely, and are able to judge relative approximations of it in light of that absolute standard. Thus--you will forgive the crass example--there are countless “tens” in the world, but there are no “elevens.” Nor will there ever be any elevens, despite the genetic experiments being conducted as part of the Victoria’s Secret Genome Project. I can assure you that those bizarre attempts to create an even more perfect beauty will only result in hideously malformed monsters. No surgery done by the hand of man will ever make Paris Hilton prettier, but her life will continue to make her uglier and uglier.

I am reminded of another song, this one by the Shocking Blue:

Goddess on a mountain top
Burning like a silver flame
The summit of Beauty and love
And Venus was her name

Her weapon were her crystal eyes
Making every man mad
Black as the dark night she was
Got what no-one else had
Waaaaaaaaa!
She’s got it! Yeah baby, she’s got it.

In fact, for reasons that are metaphysically obvious but artistically forgiveable, Father Roy cannot possibly be correct in affirming,

Pretty woman
I don't believe you, you're not the truth.
No one could look as good as you.
Mercy!

For beauty is truth, as we know with regard to art. A great work of art is perfect, and no work of perfection can exceed any other. There is a limit, a summit, an absolute, which is one of the reasons we know that God exists. Likewise, there is a limit to truth. Truth is true, and cannot surpass itself. It can only move away from itself, which is proved every day by the leftist deconstructionists in our midst. Waaaaaaa!

Now the cosmos, in its own way, is perfect--especially before you humans arrived and began messing things up. As Terence McKenna once remarked between holycinations, “this was a nice neighborhood until the monkeys got out of control.” Paradoxically, the beast that is supposedly the summit of nature is also the most imperfect sumbitch in all of creation, for there is nothing quite so imperfect as fallen man. What gives?

Our unknown friend says that “The ‘good news’ of religion is that the world is not a closed circle, that it is not an eternal prison, that it has an exit and an entrance.... ‘Perdition’ is to be caught up in the eternal circulation of the world of the closed circle... [whereas] ‘salvation’ is life in the world of the open circle, or spiral, where there is both exit and entrance.” Mercy!

What sets man apart from everything else in creation is that he is the very doorway up and out of the cosmos, into the Divine Mind. But at the same time, he is a doorway down and out of himself, and is the only beast that can actually be lower than the beasts if he fails to transcend himself. Thus, humans are the Beast with Two Tracks, and we all must choose which fork in the cosmic road we will take. But only every moment of our existence. For each moment of time represents that existential fork where our will is free to move closer to our destiny and become what we already are, or remain as we are and therefore never become who we are really meant to be.

In ether worlds, only human beings may approach perfection by transforming themselves from the potential of the image to the actuality of the likeness. We are the only thing in existence that can do that, i.e., become what we are and achieve a destiny that both is and is not yet. Our life is nothing less than a pilgrimage toward our own destiny, but we are only free to embark on that pilgrimage in an open society oriented toward its own nonlocal telos. In short, most human beings for most of history have been prevented from even taking the first step of this journey because of the sick societies they were born into.

Perhaps even more tragic are those who are lucky enough to have been granted the boon of a human life in the contemporary west, only to revolt against their freedom by plunging themselves into the trivolous and frivial, worse yet, the sickular and the laughtist.

Well, I’m starting to run out of gas. Having stayed up too late last night, my river can’t quite find the sea this morning. I’m feeling a tad walled in by the cosmos. Tomorrow I will further elaborate on the nature of our Destiny Drive, and how it relates to cleaning your windows, opening the door, and crossing the bridge. Assuming my unknown thoughts are there to think me in the morning.

*pronounced “Jin-gee”

Don't you know, Dindi,*
I'd be running and searching for you
Like a river that can't find the sea,
That would be me
without you, my Dindi

22 Comments:

Blogger Lisa said...

I hope mine is an automatic because I am not so good with a stick shift! I bet Fergus will agree!

10/22/2006 08:57:00 AM  
Anonymous Chad Wooters said...

As someone who has only just started reading your blog, I would be very sad if you were to stop now. It makes me smile and think at the same time. And there are very few things that can do that!

10/22/2006 09:10:00 AM  
Anonymous jwm said...

O th'hell-OH

moor of this Venus punnishment

I a go

green eyed monsters everywhere!


JWM

10/22/2006 09:28:00 AM  
Anonymous will said...

>>Now the cosmos, in its own way, is perfect--especially before the humans arrived and began messing things up<<

Well, that is for sure. And yet - I think the imperfection, as long as being "reasonably imperfect", always enhances the beauty. Personally, I think a few lines on a woman's face brings out a sheer beauty that surpasses her unitary youthful sheen by about a parsec.

Or the play, Hamlet. In many ways, it's a big lummox of a work, lopsided and rambling in parts, yet somehow the imperfections draw even more attention to, indeed, highlight the work's genius and beauty.

Or the saint Padre Pio - no one more than he knew that when we pass from this world, we enter another, eternally glorious world. Yet when his trusted friends died, he wept, heartbroken. An emotional "imperfection", yes, but therein's the beauty of this world.

10/22/2006 09:45:00 AM  
Anonymous fergus the cat said...

Lisa, I totally agree.

Now, time for my Pilates.

(stretching)

10/22/2006 09:48:00 AM  
Anonymous fergus the cat said...

>>if I don’t catch them (thoughts) right away, they just disappear into the ether, never to be heard from again . . . <<

I find them. I eat them. Tasty.

10/22/2006 09:53:00 AM  
Blogger Lisa said...

Joseph Pilates was inspiraled from both the cat and the baby!

10/22/2006 09:59:00 AM  
Anonymous fergus the cat said...

>>Joseph Pilates was inspiraled from both the cat and the baby!<<

Lisa, no doubt me and Tristan G. And we we win our lawsuit and the royalty checks start rolling in . . .

10/22/2006 10:12:00 AM  
Anonymous juliec said...

I must agree with you, Will. I've always thought that perfection, as most people conceive of it, must by definition be rather boring. I know of nobody who has a "perfect" life, body, or mind. Anyone haaving one or all of these things would have no need for self-improvement, and therefore no need to struggle, to strive for improvement or to explore the self. When people ask why there is suffering, why "God lets/ makes bad things happen," I can only shake my head becaus the answer seems obvious to me. If we were given utopia, a world without strife, without challenge, and essentially without free will, we would be about as interesting as sheep. Raised always in comfort and security, we might experience a mundane everyday sort of happiness, but without being tested we would never know the great joy of real success, nor the bitterness and heartbreak of failure.

Have you ever read a book about perfect people with perfect lives? I doubt it - if such a book were ever written, I suspect it would be the perfect cure for insomnia. It is our imperfections which make us interesting.

10/22/2006 10:34:00 AM  
Blogger Gagdad Bob said...

As the great old gospel standard says,

Now Lord don't move my mountain
But give me the strength to climb
And Lord, don't take away my stumbling blocks
But lead me all around...

10/22/2006 10:49:00 AM  
Anonymous will said...

Juliec - I suppose in a sense that the Multiplicity is an "imperfect" image of the One.

So, in a sense, the Creator/One-ness, through His self-sacrifice and self-victory (and love), made Himself "imperfect" so that we might exist.

10/22/2006 11:03:00 AM  
Blogger Gagdad Bob said...

The One became many that the many might become One.

Having said that, I believe my Minister of D.E. would agree that the Godhead, or God beyond being, is unaffected by the play.

10/22/2006 11:09:00 AM  
Anonymous Will said...

The Minister of DE agrees that the Godhead is, in the best, higest sense, coolly dispassionate.

10/22/2006 11:26:00 AM  
Anonymous Joan of Argghh! said...

Will:
Dispassionate? Or non-capricious? "In Him there is no shadow of turning" speaks of a dependability, an absolute that is even-handed and not given to whims or fickle humours.

I often think that religions that have too many gods are ones that project the vital man onto the Eternal Other, as though to bring heaven down to earth and make it easier to grasp. If a poor horizontal traveler feels a certain way, he selects an indulgence from the buffet of available deities.

But, I like to think He's the latter; non-capricious and dependable, and that could just be the "vital" part of me that hopes for an even playing field where someOne is at least rooting for me...

10/22/2006 12:44:00 PM  
Anonymous Will said...

>> . . . part of me that hopes for an even playing field where someOne is at least rooting for me<<

Ms. Argghh, I think you've got someOne above Who's rooting for you, even rooting around for you - that would be God. The "dispassionate", above the fray descriptions would be of the Godhead, the primal God Beyond Being. You know, God before He nade Himself God.

10/22/2006 02:50:00 PM  
Anonymous Joan of Argghh! said...

Will:
That's an aspect of Purity I hadn't considered, but can accept. The Truth that Is, supreme and outside of description. I shall have to allow the word, "dispassionate" to ameliorate in my mind; another bisecting line in my spiral journey.

:)

10/22/2006 04:30:00 PM  
Anonymous will said...

>>I shall have to allow the word, "dispassionate" to ameliorate in my mind . . .<<

I wouldn't let it ameliorate in there too long, it can get awfully dry and leathery.

Anyway, the "dispassion" of the Godhead has its human manifestation, so to speak, in the quality of divine detachment. "Detachment" in this sense doesn't mean "uninvolved" or "uninterested". In fact, I don't think one can really become involved unless one has some measure of divine detachment.

10/22/2006 04:48:00 PM  
Anonymous Biker Lady said...

Bob, gifts of the Spirit/God are for a purpose... your gifts are thinking, writing, and sharing with us or whoever enters this blog.
Sort of like that expanding circle that snaps back. After all, God's Word does not go into a void. It's alive and with us and thankfully, so are you.
So don't worry if the thinking doesn't turn out the way you want it to all the time.
We're here, waiting.
Just knowing you are there is so restful.
Since you are one with Him and He with you we are resting in The Lord. We are joyful.
Sometimes my thoughts get scattered when I try to get something across but this was meant as encouragement.
Have courage Bob, all things are possible with God.
Here's a good way to live.
"In this world you shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer: I (Jesus) have overcome the world" (John 16:33)

10/22/2006 05:35:00 PM  
Blogger PSGInfinity said...

"I've got nothin'."

Bob, that was amazing, on a par with Lileks. Your rhetorical noodling has more wisdom than most websites will generate in a fortnight, if not longer.

"It means he's more comfortable with your guesses than most people's facts."
Dr. McCoy, to Spock, ST4

Thanks for your time and energy. I know its helping me calm down and find a joyous center in my life, for which I'm greatfilled...

10/22/2006 09:12:00 PM  
Anonymous jwm said...

Whew! busy day. I shouldn't throw up a post with a head full of coffee and free association buzzing through my head like a fly in an empty room. When I read "Beast with two tracks" all I could think of was Iago's line from the first act of Othello "...making the beast with two backs" (ie having sex) And I pun like I juggle, which is to say I should leave that to the pro's.
Perfection. I think of ragtime on a player piano. Stick in the roll and the piano plays the rag perfectly- never misses a note, lingers too long on a passage, or varies its performance. It's perfect, yet perfectly lifeless. The same rag in the hands of a real musician is a different matter. He may never play the same piece exactly the same way twice. There will be countless little variations or "imperfections" in any performance of the same work. Yet it's those countless imperceptable imperfections that give music its soul. We can tap our foot to a song on a player piano. But without the human touch the song will never move us inside.

JWM

10/22/2006 10:03:00 PM  
Anonymous will said...

jwm -

I think yr music analogy is spot-on. Slow down a Back piece and you hear hundreds of little dissonances, but when up-tempo'd, the piece flows like a river.

10/23/2006 08:01:00 AM  
Anonymous Joan of Argghh! said...

"Don't you know, Dindi,*
I'd be running and searching for you
Like a river that can't find the sea,
That would be me
without you, my Dindi"

...I accidentally pushed the car radio button for the jazz station this morning (my fav!), when I was looking for a news station. This song was playing, and I'd never heard it before. Coincidence? or Cosmic appointment? Either way, nice song.

:)

10/23/2006 11:27:00 AM  

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