Smoking Mirrors — Nov 3, 2017
Dog Poet Transmitting…….
Love is a beautiful thing and far more complex than most might imagine. It evolves as well and becomes permutations of itself far beyond the pedestrian understandings that exist in these afflicted times.
Out in space they have a phenomena called the Kilonova. It’s called Kilonova because it is a thousand times more powerful than your run of the mill nova; if such cosmic events can ever be called run of the mill. It is caused when two neutron stars or a neutron star and a black hole merge. Consider for a moment that a neutron star is actually a conscious being. Then the merger can be seen as an act of love between two bodies and in the explosion of their coming together they expel gold and platinum across the universe and lead as well. This makes me think of the 3 gunas. It also makes me think that here is an example of cosmic love making. For whatever the reason, I personally have no doubt that this is so.
I see the Big Bang as a sex act. I see the whole expression of the universe as a perpetual coupling. It is also akin to an unimaginably long breathing in and out. If you read about Kilonovas you are going to discover some interesting correlations and connections, as well as irony in abundance but… I find these in most everything. Your entire understanding of existence and the manner in which you experience it, as well as whether you are sad or joyous, is the fruit of your perspective. Your perspective is shaped by your value system. It stands to reason that in times of material darkness, there is a great deal of unhappiness and disappointment and… this is as it should be, if your perspective is focused on material gain and self interest. Joy and bliss and all the permutations of ecstatic being should not be a byproduct of material focus.
You see the well heeled laughing it up in the aisles and courtyards of the high life. The impression given is that they are happy and delighted with their station. This is not the case however. I’ve been around such people and there is very little that is genuine at all. To me it looks like ghosts dancing in a graveyard and this is a graveyard, as far as the eye can see. It is also a launching pad to hither and yon. It’s a costume ball that goes on and on and the characters come in one door and go out the other and it continues and continues.
When I was young, for a number of years, I couldn’t wait for three days to pass so that I could take LSD again and it was always into the forest or some wild place that I would go and very often alone because certain things were more likely to happen when you are alone. Also, the company of certain others can be a real drag because the hidden side of everyone is revealed under those circumstances, or at least they were to me. I would dance through the trees and literally sing up the trunks and out through the leaves. The sunlight was a living thing. Everything was alive and there were all manner of beings that one could see when in a raised and altered state. I was in love with the goddess and we spent many a day in remarkable ways. I only tolerated being in the world and most of the time concealed what I was thinking.
I reflect back on those times now and wonder, “did I really do those things and see all of what I saw?” The answer is most certainly yes. Sometimes I shared supernatural experiences with some individuals and decades later I might run into them and they would have only a dim memory of any of it and for reasons I have not yet fully understood, they didn’t really want to talk about any of it. I guess they had made other arrangements and those places in the past stood in a kind of conflict with whatever the arrangements were that were made. Very often people don’t even know that they have made arrangements.
Sometimes it is very hard to see how one came to be in one place after having once been in another. There seems to be no connection between them at all. I think of life as a road that bends according to intention and intention moves in stages. People lost in the woods often find themselves back in the same place they had been hours before. Perhaps one leg is smaller than the other, or perhaps there is another reason why one might be traveling in circles.
These days I look at everything in terms of what it is worth and what it might cost. What something is worth to me could well be and I know for a fact is, worthless to others and vice versa. The same thing can be said about the costs or consequences of certain actions. Some would think the cost of a particular venture to be well worth the attendant risks. It depends on how much it matters to you. I’ve had a number of opportunities to consider the value of some rare and desirable car or similar item. The same applies to much desired experiences by many and I have found in nearly every case that the juice was not worth the squeeze.
Once I had a ’66 Corvette Stingray with both the soft and hard top. It had a chromed engine and was nicely appointed. The doors would expand several inches when you floored it and went through the gears. One time I was cruising at 144 miles an hour on the Piilani Highway that bypasses Kihei on Maui. I came over a rise and on my right was a police car with a stopped motorist. I remember seeing their faces as they turned to look at me but I was gone. I turned left into Maui Meadows, which is a rat’s warren of upscale houses. About 20 minutes later their was a knock on the door. It was the police. The cop asked me if the Corvette was mine and I said, “Yes” He asked me if I had just been out driving and I told him that I had been home all evening. He asked me if I would step outside. I declined. He wagged his finger at me and said, “Next time.” How I know I had been going that fast was that they had told me so. That hadn’t been a stopped motorist at all. This story has nothing to do with anything. I digressed.
The car was a major pain in the ass and like most American muscle cars, it can’t take corners well at all. It drank gas like an alcoholic. It always needed something. Sure… women looked at me in it when I cruised through Lahaina or somewhere but not the sort of women I was interested in, not ever. I had some desirable objects now and again but they were almost always a disappointment; almost always. I have had the company of very beautiful women. I was lucky that way, if you can call it luck. Very often it turned out to be a bigger problem than the Corvette ever was. I got to hang out with some seriously rich and remarkably cheap people. I got to visit in the halls of power and meet certain people. What can I tell you? Very little of any of it was something I wanted anything to do with. None of it seemed worth it to me, when you factor in the costs and I am very aware of the costs. I know what my ignorance and stupidity have cost me on occasion. I will carry the scars and handicaps to wherever it is that I wind up. They are reminders of the consequences of action and the fruits of the purpose of demonstration.
I would certainly do any number of things differently now. Those opportunities have sailed. My mistakes are as much a part of me as my triumphs. Success and Failure are permanent bed fellows. On the whole it has turned out alright I would say, though we can’t see around the corner. We do have certain advantages though. You have these advantages as well and that is the awareness of the lessons of experience and whatever wisdom we might have taken from them, upon reflection and in the course of events. We have the memory of pain as a protection against rash and reckless behavior. We have the bounty of evidence granted us from our observations upon the carnival of life; what various people did and what happened as a result. We have the meaning and implications of history and whatever we made of it and they’re always finding out new things about old things and we have the words of those who could see into the future, however cryptic that might have turned out to be.
Sometimes I think about that big tsunami that hit Thailand, Sri Lanka and India. It seems India always gets a piece of that kind of action. I think about the people who saw the ocean retreat and for reasons that will always escape me, did not know what that meant. Some of them ran out on the sand to gather whatever they might be attracted to. I think about the fires that hit the California wine country in the middle of the night with no warning. I think about all the people in those critical moments and the devastation of loss, including their lives. I think about Kalifornia and that rumbling beneath the Earth. I think about the rumors of war and the terrible civil and cultural wars that are in progress and which have, in the past, matriculated into real wars and might yet do so again. I think about what might have been and what is and both of those vary with the perspectives of the people in contemplation of them. I think about what might come to be and I think about how helpless I am in the face of the cosmic imperative and how very very grateful I am to have discovered the only thing of real value in life and… how even more grateful I am that it is mine and cannot be taken from me, ever. I think about how it is closer to me than I am to myself as I watch the sands of time spill through my fingers like granulated water and make no never mind at all.
Far out in the deepness of space, neutron stars are coming together in an unspeakably joyous and lasting union that replicates in the spirit of union, everywhere. There are stars that disappeared long before the light they provided reaches me. There is a light that is too bright to be seen and it permeates everything. It is the animation in anything. It is all the force at work at any time, anywhere. It is both cyclopean and schizophrenic. It is the endless faces looking back at itself looking back, in and out of time; absolutely free and imprisoned forever by the commitments of its true nature which is love.
I watch people come and go. I know they are dreaming about something or other, both wistful about and desirous of something that changes like the course of the wind and I remember, over and over again that there is only one thing worth remembering and it is that lord of the solitude who has never forgotten me, who waits with infinite patience for the moment of realization that will occur to me and instantaneously transport me there… or you, or anyone whose time has come and whose time will come. In the interim we bob up and down on the waves of experience like the detritus of a shipwreck looking for somewhere to come ashore. Sooner or later… sooner or later.