Sunday, August 3, 2014

Confessions of A Wayfaring Amnesiac

In Ibn Al Arabi's cosmology of phenomenon everything as a nexus of manifestation is based on relationships that are contingent upon locality. While in these interrelationships we can detect similarities as having a common origin, the whole is incommensurable to the similarities which is a discernment that I can appreciate by observing my local environment. One could almost say that the aim is to recognize a form of synthesis that is self disclosing.
At times it occurs to me that I may be formulated by this process of adaptation to locality not as a nexus of origin but as a visitor passing through some backwater provincial outpost, an amnesiac trying to recall what has been obliterated in the combustion of my arrival here.
Our local customs, our local environment suggest this or that as critical assumptions through the contingent lens of biology created by local conditions that suggest this, infer that and yet we bury not only the bone but the dog in a quest to assure ourselves of our orientation as if to deny this not knowing how we even arrived here. Perhaps it is akin to waking up alongside some remote highway in strange clothes in a drunken stupor and when confronted by the locals we deny this by making up all sorts of fantastical stories and myths about ourselves as a contingent survival instinct to not rock the boat, don't upset the locals.

On my best day I cannot imagine anything odder than this situation and yet all around me I see nearly all of the locals acting as though being upon a ball whirling away under the tutelage of a solar  orbit in a vacuum, no less, to be perfectly natural. No questions need be asked.
The local villagers seem compulsively obsessed with imprinting an form of inoculation against confusion by way of imprinting fantasies as facts, references as material objects, metaphors as linear causality as soon as we get off the boat. This plausible deniability of not knowing anything is inculcated in a profound act of hypnosis to insure a safety net of moats, walls and membranes of imaginative mythologies.
Everything is expressed in a upside down manner.
I could write a letter back home if I had an address, detailing the length and breath of my utter astonishment in the face of what is the patent lunacy of cross purposes, contradictions and self comforting thumb sucking that is institutionalized, memorialized as sacred as everyone seems to operate on the premise of an escape hatch, a get out of jail free be handed as a peremptory exchange in some kind of abstracted reward of perpetuating all this in some kind of eternal carbon copy that is self explanatory, that erases patent contradictions. Then in this place, this is no surprise as being expressed as a form of reward for lying through one's teeth at every opportunity.

This is a very strange town in an even stranger countryside where every creature has to eat and or destroy one another to subsist to create more creatures. What kind of demented cross purpose is this? I have to laugh to keep from hiding under someone's house like a deranged hermit. This is one heck of a dangerous place and the villagers are always on the verge of being upset.  Its as if for most of them you have to whisper in front of the infantile less you be run out of town on a rail, tarred and feathered if you challenge the illogical assumptions of their lunatic traditions....And so, there seems to be a small group of similar refugees engaged in guerrilla warfare here, sort of placing purposeful time bombs in the path of a institutionalized one way street frozen in it's evolution like a can of string beans. Of course they are confidently dismissed as lunatics, day dreamers and scofflaws and are hung out as they say here, to dry or worse. A sort of fraying around the edges is always shored up.
If I ever figure out how I arrived here maybe I can compare notes with those who regained their memory..maybe not... but as they here in this weird village, its the only game in town.
Others have left notes behind and if I am just lucky enough I may have a few stories of my own to compare with theirs if we gather together in some ill defined aftermath.
Misery when it calls loves company or so they say and the world seems pretty miserable right now..from where I sit for better or worse.

A reunion with old companions I have never met might  be a reward in of itself

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