CONFOUNDED, THOUGH IMMORTAL...

"Nine times the space that measures day and night         
To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew, 
Lay vanquished, rowling in the fiery gulf, 
Confounded, though immortal..."

 

For many years, I have been very enamored with the idea that we are all each bits of Spirit that has splintered off and fallen into Matter.  To me such a hypothesis rings true.  For a lot of spiritual beliefs, there is this reigning dualistic thought that Matter is "evil" and Spirit is "good".  On one hand, I want to say that this is an oversimplification of what's really going on, but on the other, I know that the more that one speaks of the inexplicable, the farther away from Truth one strays.  It is what it is.  And so life is some amount of questioning with some amount of acceptance, some amount of judgment with a an equal measure of mercy, and some amount of certainty along with some amount of mystery.  This is what keeps life interesting... 

THAT'S ALL

     I like Adyashanti.  He is one of the many spiritual teachers and philosophers that I have had the pleasure of listening to throughout my last couple of years in which I have commuted to work (close to an hour's voyage one way).  I've gone back and forth as to how I feel about gurus who present themselves and their teachings so readily in the public eye, but this particular guy to me is one who, regardless, points the way and makes sense - at least most of the time.  I've picked this clip above particularly so you could listen to 44:00 and the experience he describes.  He recounts a happenstance in which he sees a kind of series of many different past lifetimes in which he could approach individually, notice a person in each scenario as who once was himself, and in each of these experiences there was a "core of spiritual confusion" which he was drawn to interact with - such as one in which "he" was in the process of drowning.  He would go to these points and to the "me" that was there and literally whisper words of clarification into his own ear ("You're dying.  That's all...").  "I would see exactly what I needed to bring completion to it...  Each time there would be this resolution...  and I could feel a resolution in this moment - this life stream..."  I really dig that.  It's so much like processing in individual therapy - just making sense of something that happened - of untying a knot in consciousness - and releasing that energy by coming to a sense of closure.

     Letting it be.  That's the thing.

     Once you get to a certain point, you can speak from your perspective continually without really thinking about it and still speak the truth.  It flows.  You flow.  Each points the way.  "Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong..."  What is meaning anyway but what we attribute to it in the first place?

     This makes me think of the movie Jacob's Ladder from back in 1990 and perhaps its most pivotal scene.  The main character (played by Tim Robbins) meets with his chiropractor, who is really his guardian angel.  They begin to talk about Meister Eckhart.  I've never done any research on Eckhart to try and find this, but I did buy a book of collected works by him inspired by this conversation.  This conversation came about when Tim Robbins' character was telling the angel about how he was seeing demons coming out of the walls at him.  It began simply: "I'm afraid of dying, Louis..."

"Eckhart saw Hell too; he said: 'the only thing that burns in Hell is the part of you that won't let go of life, your memories, your attachments. They burn them all away. But they're not punishing you,' he said. 'They're freeing your soul. So, if you're frightened of dying and... you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away. But if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth.'"

I'm so used to being me.  It's what I do best, actually.  But what happens when "me" ceases to be?  That's the ultimate question, isn't it?  The true source of all philosophy.  How do we come to terms with our own demise?  How do we make peace in that regard?  How do we stop looking for more?

LIGHT

HAIL holy light, ofspring of Heav'n first-born,
Or of th' Eternal Coeternal beam
May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light,
And never but in unapproachèd light
Dwelt from Eternitie, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream,
Whose Fountain who shall tell? before the Sun,
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a Mantle didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing,
Escap't the Stygian Pool, though long detain'd
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne
With other notes then to th' Orphean Lyre
I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night,
Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to reascend,
Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sovran vital Lamp; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that rowle in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quencht thir Orbs,
Or dim suffusion veild. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt
Cleer Spring, or shadie Grove, or Sunnie Hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief
Thee Sion and the flowrie Brooks beneath
That wash thy hallowd feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit: nor somtimes forget
Those other two equal'd with me in Fate,
So were I equal'd with them in renown.
Blind Thamyris and blind Mæonides,
And Tiresias and Phineus Prophets old.
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntarie move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful Bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest Covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal Note. Thus with the Year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of Ev'n or Morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summers Rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud in stead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the chearful waies of men
Cut off, and for the Book of knowledg fair
Presented with a Universal blanc
Of Natures works to mee expung'd and ras'd,
And wisdome at one entrance quite shut out.
So much the rather thou Celestial light
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers
Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.

- Light, by John Milton

Light is what makes seeing possible, by the way.

This is a funny connection, to be sure, but to me the works of Milton strike me in about the same way as the works of H.P. Lovecraft. It's just the sheer tastiness of their language - the thickness of their verbiage and what each sentence points to in one's mind. The music of it. Lovecraft's specialty was of course prose, but those of you that have ever read his prose know that it reads like poetry. These guys were but two of the many authors that followed with me in my youth within the span of long summer days in a hammock swinging in my backyard. Languishing in reverie as I approached the perfumed gardens of Kled, or quivering with apprehension near the blackened Stygian pool - all in the space of an afternoon. And to wonder looking upwards what would come next... And to sink into a dream... Sweet.

A SEA OF MONSTERS

So indeed, we have just returned from seeing Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters.  Though I can't help thinking these Percy Jackson movies are formulaic re-inventions of Harry Potter, I do enjoy Hollywood's attempts at interpreting the Hellenic mythos in different ways.  At least they're trying.  Upon driving away from this movie, I was reminded of how much I just hung on every word of Clash of the Titans (the one that came out in 1981) when I watched it over and over again on HBO back when I was but a young toehead.  Needless to say, the ancient Greek gods and their stories resonate with the archetypal.  These are shadowy reflections of our deep minds, and as such they just feel right.  I often cringe at how far away these newer interpretations are from good old Edith Hamilton or Bullfinch's mythology.  The movie Immortals, for instance, was so beautiful from a cinematography point of view, but to me the gods were not given as much depth as they are certainly due.  But then I have to step back and remind myself that these thought forms are as malleable - if not ultimately more so - than any other thought form, and that legend draws to itself the trappings of each successive age to continue to tell its story.

A SONG OF MYSELF

So here I am - Dax Hays for 2013 - bleary-eyed - expectant for the dawn.  I really should be in bed by now, but I'm not.  I think too much of magick, mystery, sex and death.  Diversions. 

It's been a short week, what with Labor Day and all.  I've had a lot of three-day weekends here over the past month, and after this weekend will begin the steady rhythm of the standard Nazi 40-hour work week that I'm oh so used to.  But this is not a bad thing - in these trying times it is good to have steady work.  I ebb and flow.  I get things done.  I will survive.  My dream will endure and evolve until even I cannot recognize it anymore.  It's the way of things.  I can dig it...

Time for more valerian root and other sleep drugs.  Night.

DREAMS OF SURFACING

Over the past week, I've had at least 2 waking dreams in which it was as if I was at the bottom of a pool looking up to the surface of the water.  I could see calm lazy ripples there at the top along with a light, and I slowly rose toward them.  When I reached the top, I awakened.  They were both pleasant experiences.  The only difference that I can think of in my sleep regimen (other than some bouts of the usual insomnia) is that I have been taking some valerian root pills before bed.

I feel at peace today.  I had the last half of the day off for a dentist appointment during which the good doctor affixed a crown amidst my bottom teeth.  And now, I look out my window upon a beautiful sunny day.  I allow my mind to wander.  Despite all better judgment, I'm smoking a caramel macchiato-flavored shisha out of my faithful Egyptian hookah.  This one doesn't seem to be burning my throat at all, which is a good thing.