Sunday, 21 July 2013

no transcendence

I seem to carry some deep fantasy about the possibility of transcendence -  about transformation which has the power to actually eradicate; to result in final, ultimate cessation.

Of whatever 'it' is that holds me back from freer artistic expression.

Of whatever 'it' is that cripples me with self-consciousness when I want to sing.

I did once experience a long-term transformation of consciousness, which presumably is what is at the root of this belief. But eventually that transformation was lost, leaving behind just the faintest trace of itself in my memory. It seems to me now that transformations are possible, but that they seem not to come about by any mechanism of transcendence or leaving behind.

You don't graduate from your needy child and turn into your adult. You don't remove ego just because you begin to see its workings. And you don't serve yourself by looking back at your history and saying, I was wrong, how misguided I was, how blind. Because this implies that now you can see. Which you cannot. Such self-castigations are betrayals of the soul, and only perpetuate the splitting off inside.

I would guess that the removal of obstacles involves some kind of integration. Some kind of acceptance and understanding. Some kind of making space and some kind of taking of responsibility. Over and over again, in an endless cycle, not in the straight line of progression.

No final resolution. No transcendence.

When the self if growing, forming
It is tentative, unsure
of what it is
where its boundaries are
If it gets the attention
it needs
It slowly consolidates itself
Comes to know itself
Learns to rest in itself
Learns how to soothe itself
and protect itself from harm
Learns how much to reveal
When to hold back
When to let go

If it doesn't get attention
at that early stage
It can never complete itself
It's never sure
Where it starts or ends
It doesn't know itself
It can't grasp hold
of itself
It tries to stand firm
But it has strange holes
Blind spots
Places that it can unexpectedly
leak out from
that can unexpectedly
permit entry
to things that should not
be let in

in ancient brambles
It can't move
backwards, or

Until the day comes
Perhaps through
an enormous shock
it sees
The brambles
The thicket of thorns
How it has been
Shrinking back
Flooding out
Leaking, seeping
Recoiling, weeping
Secretly pleading
With the whole wide world

'I will show you
who I really am
if you will tell me
that what I am
is supremely

The world
does not make this 

Seeing this
The self begins to
unstick itself
To become 
just a little 
more free
I am here
It whispers 
In its own ear
My feet
are on this earth
My body 
Is a bridge
I speak
I sing
And when I speak
I do not speak
That you praise me
If you praise me
I let your praise
Fly over 
me like a passing
If you ignore me
I don't stop my song
I am here


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