BLOOD SACRIFICE (Transcending contemplation)
Sometimes I walk the streets of this city amazed at my capacity to withstand such utter loneliness. My emotional disconnection from real human-beings is undoubtedly my greatest trial. Do real human-beings experience similar despair? I find it impossible to believe. Feeling at home here is nine-tenths of what sanity is. Knowing my real home is in another world, on another planet, is bound to imbalance me towards madness.
I have been experiencing difficulty with my eyesight lately. My vision is often blurred and strained. If I go blind does that mean I’ve seen all I need to see? Or does it mean that somehow I have failed to justify my optical needs? How much of what human-beings see is necessary sight, how much merely wasted vision?
It is a scientific fact, apparently, that babies can see through their skin. It’s a reality that most adult humans either lose or fail to cultivate this facility. If I go blind, would I be missing something or finally achieving mastery over this desperate human need to always be able to see where they are going? If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, if I go blind does that mean this world will never be beautiful or ugly ever again?
It is a common notion in this primitive culture to believe that human-beings who behave well on earth will proceed after death to become angels in heaven. Less fashionable theologians, howver, argue that once a soul is embodied it must forever need an embodiment to express itself, and can therefore never become an angel. Some believe that a certain “Jesus Christ” was the only occasion this cosmic rule was broken. Others believe it happens all the time, that there are more angles in heaven on earth than there are keys to understanding how else so-called miracles can happen!
The yearning of a human soul often sets standards and expectations their bodies can’t possibly sustain. And it may seem to each that they have been betrayed by the other. But in truth to have ever set such fashionably romantic limitations on our potential for love is the greatest treachery this world has ever known.
It is the nature of earth mystery to cloud human memory of previous worlds and an infinity of gender pulsations that can no more be penetrated than a hole can be dug backwards.
What happens to the human psyche when it first realizes it is embodied in a thing that can’t fly? What happens to a body whose psyche cannot accept this fact? What happens to a fact when the imagination flies away with it? Is a fly a thing of beauty? Musta thing of beauty remain a thing forever? Are human-beings grounded by their limitations or sculptured into beauty because of them? Is the beauty of a human-being grounded in the fact that it cannot fly?
Is it possible for one human-being to release the equivalent energy of all humanity? can one part in truth speak for the whole? Are all lives, all history, all myth, all science and all wisdom always contained in the most minute moment and physique of life? And can this moment be xploded so a human can see the workings of God? Would that improve their relationship with their neighbor, or would it simply condemn them to knowing that in truth only their own illusion luives next door?
It is a common human trait to equate choice with freedom. As if the universal state of being did not of course preclude such a simplistic, diversive and divisive notion. Life on this planet continues to consider itself either blessed or cursed, as if reality was a game of ping-pong the outcome of which would settle the matter once and for all..
Is this being processed as I speak, or is it being filed away for future generations? I’m beginning to understand that time and space are the same dimension. My human form is separated from my real being not by time and space, but by time and space together. Human-beings are their own ancestors. In which case they must have the capacity to transform, re-shape, subvert or even obliterate their own heritage. But understanding has no value unless it informs an action. Enactment is the true challenge of my earthly mission. I desperately need to act!
Yet what if the great cosmic principle is that in truth nothing needs to be done? And everything that seeks to move forward is merely defiance incarnate of a great cosmic void? how can I then destroy myself or anybody else without recreating the universe and unprincipled loss? I need a sign. Give me a sign. Something. Anything. If learning how to live is learning how to love, is the truly informing lesson to experience the total lack of it?
She’s a dancer. She dances. Naked. For anyone who cares to watch. She is bound to exhibit neither fear for not fear of her body. She must appear shameless. In a culture in which shame is a primary guiding restraint, this ability is a priceless commodity. Her presence is becoming very precious to me.
To be alive on earth seems to be bound inter-gender. This seems to be where the secret of life pulsates, against all universal logic. I must penetrate that pulse to truly know the origin of humanity and finally be at peace with it. Necessity lingers. I need to finalize my fulfillment of female. But not coital, post-coital, not prime but past prime, apparent non-necessity for survival of the species. Deeper than the womb, much deeper than the womb, where the muscle no longer binds with the plasma, where the organs no longer grind against the sinew, where oxygen shifts silently into ether. I must hold a woman’s heart in my hands and feel it breathing, if only for one moment independent of any human ramifications. I must inflict pain, so much pain it becomes impossible to believe it is a choice. Which, of course, it has to be, if I am ever to return home knowing my mission was truly well accomplished.
This may be my last chance. To do what? To be what? To be human? To be mortal? Aging is the most decadent of sensations, breeding all manner of conscious delusions. Finite possibility hangs heavy on the human frame. The urge towards a final resolution is against all universal logic, yet the desire remains, the imperative remains to experience that one quintessential moment of truth that will allow the ultimate transformation of death to be fully cooperative and at peace with the transcendent cosmos…
Though my extra-terrestrial being guarantees ultimate immunity from earthly trials, the super-nature of my mission demands that I experience them fully. So I am truly afraid of the loss of all the things I have grown to rely on, though I know they are not real for me. But I know I must feel the pain of every living things, even if to all intents and purposes I am the one inflicting it. The mystery must be enacted in full to face up to its’ own unreality.
If death defines life then death must be life’s primary experience. There is no peak like the peak from which there is no descent. In which case, until that moment, a moment essentially incomprehensible to the human mind, until that moment human-beings can only hold a lease and never truly own their own house…
And when the deed is done, when the dice have been played, when somehow the void has been bridged..? It is a violent occasion to enter into another’s physical space. No matter how tenderly broached, the wound will be permanent, even eternal, when the sack of skin has been mortally punctured and the distillation of its’ spirit is our only human hope left. What remains when the blood and bones have been soaked up and reclaimed by the earth?
Are you ready to begin? Are you ready to be finished? Are you ready to be finished to begin? This universe has been ready to begin since time began, since space first opened up its’ sex and desire and cruelty were born twins in one and the same excruciation..
Follow me now up the ladder of sparks to the pool of peace, deep within the deeps, where the edge of silence spreads its’ wings, between the breast and the belly of the universe, not dust and wind, but a star shines softly on the brink of the world’s lips, a world that weeps a bitter rain that lives but is not refreshed, even after all this time has mastered nothing…
Do you find her breath sweet? the condensation on her lips from the liquid bitterness between her legs.. Nod your head, shake your head, let your head speak for the world, and I will take your head and place it on the shoulders of the world, so the world may see itself for what it was before magic returned to reclaim the physical carcass it was originally offered.. Don’t say a word, don’t speak a word. Do you realize how much energy can be released into the world simply by parting a woman’s legs? Don’t be afraid, I have nothing to offer you but my magic, the tricks of my trade… Not even the foulest dog would seek revenge for an act already committed. The chains are not chains unless they are linked to something that never grows old and dies..
Close your eyes. Close your eyes till your eyes see the darkness, till your eyes see through the darkness, till your eyes become the darkness.. And in that darkness you will experience visions of light that light itself could never possibly shape.. You will experience a knowledge that one step, even one step but in a given direction, one fumble, one tremble and you will tumble into an abyss where human function has no design, you will fall into the belly between your own legs…And men will sing songs of a virgin’s rape, and women will be silent when men are satisfied, and the sexless screams of infinity will echo only in a mad dog’s ears….
Follow me now up the ladder of sparks, see the light on the man who waits, yet the moon is dark. And far into the center, deep in the center. the crunching of bones, blood curdling like milk poisoned by the passion of dead minds! Follow me now up the ladder of sparks, sit within the hollow of the blackest cloud, in the darkest back-streets of the wind, crawl like a dog unleashed who has lost his will to wander, yet the heart never ceases…
So much power, so much energy, so warm, so secret, so perfectly unsustainable, the universe itself must weep and choose its’ purpose afresh! Don’t be afraid, I have nothing to offer you but a man with no sex.. I am no longer a separate entity, I have already relinquished my previous outlook and personality and entered into the un-sublimated supra-consciousness of my target’s being. Something is about to happen now that has never happened before and will never happen again! let it be duly noted that my final sensation was an awe-inspiring unwillingness to let go, as if there really was something I’d missed..
And will she remember me fondly once the horror is over? Will she remember me at all when she is no longer what she was???