TO THE EAST OF EDEN:
A REFLECTIVE WANDERING INTO THE
THEOLOGICAL AND EXISTENTIAL BADLANDS
can we be aware of the existence of, and even experience,
a world immaterial,
while at the same time being incorporated
in, and attuned with, the realities of the human body?
i am facticity as much as i transcend it.
is this kind of transcendency of dichotomy possible, the union of the dualized?
is there a garden to the east of eden somewhere in the realms of nod,
where cain built his hut out of clay, founded his gardens,
planted his seeds and ploughed his soil,
ripening all around a blossoming nature,
breathing with the oxygen of immanence?
if so, surely, there is where i should be,
and better yet, surely it can outcompare even the babylonian one,
with its beautiful, scandent flowerwork ---
the awesome vines of hammurabi
clinging and climbing abound all over the city-walls?
the land of nod, can you remember gilgamesh?
the land of nod weeps and looks abject ---
luscious with the hebenon and paved with the glistening moonstone,
fountained with the wine old as death,
gurgled upforth from the mouth of the abyss... ---
will gods' carrion-flower breathe anew
and if so, will death even die with its unfold?
land of nod, nihilistic dumping-site,
will i hurt my feet on the nettles and the thistles of truth?
yeah, probably you will hurt your feet;
not even dantes' footsteps are visible in the mud afore us...
can we make the case,
that it is not easy to philosophically disprove or discredit
the idea that the quantum of human experience
is the religiosity with which we map reality, and that
religiosity at its fundaments --- the founding stones of it --- is
the belief that there is something, someone out there in the unknown,
partly or wholly attainable --- introducable --- to us,
and that we seem to be (at least some of us) equipped with
intense spiritual instincts which somehow draws us nearer to it,
just we dug past the first clay of our soils in pursuit of the gold-nerves,
plentiful beneath the crust as they are?
they would muster courage in the faithful of us,
the ethos of war and love would bubble in the pure-blooded,
they would imbue us with the strength of the jaguar-warrior;
our hearts will beat to the threnodies of the night-sky
for the harvest of the energies of the moon,
those of us who are no longer fearing of dying,
and those of us who gave their eyes to death
now lay the founding groundwork,
dig the defensive trenches and train ardently for combat;
they erect the magnificent pylons, the massive pyramids, the gold-eyed obelisks ---
the signaling fires --- watchtowers of a light even god can see ---
a light
that shines through the deadness of past and present things
with the potential epistemological axioms
of the future:
we can call it the numinous experience:
the knowledge of --- and connect with ---
transcendental happenings;
the revelations of subjective passions,
the mystical motivations, esoteric as they are;
the deep psychological milestones,
undeniable and unneglectable phenomena
imprinting on the iconostace of all your holy temples ---
they stir havoc in the waters of disquiet
and shake you to the ground with their gales;
you lose footing for a second, and you fall about frontward:
you become yourself a cute fire in the raging nights
and your enemies will travel at the speed of insomnia
through the deepest and holiest night of slumber;
at this point, you could never disconnect the traumata;
the black muck of love spills out of everything you touch,
and ascendant through the auras of vermillion and purple,
you crown yourself the martyr of god ---
i call you gilgamesh, lapis-lazuli majesty,
shūtur eli sharrī --- sha naqba īmuru ---
the witness, the great witness, he who who saw the deep.
Inga kommentarer:
Skicka en kommentar