And we wake to find ourselves ‘welded’ to a pattern-finding and habit-forming machine.
A machine embedded in ‘time’; So naturally it turns into ‘process’.
This mechanism bestrides the dimensions; From one angle it seems like ‘body’ and yet from another viewpoint it presents as ‘mind’. But each facet is ‘solid’ in it’s own realm.
IT is tasked with ordering and processing and WE are it’s helmsmen.
The controls are mysterious and byzantine though. It cannot hear us over the din and clamour.
If it would only slow-down and quieten its ‘fires’ there might be a chance of hearing our voice.
And Orpheus tames the wild beasts with his lyre.
We dissect and classify ever smaller.
Our probing machines, able to measure electricity and chemistry, find just what they are designed to.
We surmise that all is chemistry and electricity!
How could it be otherwise?
That most refined and complex of objects, the human brain, is only chemistry and electricity. We have looked closely and there is sadly nothing more!
And so, ‘consciousness’ is now only an anomalous by-product of this complex electrochemistry. A wasp trapped in a jar or a ghost trapped in the machine.
It must be so, because that is what our experiments tell us.
A dark Labyrinthine mass, projected outwards
And this is the world; Intricate and logically fiendish; An immense ‘process’ feeding back upon itself
It is both mask and mirror
Our world of light and movement, appears an ingenious business
But to witness it, shrouding the glittering ‘central jewel’, as an ill-omened wraith, is to see through it; These are only tattered remnants of smoke and shadow
This ‘precious stone’ then, is the real conductor of the enterprise
The more that can pass through it, the greater the heat generated, and yet it remains perfectly cool
The heat and friction is only…
The body, mind and soul are just handy ‘place names’ for locations on a continuum.
As with the electro-magnetic spectrum, different frequencies, present as entirely different things, with totally unique properties.
Dark, unknown ‘objects’ lie embedded, stretching throughout ‘this span’, like the mysterious outline of three dimensional shapes passing through two dimensional ‘flatland’.
In our body, such a ‘dark shape’ reveals itself as knots, tension and blockages. We do not properly feel them though, because they have become a part of us; we are used to these habitual positions, movements and constrictions of our bodies.
The same object, likewise pierces…
It can only be natural that this stuff of raw, creative, mercurial potential, when stirred and activated by our attention and scrutiny, stares, mirror like, straight back at us; A personality of utter antithesis.
The more of ourself that remains locked away, hidden and denied, the stronger and more diabolical the ‘demon’s’ presentation.
To some, it is the very Devil himself.
The alchemist’s thought of this ‘monster’ as Mercurius and held him in the highest esteem.
He is the trickster god, there to pop the inflationary bubble; Serious, deadly and ruthless or playful, beguiling and irreverent. …
In order to begin the endeavour, something capable of transformation needs to be found.
This is the alchemist’s ‘prima materia’; Something ubiquitous, found always and everywhere, and yet also, fiendishly elusive.
It evades our grasp because it is the ‘spirit of chaos’ and we can only make sense of patterns.
This prime matter is the ‘water of the beginning’ and it contains a ‘demon that drives people mad’.
This is the vast sea of possibilities. All elements are present, but they are in conflict and repel one another; All connections are dissolved.
But this is the only stuff that can…
Tension begins to rise with an insistent crescendo; My discomfort is increasing at every turn.
A ‘beast’ calls out, to be pacified; At least i think it might be a beast. I know that It makes strange sounds from behind the door and the handle rattles most urgently.
It is a natural habit for me to slip the tray of ‘food’ quickly through, and with that, the unbearable pressure ebbs away.
This does not make me happy though. I sense my actions only make the ‘thing’ stronger.
I dream that one day I will have the strength to let the…
The light is our conscious mind and it is master of it’s own world.
But nestled inside is a Trojan horse; The ‘Other’ made safe. It is our nightly dream world!
We are placated and soothed as we drift away there. But it is just the herald and harbinger.
‘Outside’, surrounding and pressuring us is it’s well-spring and source; ‘The Other’ , but with ‘gloves off.’
We shrink and cower, wondering in turn if we are but it’s dream.
There is hope though. Our ‘building and discerning’ light has an outpost; Our own enclave in that unknown ‘crawling chaos’.