LIFE as QQ, :D, CONCOMITTANTLY

As time circled towards the Eden Hour my psyche stood in opposition to its flow; an act of contradiction which only fated me towards an inexorable submission - a release through which that unremitting circuity we call time would sweep me along, enjoining unconsciousness, to which I would indubitably acquiesce.

I, the SOMNOLENT SOMNAMBULIST, ventured forth from my geographic center towards the library (the vision of my cosmic center muddled by the taxation of insomnia, similar to the opacity of my wearied vision). Midway through my peripatetic pilgrimage I stumbled upon the Primordial Chord, the Intransigent Note only accessible by the reverberations felt in the empty, cavernous cathedrals of the unconscious: the cosmic bass note which stirred all sentience, that is to say all matter, into movement, into vibration.

Two birds danced to the pulsing throb of the Singular Symphony of the Single Note. It is the dance of death and rebirth. The scene gave me pause; I observed the birds' performance of the ritualistic, instinctual ceremonies preceding copulation -- regeneration and the realization of the promise masked by God, the potentiality of rebirth through death, of perpetuation and creation, more accurately described as the reorganization of energy, or matter.

As these two birds performed their sacred sacraments, I became conscious of my unwitting sacrilege. In this moment the space I had violated was not mine to inhabit. The campus and the world, if not literally then in a mythic sense, were in this moment defined and given expression through the unfolding drama of these two birds -- which for me assumed the archetypal suggestion of the fundamental and only objective reality of phenomenalistic ontology: death, rebirth.

Absorbed thus in my contemplation of Romulus and Remus, AdamEve and Lucifer, Don Quixote and Pancho, Faust and Mephistopheles, Siddhartha and Gavina, Ivan and Alyosha, Jacob and Esau, Randall Flag and Mother Abagail, Mary and Judas, Ego and Shadow, Yin and Yang, Psyche and Eros, I continued my journey to the Library, excommunicated from my former observation.

I recalled that Buddhism gave a word to that Cosmic Note: "Aum." By focusing on this word in meditation, even speaking it aloud, the disciple seeks to reestablish her center outside and beyond the Ego.

I muttered a tentative "aum," focusing on the vibratory movements of my lips as the word passed their threshold. I blushed at my temerity in posturing sublime discipline in such a scattered state of mind, as when I blushed when arrested before the vision of the two birds in dance, the physical manifestation of the inaudible Primal Note.

aum

Trying the library doors I found them locked. I checked the time: 6am. As the campus was not mine nor any student's rightful terrain in the presence of those birds, so it was not my rightful time for conscious endeavors towards education. My proper place was the depths of the unconscious, accessed in sleep.

Feigning the introspective descent of sleep I sifted through my dream-like, disjointed impressions of the morning whilst sitting outside the Library Doors, and like a seismograph quickly recorded these interloping thoughts that rose and trundled across synapses and neurons unbidden, perturbing the still waters of consciousness.

Outside of class notes I have not written my speculations and postulations by hand in a long time. I wonder what revelations into my inward state a trained eye might discover in the rise and fall of my handwriting, its spacing and syntax, corners and curves, hesitations and imprudencies? Maybe Batman feels like enunciated thoughts captured in 12pt Times New Roman font -- burdened by the mask of what at first glance seems to be exemplary perfection, unity and continuity, assumed to be of the same character in meaning as the image it presents (perfection through lapidary cartography). Behind the mask we find the truth: a man inflated and tormented by the heady supramasculine energies he has tapped into.n Behind the Times New Roman we find a Sentience, fragmented and inconsistent.

Fie on my growing delirium. Fie on One Tree Hill, The Notebook, and Disney's sexualization of childhood and premature appropriation of its innocence. To say it in colloquial speech, grogginess for the loss (tip 'o the hat to Zach Tanner). QQ