Monday, February 14, 2005

Now, how far up the road did you say that was?

Time and space are a lot like character actors. Often their persona changes completely depending on the film. Oh sure, you still recognize Harry Dean Stanton and Rip Torn but, most likely, you’ve adapted the role to your version of the cosmos which is conveniently being played out for you.

It is interesting to note that physicists, very often despite themselves, seem to be more and more in the business of proving the existence of God. It’s getting uncanny, and for some scary, how often metaphysics is proving to have been right ahead of time.

Of course, my job is not to talk about Griffith’s Consistent Histories, or Griffith Park. We won’t be taking a hike across the Hilbert Spaces or charting Bell’s Inequalities on a handy Bell Curve. Heisenberg may still be uncertain, but I’m not. The greatest value of Schrödinger’s Cat seems to be as a sort of house pet or witch’s familiar for pedants and pseudo-intellectuals. They love to talk about it and show you pictures. They love when it sits on their lap and they can stroke it; if the cats not there then one might ask what they are stroking. No doubt it’s not a real cat, more likely a ceramic cat, a mantelpiece dust catcher that sits next to the bust of Plato and concealing an algebra of forms gone missing in the conversations designed to associate and- when necessary- disassociate one from this revered personal friend or discredited hack, as the case may be.

We live in a world which seeming to prove Descartes wrong seems to make Pascal right; a world where the important things are the confusions and misinterpretations; they keep the wheels of industry turning, they get the book deals, they do the talk circuit. In the early part of the century Einstein worked mostly alone coming up with a theory of relativity. Over time, what you might call refutations, or possibly, amendments followed but we don’t know about the Aspects or even much understand Einstein except that it had something to do with passing train windows and atom bombs.

Scientists can and occasionally do get right up on the mystery of God. In some cases they can think around the corner and posit. This might be something like seeing the light of The Grail reflected. It’s also telling of why they can’t look upon it directly. They’ll never get the thing on paper, no matter what they find out. They’ll never be able to subvert it to their ends. They get pieces of the puzzles which operate according to observable laws and they can get these portions to perform but they’re forever behind the velvet rope when it comes to the main engine that both drives and contains them. It’s that Golden Goose thing.

Possibly the problem in comprehending is that it all resolves to one and that the whole is more than the sum of the parts. There the mystery sits in a cloud of unknowing. The sunlight will break through but only from the inside. You can play with the permutations of that if you like. In a sense, temporal scientists are just moths and other bugs flitting around the light fixture on God’s Front Porch; in many cases the back porch. Sure, the energy that drives and illuminates them is the same as that in the light bulb but... but... uh, it was just on the tip of my tongue, held back perhaps by the invisible finger pressed into the cleft above my lip. All I can remember now is the departing echo of beating wings.

We are either made in cooperation with God, endlessly surrendering to the new becoming of; we are either that or we are shaped by interests and appetites and God is given space in such a way so as not to conflict with the desired ends. All religious interpretations and all of the behaviors of those who purport to be representative are explained in one of these two ways. Both unleash waves of advocates on behalf of the POV.

Teachers I studied with in person, or by more indirect means, were, in my estimation, all illuminated beings. In one case, upon the physical passing of the teacher, the fellowship executives tore up a good portion of the front lawn and put in a parking lot for the fellowship executives. They even stenciled in their titles. All of these organizations have garnered millions of dollars. There seems no end to the donations and the products for sale. Another organization runs a propaganda war against another devotee; pointing out that he’s had a lot of wives and is a womanizer- that’s possibly true. I’ve found him to be, so far, a generous and sincere channel. Hell, we’ve all got our crosses to bear. Meanwhile, an oracle at the main site- the official site- comments on the spirituality of other teachers. In one case he points out that a particular teacher blinked when he was speaking to him. This indicated that he didn’t have perfect body control and therefore couldn’t be a master. All these organizations fight with the renegades and schisms over the authenticity of the lineage and the rights to make further millions.

Yes, you’re either giving way and being transformed, being relieved of your baggage or... you’re defining the thing entire according to the demands and potentials of the marketplace. Basically you’ve said that business is the essential creative and that the creative artist is merely a secondary extension of it; pretty much what you’ve got at the moment. “Mama’s little baby loves shortening, shortening. Mama’s little baby loves shortening bread.”

A year ago I was regularly declaiming against Bushco and pointing out the inconsistencies of the governments official fabrications concerning the truth about 9/11; I can’t say that I’ve changed my mind concerning the warp and the woof but I can say I hardly think about Bush these days. During the same period I used to welcome assaults in cyberspace so that I could play Cyrano of the Internet. Now I could care less. It seems like hardly any time has passed since I was learning to walk and talk; seems like hardly any time from here to there. It’s harder to grasp that it has only ever been ‘here’. We improve by compression; call it pain if you like and we slowly comprehend the purpose of our visit. Or, we spend our time making shit and selling it. On the one hand we are being turned into gold and on the other hand we are claiming to have it in stock or on backorder.

Speaking strictly for myself, if I can keep improving, keep giving way and being shaped by Love, that would be all I could ask; suspecting as I do that all good things accompany it and that anything I could ever need is anticipated in advance of my asking. Here’s hoping your Valentine didn’t come off the rack.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

This is the single best example yet of what makes you so unique. Some of the twists of thought and the language used are sheer brilliance. It's high wire acrobatics done in virtual space. Outstanding!

z a

Anonymous said...

Agreed. This is great. I love the personal anecdotal stuff as well though. Please keep interspering that. Sometimes it's funny as Hell.

Bruce

Anonymous said...

This is a really fine piece. I'm sorry you haven't taken up my suggestion from yesterday but you probably know best; pissing contest with skunks and all that.

I'm pleased to see you returning to what you do best. Some of this is among the best writing I have ever witnessed. You'll go far young man.

A 'friend'

ciinc said...

Master -

First thing you gotta know is I feel comfortable calling you that, and that's a first for me except for Noam and various mathematicians I've also had the privilege to speak with. Not that I called them "master", but I would have felt comfortable doing so.

Next thing - since it may be the case that you are leavin us, maybe you could devote every other or every third essay to letting us see the physical world thru your eyes - how does the grass, the trees, the sky look where you are ?
The beach, the road, the house ?

It would be another kind of personal testament that I would find very interesting.

Best regards
ciinc

Anonymous said...

What a mind! I don't know how you do it but you do. Please just keep on writing. It's always such a fine pleaure to come here. It doesn't matter how my day is going you always make it better.

CC