Eyeless in Ginza, Superman Agonistes…

IMG_0258Would that this were but the latest manifestation of many cycles of rebirth, each if only slightly better than the last, so that I could know that things were improving, if only gradually, if only incrementally, but in the right direction, something to indicate the ascent of man, not the descent, and maybe more in the manner of smiling Teilhard than grumpy Darwin, for then I could take solace in that fact and be happy…

But I can see nothing of the sort, I limited to these eyes, and this life, in this world, the only one I know, though there may be others out there somewhere, but I know them not. I only know that this is not the pure land of prophecy, we sentenced here to gravity, and suffering, because the pure land of prophecy is surely one of the purest white light, these spectral colors of the most seductive hues begging me to come down to their world of solidity, to get down and dirty with sounds, phenomena, percussion and repercussions…

But my tongue was the first to go, all twisted and tied in knots and bows, gift-wrapped for Christmas and nowhere to go, so much to say and no way of saying it, for fear of something being lost in translation, I condemned to the task of scribbling cryptic symbols and matchstick men in the ledgers of refugees, for which one among us is whole and complete in a world which allows nothing of the sort?

And the hair was next, that the beginning of the end for me as Superman in Samsara, for how can I rule the world if I don’t have any hair? But the hair is only ego, incarnate, in follicle, and if only I could kill the ego, in one stroke, such that I would kill my unnatural self, by killing my ego, and there be done with it once and for all, perhaps then and only then might I be truly happy, to be finally free of such an encumbrance as a name, and a place, and a history with beginning and end…

For are not such the dictates of fashion, that we must look a certain way, or act a certain way, in order to be seen as the winner of all contests and bearer of great fortunes, with only the toss of a lock or the twist of a tourniquet, to symbolize that this human being is indeed the master of the universe, that he or she has captured the imaginations of a species, and encapsulated those desires into the folds and creases of robes and rebozos, for all to see the great heights from which we are duly capable of falling?

Imprison’d now indeed, In real darkness of the body dwells, Shut up from outward light, To incorporate with gloomy night; For inward light alas, Puts forth no visual beam—John Milton, Samson Agonistes

But since the hair was only ego, then maybe I can still save myself, perhaps, if only I can see the way clear, if only I had eyes to see, for the eyes are next to go, the way of all flesh, not by burning or gouging, but by the slow steady disintegration of matter in motion, constant motion with the inevitable wear and tear that comes with overuse. And is this not the birth of duality, that gaping gap between desire and reality, that leads us falsely to the conclusion that there must needs be a gap between the mind and body?

Damn these eyes! For they look and look, but see little, subject to the limitations of their own condition, and limited only to the visions for which they have been created and programmed, nothing of the intrinsic nature of reality, nothing about the worlds above or below, but much about the shapes and forms that bind us to bodies, and the sights and smells that bind us to sensation, and much about the fine print that binds us to the contract of our temporary existence in this life in this world…

And so the epiphany comes, in the form of revelation, and realization, that the paradigms are internal, that the constructs are subjective, and that the middle path is meandering. For would that I might only be able to put my entire soul and being, my complete consciousness, such as it is, on to a smudge of ink the size of a postage stamp and smear it upon…

…the wall or some sliver of paper or upon some flake of old paint upon which to feed, and there to live and have my being in only two dimensions, the physical equivalent of a bar code, DNA, pure consciousness, at once freed from the responsibilities of gross physical existence, living and dying and reproducing in kind, and then I might be truly happy…

For I care little about reproduction in real time in real space, but much about knowing the reasons why, for in reproduction I find little solace, but in the act of simulation much, as is the case for all activities of the human kind, such as sport, art, music, dance and the celebration thereof, mere symbols, all but the procuring of food for sustenance of the body, and signs for sustenance of the mind, that we are subject to, and victims thereof and victors therein…

But my rod will not be long for the task at hand, and quickly dies the desire to bend others into submission to my will. For I have not the strength now, tongueless hairless and eyeless, to tear down palaces, nor walls, nor all the gilded palaces of sin that line the great plazas of the neon pharaohs in Ginza, conspicuous consumption for the lack of anything more appealing, neither reproduction nor consumption nor ersatz fulfillment of the six senses, for these are my limitations, and these are the limitations of all mankind…