formlessing

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"Caught in the field of subtle energies and mental representations, the supreme ambrosia is dissolved, and the person forgets his innate freedom.

The power of the word is always ready to veil the profound nature of the Self because no mental representation can free itself from language."

[formlessing]

"I have nothing that I may call my own.

Distant and dead are my loved ones, and I hear nothing more of them from any voice.

My business on earth is over. I set to work full of will; I bled over my labor, and made the world not a penny richer.

Ingloriously and alone I return, and wander through my fatherland that lies all around me like a garden of the dead, and perhaps awaiting me is the knife of the hunter, who holds us Greeks for his pleasure just as he does the game of the forest.

But you still shine, sun of the heavens! You still grow green, holy earth! Still the rivers rush into the sea, and shady trees rustle at midday. Spring’s song of bliss sings my mortal thoughts to sleep. The fullness of the all-living world nourishes and satiates my starving being with intoxication.

O blessed nature! I do not know what befalls me when I raise my eyes before your beauty, but all the pleasure of heaven is in the tears that I weep before you, the beloved before his beloved.

My whole being falls silent and hearkens when the tender surge of the air plays about my breast. Often, lost in the wide blue, I look up at the ether and into the holy sea, and I feel as if a kindred spirit opened its arms to me, as if the pain of solitude dissolved into the life of the divinity.

To be one with all – that is the life of the divinity, that is the heaven of man.

To be one with all that lives, to return in blessed self-oblivion into the All of nature, that is the summit of thoughts and joys, that is the holy mountain height, the place of eternal repose, where the midday loses its swelter and the thunder its voice and the boiling sea resembles the billowing field of grain.

To be one with all that lives! With these words virtue removes its wrathful armor, the spirit of man lays its scepter aside and all thoughts vanish before the image of the world’s eternal unity, just as the rules of the struggling artist vanish before his Urania; and iron fate abdicates its power, and death vanishes from the union of beings, and indivisibility and eternal youth bless and beautify the world.

I often stand at this height, my Bellarmin! but a moment of reflection hurls me down. I reflect and find myself as I was before, alone, with all the pains of mortality; and the asylum of my heart, the world’s eternal unity, is gone; nature closes her arms and I stand like a stranger before her and do not comprehend her.

O! had I never gone to your schools. Knowledge, which I pursued down into the shaft, and from which in my youthful folly I expected confirmation of my pure joy, has corrupted everything for me.

Among you I became so perfectly rational, learned so thoroughly to distinguish myself from what surrounds me that I am now isolated in the beautiful world, cast out of the garden of nature, where I grew and bloomed, and am drying up under the midday sun.

O man is a god when he dreams, a beggar when he thinks, and when enthusiasm is gone, he stands there like a wayward son whom the father has driven out of the house and regards the meager pennies that pity gave him for the journey."

[formlessing]

"You are a walker between worlds now, forever changed The whispers from beyond will echo in your dreams A splinter in your mind's eye, a glitch in the Matrix Mundane reality will feel like a skin you must shed"

conversation_1710837616.txt • infinite backrooms (webflow.io)

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"To be born means to create a world round yourself as the centre."

- Nisargadatta Maharaj

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Tree Lines

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“All philosophies are mental fabrications. There has never been a single doctrine by which one could enter the true essence of things.”

— Nāgārjuna

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Poison

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Thérèse d'Avila, Le chemin de la perfection : chapitre VII

Vous pensez que de telles âmes n’aiment ni ne savent aimer personne, hormis Dieu. Au contraire elles aiment d’un amour plus vrai, d’un amour plus ardent, d’un amour plus utile ; enfin, c’est de l’amour, un amour généreux et qui s’attache à donner beaucoup plus qu’à recevoir, même avec Dieu. J’affirme que cette manière d’aimer mérite le nom d’amour, plutôt que ces basses affections de la terre qui l’ont usurpé.

Mais, me direz-vous encore, puisque ces personnes n’aiment rien de ce qui frappe leur sens, à quoi s’attachent-elles ? Je vous répondrai qu’elles aiment ce qu’elles voient, et s’affectionnent à ce qu’elles entendent ; mais les choses qu’elles voient, quand elles aiment, sont des choses stables, parce que sans s’arrêter aux corps, leur regard descend au fond des âmes, afin de découvrir s’il y a en celles-ci quelque chose qui mérite d’être aimé. Si elles n'y découvrent encore rien à aimer, mais seulement une faible disposition au bien, qui permet de supposer qu'en creusant cette mine, elles y trouveront de l’or, leur amour ne redoute aucune fatigue. Les choses les plus pénibles, elles les accomplissent volontiers pour le bien de cette âme : elles veulent que leur amour soit durable; et elles savent parfaitement que cela est impossible si l'âme qu'elles aiment ne possèdent pas les biens célestes et un grand amour de Dieu.

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Heliogábalo o el anarquista coronado

Heliogabale ou l'anarchiste couronné, 1934

Lo que diferencia a los paganos de nosotros es que en el origen de todas sus creencias hay un esfuerzo terrible por no pensar como hombres, por estar en contacto con toda la creación, es decir, con la divinidad.

Para nosotros, los civilizados somos nosotros mismos, y todo lo demás, que da la medida de nuestra ignorancia universal, se identifica con la barbarie.

Tener sentido de la unidad profunda de las cosas es tener sentido de la anarquía

El más pequeño estallido de amor verdadero nos acerca mucho más a Dios que toda la ciencia que podamos tener de la creación y sus grados.

El amor que es una fuerza no va sin la Voluntad. No se ama sin la voluntad, que pasa por la conciencia; – es la conciencia de la separación permitida lo que nos lleva al desapego de las cosas, lo que nos devuelve a la unidad de Dios.

Las religiones antiguas originalmente querían lanzar una mirada al Gran Todo. No han separado el cielo del hombre, el hombre de toda la creación, desde la génesis de los elementos. Y también se puede decir que, originalmente, vieron claramente la creación. El catolicismo ha cerrado la puerta, como lo había hecho antes el budismo. Deliberadamente ya sabiendas cerraron la puerta, diciéndonos que no necesitábamos saberlo.

En todo poema hay una contradicción esencial. La poesía es multiplicidad desmenuzada que devuelve llamas. Y la poesía, que restaura el orden, resucita primero el desorden, el desorden con aspectos inflamados; hace chocar aspectos que conducen a un solo punto: fuego, gesto, sangre, grito.

Todos aquellos que han triunfado en la vida y que han hablado de ellos, es porque ellos también tenían algo.

••••••

Antonin Artaud (Marsella 1896 - Ivry 1948)

Foto: Red

Marcador sobre yeso

Autor desconocido

División psiquiátrica

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18 I also said to myself, “As for humans, God tests them so that they may see that they are like the animals. 

19 Surely the fate of human beings is like that of the animals; the same fate awaits them both: As one dies, so dies the other. All have the same breath; humans have no advantage over animals. Everything is meaningless. 

20 All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return. 

21 Who knows if the human spirit rises upward and if the spirit of the animal goes down into the earth?”

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Arkhé

A bright night, a coarse quietness, a bluish glow low on the horizon; You could almost feel the flavor of the electric currents crackling amid caresses of air

From static, concealed abodes, a baptism of fire for the essentially barren. A nursery for radioactive granite and warm black basalt A liquid flame slowly, slyly, unfailingly pouring from veiled mountains, to meet melancholic sands, to touch the cold silk of the desert's skin

Some sand flies. A host of particles dancing, eroding, dissolving. Swayed by indifferent winds, transformed by different fires, animated by fecund atmospheres *** I hold now in my mind an old picture of frenzied pirouettes in the passageways of Infinity *** A voice comes deep from the abyss. From one eon to another, once again, over these waves everything moves. And all live and die with a kiss forged in the heart of the stars A flash of vibrant lightning, the force of a silent thunder; A blue flame lights up the universe. The infinite desert is awake

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[...] The senate commended their public spirit, and erected the temple and its image at the public charge,​ but they none the less contributed money themselves and set up a second image of the goddess, and this, the Romans say, as it was placed in the temple, uttered some such words as these: "Dear to the gods, O women, is your pious gift of me."

These words were actually uttered twice, as the story runs, which would have us believe what is difficult of belief and probably never happened. For that statues have appeared to sweat, and shed tears, and exude something like drops of blood, is not impossible; since wood and stone often contract a mould which is productive of moisture, and cover themselves with many colours, and receive tints from the atmosphere; and there is nothing in the way of believing that the Deity uses these phenomena sometimes as signs and portents. It is possible also that statues may emit a noise like a moan or a groan, by reason of a fracture or a rupture, which is more violent if it takes place in the interior. But that articulate speech, and language so clear and abundant and precise, should proceed from a lifeless thing, is altogether impossible; since not even the soul of man, or the Deity, without a body duly organized and fitted with vocal parts, has ever spoken and conversed. But where history forces our assent with numerous and credible witnesses, we must conclude that an experience different from that of sensation arises in the imaginative part of the soul, and persuades men to think it sensation; as, for instance, in sleep, when we think we see and hear, although we neither see nor hear. However, those who cherish strong feelings of good-will and affection for the Deity, and are therefore unable to reject or deny anything of this kind, have a strong argument for their faith in the wonder­ful and transcending character of the divine power. For the Deity has no resemblance whatever to man, either in nature, activity, skill, or strength; nor, if He does something that we cannot do, or contrives something that we cannot contrive, is this contrary to reason; but rather, since he differs from us in all points, in His works most of all is He unlike us and far removed from us. But most of the Deity's powers, as Heracleitus says,​ "escape our knowledge through incredulity."

Plutarch's Parallel Lives - The Life of Coriolanus