“Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.”
—Robert Frost - “Nothing Gold Can Stay”
Last edited by Smelly El Chivo on Mon Oct 05, 2020 1:44 pm; edited 1 time in total
“I was in a state of quiet, almost passive enjoyment. All at once, without warning of any kind, I found myself wrapped around as it were by a flame-coloured cloud. For an instant I thought of fire, some sudden conflagration in the great city; the next, I knew that the light was within me.
Directly afterward came upon me a sense of exultation, of immense joyousness accompanied by an intellectual illumination quite impossible to describe. Into my brain streamed one momentary lightning—flash of the Divine Splendor which has ever since lightened my life; upon my heart fell one drop of Divine Bliss, leaving thenceforward for always an aftertaste of heaven.
Among other things, I did not come to believe: I saw and knew that the Cosmos is not dead matter but a living Presence, that the soul of man is immortal, that the universe is so built and ordered that without any peradventure all things work together for the good of each and all, that the foundation principle of the world is what we call love, and that the happiness of everyone in the long run is absolutely certain.
I learned more within the few seconds that illumination lasted than in all my previous years of study and I learned much that no study could ever have taught.”
— Richard Maurice Bucke
Any friend of Whitman’s, is a friend of mine.
This loon here is in good company.
The best company you might say.
“Deep in the soul, below pain, below all the distraction of life, is a silence vast and grand - an infinite ocean of calm, which nothing can disturb; Nature's own exceeding peace, which "passes understanding". That which we seek with passionate longing, here and there, upward and outward; we find at last within ourselves.”
“Siegfried, in the Nibelungen, is not quite immortal, for a leaf fell on his back whilst he was bathing in the Dragon’s blood, and that spot which it covered is mortal. And so it always is. There is a crack in every thing God has made.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson
An incredible chain of synchronicity for me.
From Harold Bloom, The Daemon Knows...
“Whitman had encountered the Hermetic Speculation, the second-century c.e. secular gnosis, in George Sand’s novels, though his taste for Egyptian antiquity might have guided him anyway to the doctrines of “Thrice-Greatest Hermes.” Hermetic Speculation came out of Alexandria, proclaiming itself as ancient Egyptian wisdom, and deceived Renaissance Europe, though “deceived” itself is deceptive. Hermetism, like Christian Gnosticism, expressed the spirit of religiously eclectic Macedonian and Roman Alexandria, a fecund “Jewgreek is greekjew” (James Joyce) hybrid.
American literary selfhood, or the American Religion, participates in a gnosis. The American androgyne (Song of Myself’s protagonist) is not part of the creation and fall but emanates from the prior abyss, foremother and forefather invoked by transfigured Captain Ahab, electrified by the corposants, Saint Elmo’s fire:
“Oh! thou clear spirit of clear fire, whom on these seas I as Persian once did worship, till in the sacramental act so burned by thee, that to this hour I bear the scar; I now know thee, thou clear spirit, and I now know that thy right worship is defiance. To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e’en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed. No fearless fool now fronts thee. I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here. Though but a point at best; whencesoe’er I came; wheresoe’er I go; yet while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights. But war is pain, and hate is woe. Come in thy lowest form of love, and I will kneel and kiss thee; but at thy highest, come as mere supernal power; and though thou launchest navies of full-freighted worlds, there’s that in here that still remains indifferent. Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.”
(Sudden, repeated flashes of lightning; the nine flames leap lengthwise to thrice their previous height; Ahab, with the rest, closes his eyes, his right hand pressed hard upon them.)
“I own thy speechless, placeless power; said I not so? Nor was it wrung from me; nor do I now drop these links. Thou canst blind; but I can then grope. Thou canst consume; but I can then be ashes. Take the homage of these poor eyes, and shutter-hands. I would not take it. The lightning flashes through my skull; mine eye-balls ache and ache; my whole beaten brain seems as beheaded, and rolling on some stunning ground. Oh, oh! Yet blindfold, yet will I talk to thee. Light though thou be, thou leapest out of darkness; but I am darkness leaping out of light, leaping out of thee! The javelins cease; open eyes; see, or not? There burn the flames! Oh, thou magnanimous! now I do glory in my genealogy. But thou art but my fiery father; my sweet mother, I know not. Oh, cruel! what hast thou done with her? There lies my puzzle; but thine is greater. Thou knowest not how came ye, hence callest thyself unbegotten; certainly knowest not thy beginning, hence callest thyself unbegun. I know that of me, which thou knowest not of thyself, oh, thou omnipotent. There is some unsuffusing thing beyond thee, thou clear spirit, to whom all thy eternity is but time, all thy creativeness mechanical. Through thee, thy flaming self, my scorched eyes do dimly see it. Oh, thou foundling fire, thou hermit immemorial, thou too hast thy incommunicable riddle, thy unparticipated grief. Here again with haughty agony, I read my sire. Leap! leap up, and lick the sky! I leap with thee; I burn with thee; would fain be welded with thee; defyingly I worship thee!”
Now that is some incredible writing.
Do you know why?
Because we cannot know really, but yet, we burn with self knowledge when we remember ourselves.
Whitman was androgyne.
The greatest artists are and they suffer, they suffer until they ignite into flames.
I feel the heat and see the light in their words.
The daemon knows.
My dance is not ended.
Divine mind cannot be grasped.
It must be suffered.
To be so close, but separated by this mortal veil.
So we turn inward and find the beauty in us and fall in love with our own soul.
When we dare to see and embrace the love that marks our existence, then we find a power in us that is astounding.
It begins to lead you to the mountain.
We have flashes of free will.
But cannot really handle it as of yet.
Forbidden love hides a hidden path to self knowledge.
We used to be female/male in our myths.
This separation has given us the crack to realize ourselves in life.
We yet have many taboos governing our public interactions.
Much is still repressed.
Much hidden deep is still unknown.
Only through great suffering do we progress.
We are not equal and have varying levels of intelligence.
Through the study of great literature and living philosophy, we can increase our capacity.
Shakespeare will lift you to heights.
Whitman will lift you up.
Emerson, Joyce and all the rest.
The hidden flame of the Logos burns brightly within us.
Take their hand and level up.
Dig into what it is to be human, to be.
Why else are we alive but to engage with this?
To know this.
To give this voice.
All I have done is break out of mundane robotic life.
Now my heart and mind are free to roam.
I now can use different states of consciousness to illuminate the experience of being and have made deliberate use of such states, led by the darkness within me, daemon.
In my life, some hate me for this self proclaimed freedom and find my explorations a source of sadness.
Thankfully, one can commune with their heart and finds it is deeper and more intelligent than any human you ever met or read.
You will know one by their fruit and I guess we just don’t know how the cake will turn out until it’s done baking.
“Perhaps all that Whitman shared with Shakespeare, Goethe, and Henrik Ibsen was an implicit insight that the self was a necessary fiction, an illusion so desired that leaves of grass would sprout from the barren rock of being. A smoky taste flows but then ebbs in our reception of agonies as one of Walt’s changes of garments. Rancidity gathers, though it does not fall, and our self-vividness grows less bright. We turn blankly and discover that no direction is at home in us.”
—Harold Bloom
The true heart of America’s progress was not due to its industry, but in the birth of an ‘American sublime.’ If you want to know the mind, spend time with those who have attained it, until you do as well.
Today I was sitting in my chair and I saw two spirits of great heart with hands on my left and right shoulders in my mind. I must confess, I began to weep. I haven’t done that in a long while. And they said, it’s ok little leaf, no reason for tears, unless they be of joy. They were tears of joy. It was a sublime experience. Both had long white beards. I felt loved, the lonely feeling left me. And I felt them say, welcome little leaf, and then they were laughing and marveling like midwives. I did think, I might be cracking up. Then they showed me the crack in me.
One must crack open, to receive and give.
Only the daemon/daimon knows how this is all done and I am just a little leaf at the steps of the temple begging for instruction.
The deep answers...
“Love is the ultimate science.”
Fable
The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel; And the former called the latter ‘Little Prig.’ Bun replied, ‘You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut.’
"There is, in sanest hours, a consciousness, a thought that rises, independent, lifted out from all else, calm, like the stars, shining eternal. This is the thought of identity — yours for you, whoever you are, as mine for me. Miracle of miracles, beyond statement, most spiritual and vaguest of earth’s dreams, yet hardest basic fact, and only entrance to all facts. In such devout hours, in the midst of the significant wonders of heaven and earth, (significant only because of the Me in the centre,) creeds, conventions, fall away and become of no account before this simple idea. Under the luminousness of real vision, it alone takes possession, takes value. Like the shadowy dwarf in the fable, once liberated and look’d upon, it expands over the whole earth, and spreads to the roof of heaven.
The quality of being, in the object’s self, according to its own central idea and purpose, and of growing therefrom and thereto — not criticism by other standards, and adjustments thereto — is the lesson of Nature.
---
True, the full man wisely gathers, culls, absorbs; but if, engaged disproportionately in that, he slights or overlays the precious idiocrasy and special nativity and intention that he is, the man’s self, the main thing, is a failure, however wide his general cultivation.
---
The best culture will always be that of … courageous instincts, and loving perceptions, and of self-respect." --Walt Whitman
Unknown Unknown. Your ignorance is bliss but skews on the judgmental side which is a reflection of your own projection and inner state of being. I know this stems from your own admitted relationship from your Mother. Forgive her and you'll forgive yourself and find the freedom you desire and claim you've found but from your words and intentions have yet to find. Your commitment to truth and this path is admirable. I support you in your process here and on the other side.
Foresaperire wrote:Unknown Unknown. Your ignorance is bliss but skews on the judgmental side which is a reflection of your own projection and inner state of being. I know this stems from your own admitted relationship from your Mother. Forgive her and you'll forgive yourself and find the freedom you desire and claim you've found but from your words and intentions have yet to find. Your commitment to truth and this path is admirable. I support you in your process here and on the other side.
I caught you by the toe.
You can be unshakeable and focused.
That's the way smelly goats are, shrug, suck it up buttercup.
I can judge with my horns, because I know bullshit and I know the real.
Until you share your own inner world, you can't talk about mine, cause you don't know.
You don't think I have worked through all that?!
Ha!
It is only because I have I can talk about it
Not one religion is more right or wrong than another.
The search is not about religion, it is about knowing thyself.
Those who know, do not talk about lights in the sky
There is nothing in any book, or any word, or any person that can define this.
The arrogance of your cause and your friends is profound and a smelly goat who taught himself showed them how full of shit they are and unprepared.
If their pride hurts, oh well, deal with it
Being open in a reciprocal way is the proper response, or we simply are talking from different dimensions.
And who am I?
I am thee!
My struggles are yours and yours are mine.
When others can be honest about them and stop hiding, I'll know they have made progress with ego, until then, one simply has no gnosis.
There's nothing to catch - certainly no toes are involved. I simply am a mirror and reflection of your own inner state of being. Assumptions and projections are hasty and reckless. We can agree we are all one. I appreciate the beauty and wonder in all things - even in the sunsets and lights in the sky.
Foresaperire wrote:There's nothing to catch - certainly no toes are involved. I simply am a mirror and reflection of your own inner state of being. Assumptions and projections are hasty and reckless. We can agree we are all one. I appreciate the beauty and wonder in all things - even in the sunsets and lights in the sky.
Muppet do your jobs and keep your eyes on the sky.
I’ll take care of the tough dirty stuff snowflake, k.
Name calling is certainly commonplace these days as humanity devolves, unable to accept or acknowledge all aspects of both their beauty and potential for love and acceptance - contrasted in their own judgements, hatred and ignorance. This inconsistency - from love to hatred erodes trust and ultimately leads to the viewpoint of an inauthentic voice and questionable intent. Again, I'm sure it was a part of your patterning and the dynamic with your Mother. I accept you perfectly as you are in no judgement. *No farts or emojis required.
Foresaperire wrote:Name calling is certainly commonplace these days as humanity devolves, unable to accept or acknowledge all aspects of both their beauty and potential for love and acceptance - contrasted in their own judgements, hatred and ignorance. This inconsistency - from love to hatred erodes trust and ultimately leads to the viewpoint of an inauthentic voice and questionable intent. Again, I'm sure it was a part of your patterning and the dynamic with your Mother. I accept you perfectly as you are in no judgement. *No farts or emojis required.
When you can expose yourself, I’ll know you aren’t full of shit.
Until then...you are a just a pretending muppet.
My mother is lost in apocalyptic psychosis, as most are.
We live between two poles, those that deny it, have no idea who they are.
“Jakob Böhme (1575-1624), the German mystic whose radical religious visions were an important source of inspiration to Quakers, Theosophists, German Romantics, and other free thinkers including William Blake. Böhme's controversial theology departed from its Lutheran foundation in the suggestion that the God is incomplete without Creation and that humanity's fall from grace was necessary and desirable as a precondition of our evolution to a new state of redeemed harmony, more perfect that our original state of innocence. This is perhaps the most important edition for the English-speaking world, as it was through this edition that writers like Blake and Coleridge discovered Böhme's philosophy. Blake was particularly struck by the cosmology and by the illustrations and their influence can be seen throughout his prophetic works. See Bindman, William Blake His Art and Times, #4: "Böhme was one of the key influences on Blake's youth and there is every reason to suppose a life-long acquaintance with the extraordinary illustrations in this book... especially the "Three Tables of Divine Revelation... the production of such unusual works must have been known to the young Blake." Also see Hamlyn and Phillips, Tate Britain Exhibition 2001 #229-233.”
"In the Rosicrucian school, there is no master and pupil. There are just men and women who share the same ideal, and who have made the decision to open the door and move forward. Do we not say that there is strength in unity? By virtue of your own journey, you can describe yourself as a mystic, because a mystical person is someone who lives in harmony with her or his objective consciousness, intuition, and feelings. Being a mystic does not mean being perfect: in the first instance, it simply means being aware of what would need to be done, in order to become so." - Christian Bernard
Foresaperire wrote:"In the Rosicrucian school, there is no master and pupil. There are just men and women who share the same ideal, and who have made the decision to open the door and move forward. Do we not say that there is strength in unity? By virtue of your own journey, you can describe yourself as a mystic, because a mystical person is someone who lives in harmony with her or his objective consciousness, intuition, and feelings. Being a mystic does not mean being perfect: in the first instance, it simply means being aware of what would need to be done, in order to become so." - Christian Bernard
I have found to master thyself, philosophy and depth psychology and stoicism and Epicureanism are good balances to mystic experience.
You do have to master yourself. And until one does they are tossed on the waves.
You will only know one has done this through their fruit.
When my relationship with my wife stabilized and my work performance went through the roof I knew I was close.
The work is transmitted 1 by 1.
It mirrors the relationship of the Nous, supreme mind, and our own.
It is a teacher student relationship usually.
Or an exchange but it does follow the 1:1 pattern in my experience.
You learn form one connected to supreme mind or there is nothing to transmit
Then once you are firmly connected to nous, gnosis begins in earnest.
You begin to lead and teach yourself at an incredible pace and you know you have tapped into the eternal stream and then you are unbreakable and unshakeable.
Then you can have some fun and dance.
The muppet won’t really understand, but they are drawn to your light.
Your light is their light.
They just need reminding through contact.
Some of the things I have learned.
You cannot contain it within yourself.
It oozes out of your pores.
I used art to focus my energy.
And writing.
Very helpful.
I don’t claim anything.
Nous claimed me.
The fool walks right on by, but the true one, can smell the nous on you.
This does not expand your ego, it relaxes it.
It can lead to ego explosion as ego wants to claim nous.
But that is a test all have to face themselves.
If I may be so humble, this state is akin to mystics of any religion.
You see all religions have the same source.
They are different streams of the nous.
They all lead back to the ever flowing stream.
This was a revelation for me.
Also, we can use states of consciousness to tune in our connection.
But once you know you are connected, wow!
Nihilism has to be faced and overcome.
The mind opens in incredible ways.
Your thinking power grows.
Your heart opens.
I’m still mapping it all out.
Then one abides here if they are lucky.
But no one knows it but you.
Kinda beautiful.
Very few can look beyond your mask and see your heart.
But I am for those.
We each have a unique formation and expression of nous.
Smelly is my mystical mask.
My test.
The vulgar shall not pass.
Philosophy is about embodying and cultivating our connection to nature, to supreme mind.
Oh, it’s real.
I can say, it all leads to the real.
Doubt?
Then the daimons come uninvited and offer what they can.
That’s some real fun.
They don’t know much more than we do.
They don’t live in doubt though.
We are the ones in the darkness and thus it is us they serve and help.
These mystical creatures are very mischievous.
And they devour the vulgar.
One has to be possessed by the supreme will to begin the descent and ascent I have found.
It is kind of a crazy thing to do, to turn yourself inside out, outside in.
This mystic is the real deal ^^^^
To touch pure mind is quite an experience.
How is all this possible?
Because we appear in mind and this is knowable and unknowable.
It has natural processes and it does not work like a human mind exactly.
Do you love your thoughts?
No doubts here.
I don’t know about being absorbed and a part of mind, but maybe what I am describing is the process of absorption.
I know this, unless one raises themselves up, they have no chance of this.
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