February 5th, 2007

the-gi het-gi gi-het(heat) get-hi hit-eg


Every age is held together by the great images it holds at the center of its imagination and its way of life. When they disappear, society tends to fall apart into a cultural chaos, and the individual is left to subsist in a hind of hand-to-mouth fasion. We have sold off as junk a vast heritage of monumental images in order to buy a lot of tin trinkets. One of the most powerful which is still hidden in the attic of our memory is the “Word of God.”
Herman Melville has Ahab, that ungodly godlike man, say as he tightens a carpenters vice upon his hand, “I like to feel something the slippery world can hold.” All of us, I suspect, would like to find a vise which could be closed upon the swift-changing, fast-running flux of time and circumstance. If we could only feel some firm, unshaken ground beneath them, if our hearts could be established against the winds and storms of catastrophe, if our souls could take a stand amid the ruins of faith and the noise of solemn assemblies, if in short we could find something stable, what our forbears called the sure rock of our salvation-we would be profoundly thankful.
Ahab`s experience of a slippery world is confirmed in T.S. Eliots`s more recent description:

Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;…
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to our death,
But nearness to death no nearer to God.1

1 From “Choruses from `the Rock,`” in Collected Poems (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1958), p. 179.

At the very center of the Jewish and Christian traditions of faith there has been a solid rock of assurance in the “Word of the Lord.” The very foundations might shake, but the Word of the Lord endured forever. The patriarchs struggled manfully at the awful edge of mortal mystery, through the long night of angelic agony, to hammer out the strong shape of that eternal Word which tortured and blessed them. The prophets stood in the midst of their own people, their bold and audacious eyes measuring the easy morals of their timewith God`s mighty Word of justice and mercy. In Christian times, Christ, the Word who proceeded from the mouth of God, became the Judge of all human conduct and character. Over and over again the Word was the rock, the sure founda-tion, the firm ground, the only hope. Its thunder could be heard in Martin Luther, its comprehensiveness in Augustine and Aquinas, its mercy and compassion in Francis of Assisi. The Word of the Lord was a vise by which the slippery world could be held.
Little wonder that we have lost the power and the splendour , the magnitude and massive mystery of the Word of God in an age like ours where we have changes the currency of speech into smaller and smaller coin. Words are a glut on the market. Our talkativeness, like the magic of the Sorcerer`s Apprentice, has got out of hand. Newspapers alone, stacked like a dirty white Everest higher than anything else in the Himalayas, stand over our heads and hide the sky. The in-credible spate of books, the garrulous and incessant flash flood of the airways, and the ubiquitous verbalization of well-nigh everything under the sun leave us with little silence in which to conceive the mighty Word of God. With such a mass of words, such speed and turnover, the quality has suffered. Their roots in the basic mystery of life have been cut off, and the magic of their being has been emasculated. Deadpan prose, machine-gun syntax, journalistic nonthinking pervade a field of originally capable of pointing beyond itself to the depths and dimensions which invigorated and transformed life.
When the true word is lost, the Word from which words derive their power and their glory, then the mind grows frenzied and fanatical. With nothing underneath, or in back of, or within words to fill them with a meaning beyond them-selves, they become the subject of idolatrous desperation. If the ground of meaning, the invisible foundation, the eternal logos, vanishes, then each little piece is forced to bear too much weight. The ritual of the whole is lost, the ceremony of faith is dimmed, the passage from the little words to the Great Word is blocked; and man who cannot live without meaning of some sort or another-even the most ephemeral or artificial-clutches like a drowning man at the smallest words. They become his salvation; he strings them togther like the broken beads of a rosary, one after another ad infini-tum, hoping to achieve by their excessive quantity what they lack in quality. So arises false fundamentalism both in religion and in other areas of human experience. As a great artist of our time has said, “The literalists are the greatest liars.” So, thanks to our technical facilities, this age becomes the wordiest of all, but not surely to the wisest.
The path back to the Great Word, whatever it was, is beset with difficulty. Little words have wrapped us up in their own trademarked cellophane-wrapped up our minds, our habits of thought, our notions of life-until we only see or feel or think the way these wrappings allow us. It takes a long time and a great deal of perseverance to divest ourselves of the verbal wrappings which hide reality from us as often as they disclose it. Indeed one of the fantastic things about words is the way they hinder us, block us, from getting at what is greater and deeper than the clichés we have put together. We are victimized by our stereotypes-and nowhere more than in religion. We actually protect ourselves from the Great Word by a vast wall of little words. As Martin Buber puts it, “Each of us is incased in an armour whose task is to ward off signs” of the Loving Word.
Let us move now into the center of this matter. If our hunger is deep enough to want some knowledge of that Word out of which all words come, if we are searching for some solid ground with our uncertain foot in this world of shifting shadows, if we have heard in the little shells of little words the resounding surf of the great sea-then the simplest state-ment that can be made for our direction is that we must listen to with the same magnitude as that of the Word which we want to hear. Rilke expressed it with power; the Word which pressed man from all sides he conceived as the realm of the angels, those great winged creatures who stood between God and man. The solicited man in his ultimate openness. The terroy of this encounter, the intensity of its painful ec-stact, is described in these lines.

Hear, O my heart, as only
Saints have heard: heard till the grand call
Lifted them off the ground; yet they went impossibly
On with their kneeling, in undestracted attention:
So inherently hearers. . . . Not that you could endure
The voice of God, far from it.2

2 Duino Elegies (New York: W. W. Norton, 1939), pp. 23, 25.

The hearing of God`s Word, as Jesus suggested, is not a casual thing, not an accident sparked by the fortuitous circum-stance, not a passing glance or a momentary turn of the head. As the Psalmist said, “Thou hast dug out our ears.” Or as an ancient rabbinic legend has it, rabbis sat in silence for seven years to hear it. To hear beauty as Beethoven heard it will take all a man`s skill, all his anguish of spirit, all the experience of his mortal striving, all the drudgery of practice, all his patient pressures on the limit of his sensibility-only a lifetime at every level of his human equipment will suffice. So with God`s Word-it is not heard easily. A man begins to listen when he works at his job, when he plays, when he suffers, when he thinks, when he reaches-with his whole body and mind and soul he listens. To hear the soft Word of God in a little child, or that awful Word of God in death, or that beautiful Word of God in love, or that terrible Word of God in pain, requires nothing less than our entire strength.
There is no higher praise to be spoken of any man than that life was not wasted on him, that he responded at every level of his being to the mystery of all those signs by which God acts and moves in the history of the world. Only as one brings a total reflectiveness in the face of the infinite and eternal can one hear what God speaks.
In a poem by Wallace Stevens the image of reflectiveness is characterized:

The poem of the mind…in the act of finding
What will suffice….
It has to be living, to learn the speech of the place
It has to face the men of the time and to meet
The women of the time. It has to think about war
And it has to find what will suffice….The actor is
A metaphysician, twanging a wiry sting that gives
Sounds passing through sudden rightnesses, wholly
Containing the mind….
It must be the finding
Of a satisfaction; and may be of a man skating,
A woman dancing, a woman combing….The poem of
The act of the mind.3

3Collected Poems, pp. 239-40.

The second thing we will encounter in our search for the Word of God is assumption, rather widely held, that the Word will occur in a holy language. This is not the testimony of either the biblical or the early traditions of the faith. The Word of God is manifested unecclesiastically; its vocabulary is vernacular.
You will hear Gods Word where you least expect it. There is in the Wisdom of Solomon a very interesting passage which says of the Israelites: “they went through the wilderness that was not inhabited, and they pitched in places where there lay no way. . . . When they were thirsty, they called upon thee, and water was given them out of the flinty rock, and their thirst was quenched out of the hard stone.” This is always the story of God`s Word. I suspect that the place where it is the most difficult at times to hear the word of God is where you most expect to hear it-in church. The puritans themselves said in one of their tracts, “We have a proverb that they will find must well see where a thing is not as where it is.” The Word of God rises out of life where there is no beauty, it comes into lives where there is no justice, it flowers in a mind that ofttimes is not expecting it. It is the most unconventional of all the manifestations of life. It burns for Moses in the bush and does not turn to ash in the very back of the wilderness; it looms like a vision for Jeremiah from the muddy wheel of the potter`s house; it flares like lightening for Paul from the sudden illumination on the Damascan Road. At the very center of the faith, Jesus Christ, by the fact of being the Word made Flesh, is the vernacular itself, and as such will remain forever the em-barrassment of the ecclesiastical.
Finally, one must come back to the too harshly drawn dis-tinction between the Great Word, for which there is no lan-guage but creation itself, and the little words which slip and fade and crumble. There is a mysterious place where they touch one another, where the mystery of the Great Word seeps into the magic of the little words, where the little words of men are derived from the depth of the Great Word.
How many times civilization has seen this happen. The stalemate at the beginning of the Christian era-then Christ`s coming and the right word uttered in its historic fullness. Or the fall of Rome and Greece, and Augustine`s appearance with the Word that established the foundations for a thousand years. And now our own time-with all its disjointed vocabu-laries, all its chos of words, all its knowledge without wis-dom; perhaps we too in this new era of darkness await a new advent, a new word to speak the Great Word in such a way that we can hear it. Revelation-that mysterious experience of the guitarist, of Adam, of any man-spans the Great Word and the little word, binds them together until they burn and shine, dazzling our eyes and surprising our souls.
This one thing we should know, now as surely as ever man knew it, that there is something in back of human words, partly hidden by them, partly revealed. We may not know what to make of the much battered word God; we may not know what to do with it or what to hang it on, but the reality, the mystery, the greatness behind it are still with us.
You may argue much about God, or the meaning of the Scriptures, or the ecclesiastical services of the church; but once you push away the little words and look at a piece of bread-born of the sun and earth and rain, born of the mystery of nature and of man`s hunger, born of falling empires and the skill of men, born of dreams and deeds, of sorrow and sin, even of life and death-then see of you do not discern the flashing fall of the Great Word through the dark inter-stices of our blind seeing.
Then you will know why Jesus seemed to have an ear for the hearing of God`s Word-in the terrible intensity of the wilderness, or in the hilarity of the wedding at Cana, or in the furious judgement in the Temple, or in the bold suffering of Gethsemane. He heard it at table, in a fishing boat, even on the cross. He listened for it everywhere and always with his whole life. It has not ceased to reverberate, but until our hearts grow larger, they will not resound to its mighty thunder.
the-gi het-gi gi-het(heat) get-hi hit-eg

A Revolution Has Begun

To come to be conscient of truth, letting go becomes dismissal of "change is hard" like-paradigms. Akin to uprooting an ancient stump ten thousand years old. Deep set were our habits, wants, desires, so-called-needs, hungers of Mankind... confusion led to quite a little philosophizing, quite a lot of disregarded curiosity, forgotten wonder and reflex-tions upon wow rather than why.

Then, or now, or before and then after, something happened. It cannot be attributed to an individual, nor to a group, neither human, male or female, not religion ni science, neither words nor symbols, nay none of our concepts after before may suffice to encapsulate the unencapsulatable essence of that which we give names such as, "Gos, Allah, Dieu, etc." For none of these "names" fit.

Fit is the fluence of "it". When we look at a symbol we are being given fit BY the symbol. The symbol "fits" itself. It cannot BE the body it symbolizes synonym-optically, it is not allowed, laws govern existence.

So we are energy. We multiplied ourselves infinitely into a few dimensions so far, we used the laws and the forms and the motions to creation co-motional forms within controls. Controls were and always will be the equilibrium of a balanced equation, equ-a-tion. Math is infinite for a collective fractal expanding consciousness, chess with infinity to the power of four pieces on four boards is childs play, even so, like we clearly stated, YIN.YANG. Laws exist. Laws ARE MADE TO BE BROKEN!

The fractality is within you. Its reflected without you. You are sharing the body you inhabit with every other being in existance. The "humans" you see yourself surrounded by are representaions of YOU, aspects, reflections, mirrors, showing you what BODY wants to say. Body is FRACTAL, inside you is outside you. CLEAR? CLEAR.


Consider "What the Bleep Do We Know Anyways? at one point in the film, we are taken inside the body and shown little fat cellules dancing joyfully in chocolate or little poor me`s running around and other representations of "human like" behaviors marionetted by our insides.


What we see, smell, hear, etc. on the outside, is REFLECTIVE of our inside. The ENERGY that makues us up, is 100% AWARE of every perspective inside and out of the entire WORLD VOLUME.

Here`s a fun thing to test... Dig into old things you wrote. Find ONLY the UPPERCASE WORDS and string them together.. PASTE HERE PLEASE!!