Friday, May 4, 2012
Meditation on the Water in My Brain
Meditation on the Water in My Brain
L. Edgar Otto 03 May, 2012
Do hallucinations allow us to see or does the blindness and the white out induce hallucinations?
Do we see the images on the cave wall amplifying the noise in our mind or do we see the shadows?
Are all snowflakes different, no two alike in all of time in all the worlds, or in the din and whispers, our voices hard wired with our touch, our peace while not empty is the white out light of snow?
Would we not expect when liquid helium cannot boil when it is suspended by our watching, that if there are uniform laws of the universe these would be tri-cornered for the unwatched pot may also boil in the higher questions of disorder, why aren't snowflakes square in such experiments claimed by meditation? Do we not know in the latent heat of fusion wherein even in the hottest water there are a few ice crystals?
If each religion has its own six fold crystal- I don't know if the patterns were chosen as deliberate by those who made the presentation but I know which of them I would choose as a metaphor for the main religions. In the higher realms then where there are 80 or so general styles of snowflakes might we conclude there are as many general types of religion?
In our desire, and the minds eye mechanism to make sense of the data, for the finding of unity of being and within ourselves, our echos in the seas that tell us of the empty or replete origins of our creative spheres, do we imagine anything beyond the limits of such history?
There are so many things that time now forbids, the goals unlikely, the single path of circumstance freezing out all others and yet we do not forget such desires as we are attracted or fear what may be deeper than the end at the cave of light.
I cannot send love without the water if she of whom would drink cannot see the light of day and never tries to see her hidden dreams, desire perhaps an end to endless existence.
Or she knowing she is broken or too old or young with no time to turn back the clock or reset the mystical telephone for this world's connections pressing again the image and the real buttons together. That for all her desires no matter what is right and fair in love and war, the greater form of love is not the stolen moments left nor surrender to the dark as compensation for the eternal tragic loss of love.
But the desire knows no decay as we work in this world even when the flesh decays, in truth the water already is perfection in which the memory vanishes to sight beyond the flesh, beyond our obsessions, and with our crutches, tools of needing others or needing isolation as that is a myth for all things under God are seen if we follow the philosophies to conclusion for is it known that some people recall every instant of their lives and can find the memories of events in detail and yet stay sane in the struggling and sorting of their thoughts into reawakening of intentions.
So too we ask beyond the blindness of the spirit in this dark world, beyond the apparent blindness of the gods, if such things are alive again in memory or just a tracing on fading film.
I do not drink of the water nor eat the fish, well not literally but I am growing too fat on others who in his death but not his life they know his explosion of dreams when he fell or jumped half by accident into the river- one wonders if after all his was the revenge of ghosts far better that our paths did not cross while his confused life. I wonder if his life passed before him third time down in the water or that too vanished in the eternal instance when on the rock he hit his head.
Is it not enough we pollute the spirits of the air, must we also pollute the spirits of the water. How can we play our lesser games of cards, our luck in gambles, not as if the child finds delight in the play and foresees what may be needed in life for survival if when we play the game with the crazy men they get upset when they loose or win beyond the endless desires for walking blind, gray and lukewarm their bodies thinking this was life a little less than the wholeness in all of the design?
You could not know I could love you as a child in trust, give you a third of my whole world, imagine by your name alone you reincarnated as my lost one. Such love you only felt cheated from and never knew its depth or trials or what it meant after the fact, or that it was natural and not wrenching drama that can undermine the heart. You knew not there are angels among us who can walk on the water and who drink until drowing your petty sorrows and forgive you a thousand times although you will not hear it.
I will not in this world leave it not a better place nor can I carry the burden of your dreams as there are so many more who have the need, need perhaps they have not yet dreamed. I cannot speak for you to the indifferent gods nor complain you made no imprint on the world or difference for that is false drama that will not vanish if I keep your pain in my heart.
Then again there are those who can never break bonds between us who walk on higher waters still and thereby ride the higher light.
(completed 11:55 pm)
In the remote view do we see a pattern truly or do we bring to it our preconceptions? Through the mirror and the waves of concentric circles that pass through each other lost to the vertical or horizontal our planes- we disoriented as what to what is the Zenith or the Nadir to which in snow-blind flight we are confused awhile until the inevitable tailspin brings us home- yet like the dark and hidden mirrors of galaxies thought once to bond such lines and circles do not touch or change as we adjust the angle to spear the fish in the depths that we can reach it in its sea of electric music and then to multiply the one and only or many fish.
Or do we discover even in the distortions and reflections on the rivers and the ponds our own face?
(revised and added to 10:02 am)
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