What you are about to read is not your usual story, for the protagonist of this tale is none other than you! Prepare to delve into an exploration of human life observed through the lens of certain esoteric archetypes including: The Fool, the Empress & the Magician, and the Lovers. This exploration is not linear or causational, follow rather the trail of synchronicity occurring in no specific direction, maybe get a little high before you set off.
There is no real story here unless the story you seek is a reflection of your own. Experience is the scope by which we measure wisdom, so, As Jimi Hendrix once asked:
“Are you Experienced”?
In the Tarot, The Fool is always in transition from one state to another. A Being-in-becoming is enclosed by shadow which is disclosed by light. Huddled within this dance like a seed of potential exhibiting signs of life – rooting itself and beginning to grow; requiring all elements of both the conscious and subconscious realms which encompass it to become. This seed of Being is dependant on an observer (birth giver, Anima) to witness and care for its existence, and a steadfast (reason, Animus) to ground and maintain itself within until it can, through countless repetition and revolution, move its way towards the universe through the lens of self-awareness and rise again, whole. A neutrality achieved. Yet the new-born first knows only the birth giver, the shadow and then the light before beginning to reason with the dimensions of an existence and the inspiration of becoming. This is true not only to a physical birth but also a mental, spiritual, and material awakening. This is true to any acknowledgment.
Whoever you are, and wherever you hail from: you are a being, and so like me, cannot come to understand Being-in-itself until becoming. If you can understand these individual symbols of sound, which when spoken in order create in themselves other sounds that contain fragments of meaning, then let us bear witness to ontology subjected to a culmination of Human condition and tradition, let us partake in a trip you and I:
0-1
Serrated cliffsides delimit the limitless, a flux that requires it all:
Sanity clips at heels unbound by reason, an outward gaze reveals:
Sunrise, and vision of what is to come: A naïve journey towards ecstasy.
Black and white make an awful grey smudge across the land. Soot begets soot and a chimney sweeper leans against the beast’s decaying exhaust while a dove flies by and defecates into the swirling crowd below. Individual but indivisible the crowd meanders towards ephemeral goals refusing to see their unescapable synchronic Sufi’s dance towards oblivion, all while Moloch the devourer glees in the lost catharsis of youth; A hallowed-cost that pays for dominion.
A temple of Baal, Baalbak. The night sky looms overhead, Orion blares down on a father bereaving his eldest son who is next in line to be placed into the burning hands of God. An effigy of a snorting bull stands tall before the temple and holds out a golden hand. Incense and myrrh, the sound of drums and the priests’ song drown out the screaming – Mouths visibly watering at the smell of roasted kin. Kahna-Baal, divine devourers of inedible flesh await the coming feast in hope of abating celestial wrath. As the son walks forth, foolishly proud, he turns back to glance at his father- madness in his eyes as he steps onto the platform. Ah, but Abraham’s son was spared! a divine jest of faith – the burning hands had extinguished themselves for the time being. The sun now bore the handprints of God on its back.
The Vatican, Rome. A child walks up to the altar of a cathedral. Mouth watering in anticipation of its first taste of divine flesh and blood. Around, loom many effigies of a dead and tortured prophet of Love and his grieving mother. A vivid reminder that a ruthless empire has not fallen but has rather changed its form. A physical dominion collapsed on itself to atone for sin and to pave the road for prevalent spiritual dominion, a revival of the sunrise that chases away the night. In commemoration of the fact, embodiments of flesh and blood are offered on the day of days, the first day: Al-Ahad. A fierce reminder of the sacrifices required to maintain the divine acceptance of one and avoid the corrupt deception of another. Ah, what disappointment, for ‘twas but mascara, the ancient ritual tasted of mouldy crackers and rancid grape, heaven and hell never seemed too far away.
This heavenly illusionary field solidifies and is subjected, a spiral slowly digresses into a dull circle exhibiting no golden progression, stagnates. A crescent moon, a sliver in the night comes forth in defiance of an imagined harmony, a messenger of God they called him. The steady thud of marching and the bloodcurdling sound of howling overpower the gentle spell of the Sufi’s flute; dulling that outward gaze, a violent truth behind one true hashashins haze. The song of innocence lost to experience.
Have red and yellow yet come to be? Has Yorick ultimately answered the eternal question?
1-2
From darkness comes light, Infinity self-reflects: (still) being IS!
The flux collapses on one or its other, A flame of self-awareness is born and the shadow restored:
A focused Will, brings forth that which lurks in the darkness behind the mind’s Eye.
This realm is but a web of knowledge and Being is its fruiting body. Torn open, this mycelium reveals a great expanse wherein a turbulent stream of pure consciousness flows; flowing by in torrents of creativity, magic, and divinity. Violent maelstroms spray mercurial droplets onto ethereal banks in a thin mist. Deep within the stream’s chaotic flow, a pattern catches the eye and ancient shapes and archaic runes appear, resonating with Intention. Once, a sophist’s belief: One cannot step in the same river twice. Alas, the nature of sophism appoints this dance necessitated- thesis and antithesis, towards a harmony in sight. The river circles and encircles, awaiting an event horizon to push it back in motion. At the center of every galactic sequence exists a massive, dense, and inescapable void: the gift of a moment to breath!
The Sahara, Africa. Performing cheap tricks along the way to earn some coin is this Stranger clad in plain clothes that no one would look at twice. As the sun sets, a tent is pitched and stakes dig into the soft underbelly of the Organism. The Stranger draws a circle in the sand around and speaks an ancient name softly, willing safety into being. From a small yet endless hide satchel come forth four items of great value: a cup, a staff, a coin, and a scimitar. The Stranger routinely sets these materials about while focusing the mind, body, and spirit. Once aligned the Stranger begins to call each by its name, evoking ancient djinn: Al-Miyah, Al-Nar, Al-Ard, and Al-Hawa. When each name is spoken a small oasis bubbles into being, a fire is ignited, earth is cleansed, and a soft breeze blows around the Stranger. Four elements transmute a fifth one, yet each element is dearly reflected and these are not to be ignored: Al-Sahra, Al-Khiyal, Al-Faragh, Al-Skoun and Ghayri. A desert, where one delves into a dream, into the space where infinity lurks still and the Other wakes.
Deep space, the Orion constellation. A brilliant and benevolent Alchemist fuses heavy metal – a massive explosion- a death that provides life. An elemental surge that seeds the night bursts forth. A supernova wherein an atom vibrates internally at holy frequencies, echoing the prophecies conceived within each blazing part of the brilliant and benevolent Alchemist’s process- a proton shrouded in neutrons – each gradually becoming aware of their ontological states: wave and particle. Monolithic significance is born in these stellar bursts of dire consequences. Energy condensed by gravity is Matter, and as the condensation process continues – a golden inward spiral – this Matter blazes throughout the aeons until all physical possibilities are exhausted and the current process collapses onto itself in one of two ways. The alchemist is either in harmony (neutrality-wavy) with its nuclear state dispersing its matter for order to weave. Or in disharmony (conflict-particular) about the nuclear existence of one state of being or the other-no two electrons can occupy identical states. At the core of each Alchemist’s demise, a resolution of this transition could be achieved for an afterglow to be maintained, and an eternal being resumed- a philosopher’s stone. Or a transitional conflict created into singularity and the ouroboros maintained- a quenchless hunger for more. Either an ascension into Being or a descent into Non-being. Do not dare pry the eye away, for this process entangles the macrocosm into the microcosm again and again! As above so below, again and again! Eternally into the very crux of being: right here, my dear reader, where you and I ARE.
Now!
This is a beautiful occasion, which must be observed in order to occur. None witnesses itself as one, and one along with two perceives three in order to transcend five. Harmony is respiration, and Mind is born: an idea!! A Thought and its reflection; a meaningful sound, a spoken word! Choose either absorbance and assimilation resulting in creative and cathartic explosion or mummification and internalization resulting in the implosive hoarding of an unfathomable treasure, the singularity. Each Being and seraphic Form a part of the celestial process. What a present! To reach into that ebb and flow and gather a bit of knowledge, focus it in the mind and then release it through the mouth. Assigning specific fluctuations of space and time to vague ideas of the inner mind, in order to communicate and bring to light some understanding of one or the other or both.
The struggle within moves one’s will into being; onwards towards the sunrise shrouded in an uncertain destiny: the moon. A mysterious place beyond the scope of reason. A reflection of light and a loving embrace, a whole and healing touch – the confidant and muse that alone waxes and wanes, one beholder dancing about its other while they both dance around their mother- the still night – a motion that forms a flux that desires it all.
3
Love, Love, Love
A bright blue event horizon sweeps One away. Deep, deep, deep into Nox is the fall
Through a Multiverse One travels, finally inspired
Oh… The Burning bright stars that, at a gaze, unravel into a progressive slipstream of waves and particles.
Naked desire blooms within
Lux, oh Ocellus, is all that can be seen when Nox is all that can be felt. None of One without another, a blazing emotion kindles within the heart.
A soul so vibrant, the shadow it casts is a magnificent microcosm of any a fleeting moment.
A shade unexplored, yet, oh so familiar, beckons One to adore
Who are you oh beloved?
Shy not away in angst or amour, in passion or dispassion, in all your being and non-being.
For to behold YOU is a gift One can never ignore.
To stand before you as vulnerable as ever, in body and spirit, One will not falter, you are true and so must I Be too.
Oh, beloved if only you knew the way Eye see you
A dim lit bedroom, upstate New York. The room is alive with visceral forms as the flicker of light entertaining the constant shadow, give way to a setting just right. Two beings becoming a third, all entangled in each other’s arms, discover the cataclysmic glow of gyration and gravity. An attraction between them and a warmth that pervades them: their chests rise and fall as they harmoniously co-exist towards a fleeting moment of ecstasy. They dance and dance, around their poles and around each other. Revolving and revealing themselves to the secrets of indivisible being till a sputtering crescendo is reached within that moment where centres meet. Involuntarily igniting one another and spreading atomic matter for order to weave. Quivering affirmation travel outwards, creating bonds independent of reason and reverberating this process that leads us.
Bliss street, Beirut. A young student pledged to the Phalange, snacks on a ham sandwich while training his M16 at the mosque; awaiting the imam’s call for prayer. Upon this rooftop, he confidently awaits his moment of truth. Bird faeces lands on his sandwich. Enraged, the student looks around for the feathered culprit. He aims, then fires. The bullet zooms forward, the chain of synchronicity unravelling before it as it smashes through a window. Viscera splatters walls painted pink, a wingless seraphic form falls to the earth. No amount of wailing can mute a mother’s grief; the undulations of a broken spirit blast through aeons perpetuating the trajectory of lead. Nearby an AK-47 is loaded – an explosion – a death that voids life. The student slumps backwards and drops his sandwich, aeons away a super massive black hole is formed that pulls that sandwich through to the hungry ouroboros. A neutrino Star shimmers away in the distance: another link in the chain, the universe is achieved-a single word.
Within love, A complete 5th Element blazes through the void, and as a phenomenon, it does not know but rather feels: on the other side of death is possibility. A transition from the Fool to the World and into the universe again. From One which is born, to a whole that gives birth, the becoming of an all-encompassing being that is what it has intended to become: An alchemist that transmutes the dark into light, and the light into dark, a fulcrum that harnesses the flux that desires it all.
Today I chose to be a writer 