Glowing Off the Deep End
I am now jumping in.
Wait a minute. Allow my eyes to adjust to the blinding light. Truth unveiled can be so annoying at times. But the fact that truth is "Being unveiled" leads to the next question, which is "to whom is being revealed?"
What I'm going to try to establish while down here is that the idea of Being in the absence of a knowing subject is absurd. Otherwise for whom and to whom is Being giving out all this blindingly radiant truth? Down here within the ground, the cosmos surely speaks. It is legible. And there is no Word without someone to hear it. Do you hear what I hear? For to hear the speech is to know (of) the speaker, the Speaker without whom there is not a word to be heard.
As Balthasar puts it, "it is essential that all being should have a relation to some self-consciousness." Furthermore, once the truth of father being becomes apParent, "a thousand consequences, a thousand insights, spring from it as from a seed. Once being has become evident, this evidence immediately harbors the promise of further truth; it is a door, an entrance, a key to the life of spirit."
What he is talking about, of course, is alignment with O. As we have mentioned before, this is not any linear or discursive process, i.e., from A to B to C. Rather, it is very much a "flowing out" or "boiling over" from the center outward.
Truly, when we are in the mode of O-->(n), we are mirroring the primordial activity of the Creator, through whom truth overflows from being like... like something that really overflows, big time. Seriously, it was this that I was trying to capture in the Cosmobliteration section of the Wholly Bobble, e.g.,
Here, prior to thought, by the headwaters of the eternal, the fountain of innocence, the mind shoreless vast and still, absolved & absorbed in what is always the case, face to face in a sacred space.
It's hard when you're not a poet, and yet, some form of noetry poetry is the only thing that will do -- to convey this idea of the truth perpetually flowing out of being, like Son from Father:
Only the blissful wave of the immortal now, rising forth from the effulgent sea of of existence. Inhere in here.... What it's like to be dead, the Vertical Church of Perpetual Slack.
Or this one:
All-embracing secret center of depth, the meaning of Within, the realization of Being, O first and last truth of Self, knowing without knowledge all that can be unKnown: existence to the end of the beginning.
Frankly, me always feels a little I-ambivalent about referencing mysoph, but at the same time, I often think that if I don't explain these things, no one will ever understand the point of that linguistic verticalaesthetic. I wasn't just trying to be "different" -- much less difficult! Perverse is still a kind of verse.
Back on our heads. The point is that truth is a kind of inexhaustible "opening" to being. You might even say that you can start with any truth, and follow it back upstream to its nonlocal source in the Spirit from whom all truth is derived and given its seal of authenticity. It is why we may not only know truth, but love and trust it, i.e., have faith in it.
Thus we understand how "truth implies total transparency and apprehensibility, on the one hand, yet eludes any attempt to nail it down in a definition, on the other." Which is also why to reduce truth to mechanical reason is to truly invert the cosmos; instead of O-->(n), it is simply (k)-->Ø. Do you see why that must be so? It is to mistake a tool for the house one is building.
Truth is indeed everywhere, and yet, must remain "veiled in its totality." If this were not the case, then the cosmos wouldn't be the blessedly irreducible mystery that it is -- it would be in effect saturated, which would also be a kind of hell, for the moment something is stripped of its mystery -- which is also its dignity, its "veil" of privacy -- it is also deprived of its essence, which is permanently inaccessible to the knower. Or, to be precise, it is accessible, but only in the form of the appearances that it freely gives to the knower.
The knower can no more exhaust this mystery than one could ever completely "know" a loved one; indeed, to love them is to appreciate and cherish their depthless mystery. Love dies when the other becomes saturated and demystified -- which is always either an act of aggression on the part of the lover, or some kind of interior death on the part of the beloved. Or, the lover can essentially be endeadened and incapable of appreciating the mystery of the other, a common problem for the narcissistic personality, who only relates "surface to surface," never depth to depth and essence to essence.
Love and mystery (not to mention, freedom) are thoroughly entangled -- as are truth and mystery, as we shall see shortly. Truth is initiation into the mystery of the other, not murder of the other in the name of "knowledge."
A life without mystery is a living death! For Life Itself is a perpetual mystery. To attempt to foreclose this mystery is a kind of ontological sin, which is the real damage done by the metaphysical Darwinists, who are foolish enough to think that science is advanced by removing its central mystery! This is like suggesting that processed dead European white bread is healthier than the Real Thing, which will always -- thank God! -- elude our scientistic abstractions. When a science claims to have corralled the truth, know that these illegal omsteaders have simply excised and demysticated a little corner of Being.
Ah, it is just so: "True knowledge thus manages to conjoin two seemingly contrary experiences: the experience of possessing, and surveying from above, the object of knowledge in the clarity of the intellect, and the experience of being flooded by something that overflows knowledge in the heart of knowledge itself, or, to put it another way, the awareness of participating in something that is infinitely greater in itself than what comes to light in its disclosure" (emphasis mine).
Ho! Do you see, little lambs? No body crosses the phoenix line lest it be repossessed and amortized. Some by fire, some by flood, but all buy the farm & bury the form.
Here again, this is the death that is life, the razoraction on this side of the scythe that gives the fulsome gnosis spoken of by the Master in Luke 11:52: Woe to you lawyers! For you have taken away the key of gnOsis. You did not enter in yourselves, and those who were entering in you hindered.
In the end, it comes back to the dialectical mystery of ♀ and ♂, of container and contained. For truth is what we contain, even while it contains us -- on pain of there being no truth at all. "Knowledge" happens when we allow ourselves to be determined by the object of study. And yet, a subject is not simply a mechanical imprint of the world. Rather, being comes to its fruition in an act of knowing its truth, just as this post is an echo in the void until it reaches its destination and finds its reason for being in the patiently waiting receptacle of the noggin on the other end.
God works the same way. We find fulfillment in the Word, even while the Word finds its fillfullment in the human heart.
Well, that's about it for today. Trust me, with any lux, it's going to get a lot weirder in the coming days, so you might want to quit while you're ahead.