MYSTICISM • postscript • 2003.09.26
Electric bubble tangent
The nature of the collective projects it's perpetually flowing patterns upon mind, lit by a sparkling jewel of consciousness.
To awareness, 'your' mind maintains the neccessary illusion of segregation in every moment, only as the levels which condition it are obscured by the gross impressions which flow through it. These relative conditions are the foundation of perceptible contrast.
A full stomach can't feel it's own walls. But the empty mind illuminated by untainted consciousness reflects, like a calm waters, the world on which it rests. Projecting an image of the cosmos upon itself.
The two walls of the empty stomach come together, and in a radical vacuum perceive eachother's texture, encountering no gross material impressions to obscure the subtle contrast through which they arise.
Subtley, the archetypal forms may be percived directly. Though projected, they remain invisible, as the very foundation conditioning the gross impression's perception. The root of the archetype's essence transcends time as we encounter it.
Imagine looking through the wrong end of a telescope, it's vast fish eyed perspective displaying every bit of the cosmos, projected relatively upon that which is being percieved. So infinite the view, one's mind perceiving at only a finite resolution blurs the unperceptable details into one blissful glistening hue shining forth to encompass one's entire field of experience. Revealing, to astral perception, the higher states of mind.
The sky reflecting in every puddle.
Projecting from within it's center, your consciousness illuminated by rays of awareness reflecting off of higher mind, illuminated by even higher consciousness, forever inwards.
Pouring awareness down into every morsel, endowing the universe with a mystical glow. As the sun shining forth from the heart, upon interior space.
Casually witnessing the world reflect infinitely. What could bring about more delight than a stroll through the park of your mind's creation?
Imagine your spine is the very center of the universe, out from which sensory waves project the illusion of surrounding space, in all directions. Even the illusion of 'external' space is only arising within internal space... but what is internal if there is no external? And what is space without form?
Witness one hand clapping.
But a tree, balanced between the whim of it's [relative] collective (cells//leaves) and it's [relatively unconditioned] master (Trunk). Though rooted in heaven, reaching down to earth.
And nobody but the Trunk to celebrate with in this incredible rapture! The fruit of all efforts to contain such a concept in words, foolish verbose.