It can be quite cinematic to deconstruct motion, condense and pack waves into discrete stills for a complete halt. How romantic. Just a temporary reconciliation, a pantomime at becoming, distraction from a weighty, loaded soul. Organizational at best but will never resolve fully into catharsis. To a mirror, everyone else is a mirror. The distance is demarcated onto mock-up. This does not change the object of reflection, the underlying movement.
Eros is humility; a mutual absorption into another. A self-abaissement into the other, interpenetration, an amorous oblativity; Living Flame. The key to unbridled creation is disinhibition.
If avoiding the death of God entails turning a blind eye to what’s true, was it really God to begin with? The fear that afterwards this Eros does not remain is from lack thereof. It cannot be planned, accounted for, brought forth by the force of a nagging mom. It is predetermined. Beyond performance and systematization; a radical honesty with oneself and others. It is autopoietic in its being or it is nil. The encounter with the real – a lifetime of pathologically avoiding this is a lifetime avoiding pure motion itself. I have spent a considerable portion of my life in this state, and I’ve realized this is what must be fought. Not the chaos, but the pathological need to smooth out that keeps one neurotic and repressed, eventually emptied out. Stay wave-like, or Flatline. The reconciliation of the two tracers, to alchemize each into the other, is the escape hatch.
Those who avoid and attempt negating the real cannot ever truly know love.
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There’s usually a park around where I end up living. There was one growing up I used to walk past loads of times. I was out with my friend one day skipping class by the duck pond when I suddenly noticed a giant slide that had apparently been there since we were kids, I just never noticed it til then. Like it popped up randomly out of the blue. A shifting. He didn’t really care too much, but I think in retrospect, I prefer this reaction to the modern-day immediate rush to apply “hemispheric damage” instead. People are strange and there’s no one correct mode of Being but channels we slip in and out of I think. It’s one of my more intact memories from back then.
Something must be corrected, fixed, the way you Are is wrong; a virulent narrative propagated by the insecure, the emptied. Just Be Who You Are – sound advice, but dished out from atop a perch where one need not apperceive, but instead cowardly watch those brave enough to make the effort to be in the world try.
Photo by Lukasz Palka @lkazphoto
