Although there is not one thing on this Earth, or above, that is not without humor, absurdity, mischief, there is a subject on which I am intimately familiar which cannot be made fun of.
It is a singular state, a space of the deepest mysteries of them all, the place where cells teach each other how to dance with such ease, grace and fluidity, that although we are made of fantasies and will, we emanate a body, a suit so complex, knowing and glorious, so willing to comply with any thought or belief its mate conjures.
This space, this non-space, this all-knowing place of pure creativity, pure bliss, this is the mother of The Void. And, although radiantly intangible, its daughter visits us every day. The Void.
I think that one’s soul, and life, can be thought of as a chalice, an expandable chalice. Everyone’s chalice is uniquely their own in size and age and brittleness and design. No chalice is better than any other, because they are made for a sacred purpose, and each chalice understands that this is a holy task, not one in which dick measuring is going to be acceptable.
Each chalice is perpetually filled. There are spillages, and at times breakages, but the flow remains steady and strong. It is only the chalice which determines how much wine they are able to hold.
The chalice expands when it encounters wine from a certain vintage, a particular county, and the interaction between wine and cup results in an etheric resonance,. There is a memory sparked, perhaps of the same earth they both came from, the quarry and the earth it nestled in for a while. There is a knowing. These are actually bombarding the chalice constantly. The magic, the mystery of it is that the chalice has a consciousness, and if it discovers this, then the recognitions occur with regularity, and the magnitude intensifies with each encounter.
Consider this, however.
Perhaps, for reasons the chalice cannot comprehend, there comes a time when these moments of joy and unity and bliss begin to slow, and then no more is tasted but the house wine… robust, good, but lacking the depth of flavor and pleasure. The recognition stops. There is no more of the joy that can only be experienced when triggered by this recognition.
The chalice does not understand the punchline.
Without the chalice’s conscious awareness, every moment spent apart from this love, this deep and rich and lush love, is expanding the belly of that cup. Slowly, as boredom and disappointment and resignation and futility overcome the now tarnished cup, its very metal is breathing small breaths of endurance, of patience, of devotion, of honor, of admiration. The dream is not lost, it just goes small.
Many years of this can go on, without relief from relentless physicality. Metal, grape, sun, a good and serviceable combination, but without mirth and celebration.
Then, one day, after years of not tasting anything at all, the chalice senses that old-time feeling.
There is a resonance. There is a reverence. And, oddly, there is more light. As the lights lift, the chalice’s ability to be self aware once again switches on, and instantly it is understood.
The once small, proud, bejeweled chalice is now as wide as the earth, able to contain more than it can comprehend. The light had gone out, and the elements themselves had conspired to create a thing of exquisite beauty, keeping it under wraps, letting out a hint here and there, showing up in symbols, stray dreams, forgotten friends.
The void deserves only respect and reverence. It is from whence we came and where we will return. I am still a dreamer, believing in this crazy notion of ascension. I know this is all a slow motion ascension, I know that, but, like Enoch, on the thirtieth day, I really want to just go climb a hillock and take off for parts unknown.
Uncanny to finally realize I can take off anytime I’d like, without ever having to change clothes. It’s all here, in our hearts, in our still moments.
I just want to add that I understand now more about the puzzle analogy. It had bothered me, the answer I got, “Well, if you don’t like it, call it down.” That seemed facile, trite. Unsatisfying. I have been puzzling on it ever since.
Today I think I understand more. I think that I have too often tried to manifest from the puzzle piece floating in the air. Now, that’s fine, there are lots of visuals and emotions and probabilities, blah blah blah.
But if I am going up there and working my hardest to call in all this stuff, and yet the void in my puzzle, vaguely corresponding the the piece above, is far too small to fit such a massive reality, then of course I will be frustrated. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be. I could even start getting bitter about it, or start hating myself for not bringing all good things to me.
Where would they fit? How would it all come together? And by jamming a huge ass thing where it doesn’t yet fit, would I not create puckers and ripples in adjacent pieces, long at peace?
Better, then, to stare into the void, fearlessly willing to feel all, know all, understand all, ever painfully aware of how tiny you are and how vast The All is. It becomes absolutely absurd to even write about it, because I know so little.
There is so much more, and I have always been hesitant to write just for that reason. I look at past stuff I have done and am always a little aghast at how little I understood “back then”, and I feel a very peculiar protective sort of shame, embarrassment for the self who was still unaware of so much, compassionately aware of the trials which stood between her and me. Ugh. So I didn’t write for a long time. The awareness of my naivete silenced me.
And I may be less naive now, but far more humble. I am given a need to write about it now, and if that need subsides, I will abide that too. But to be able to put all of this together, in real time, for anyone at all to read… oh there is magic there. There is lightening in this bottle.