Thursday, November 23, 2017

My First Untitled Symphony

Don't believe the myth of self. Deconstruct the world. It's Chinatown. Forget it. The only known is being. That's the only knowledge of the absolute unknown godhead that there is. But don't believe this either. Even being is conceptual. In other words, I'm like the razor's edge. One belief and it's the Fall of Man.

Since the only known is the unknown, I dream the knowing this in mythic style. Every koan reveals bizarro world. So forget logic. And don't get me started on western medicine. It's time to leave my Maya's cellar. Who are you? Lately I’ve been dreaming the marriage of William Blake and Julian of Norwich.

Since I'm here already, let's make this evolutionary self-awareness a city on a hill. Remember Alice. It's wonderland. Construction! Pure awareness being self-aware is the only story. Like boy meets girl except non-duality. I kind of like the sincerity of Old English over irony of post-modern, or shit, the lazy existentialism of the present. But hey that's me.

Good myths are all unthinkable but a great myth is unbelievable. So imagination is to self-awareness as self-awareness is to imagination. So manifesting is direct path as if this universe is the result of some big bang. A river runs through the canyon of the dead. I turn on. I turn off. Like some common loon if seen from shore. The walrus was Big Sur.

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