Lake Nakuru: photograph by Gareth Codd
Escaping this bardo.
What wonderfully whole and rich lives we lead in sleep, how wonderfully whole we are with each three dimensional unit of dream meaning following another in a succession that is so superior, in many ways, to the superficiality of waking consciousness.
If only we could preserve this holistic reverie when conscious and communicate this daydream of love and gratitude to our dearest ones, how like music it is, how intoxicating it is and will be for the future generations who will finally be fully human.
What is the poverty of thinking in the penumbral, the casual and associative trippery of being awake, when being awake is to be one eyed, with one hemisphere left comatose, supine.
Either that or the slow and partial reconstruction of complete apprehension where being and existence run up against each other in a book: a slow reconstruction, Ulysses perhaps when the unconscious joins of the conscious are exposed in an orgy of cross reference and of literary allusion that misses the mark: Look at me, look at this, but tell me; to what purpose is this?
What is the untrameling of LSD, but the drunken queasy semblance of the whole human mind and its metaphorical filter, the body, which finally expresses itself at the liminal edge or when day after day we drink beer to live in a world that coheres, when we want to be complete; ontologically and epistemologically.
The mind and body we possess and possessed by these thoughts that pick up the whole human being and transport it to paradise is the seldom expressed garble of hope of the Pentecostals and it is also the language of the dying, the new born and the dead and the experience of liberation and finally you are hearing a roaring engine of love and of life and you should gather yourself up to meet your beloveds at arrivals as they step off a plane.
Comments
Post a Comment