Phoenix
by Dale J. Sprague
Op. 12 Existential Angst, Karmic Tithes
In a mirror, stare at what is there long enough and an exquisite mystery will appear. Stare too long without anything said, the terrible dread will be upon you
Knowledge is a blessing. Otherwise, one is predisposed to the dreadful mires of existential angst, and troubles of karmic tithes therein. Yet, trouble is a useful distraction, and serves well the general purpose, which is to satisfy the general need, for once it has been seen, it need not be seen again. It is inevitable though, that it will be seen again..but it is advisable to avoid this, how ever possible
We are all on the go. We look for any strange, odd, or dire circumstance, not necessarily to forget..which, by itself only borrows time, which I suppose anyone would be grateful for, if it was offered...not necessarily to forget, but to become distracted, to avoid becoming undistracted and subsequently, inevitably perceiving the dread
If it was possible to forget about it, what need would there be to incarnate at all? The entire production of elements in the universe are made for a purpose, because anyone that thinks an event horizon is just a random event, an accident, another attraction to visit, sooner or later will discover the increasing difficulty in finding anything random to explain random events, or even to create them. This is a problem, which is why we have propensities to forget. Forgetfulness is useful. Nevertheless, whether cognified or randomized, whether proactive or reactive..whether any form, fit, or function in nature is an accident or not..makes no difference with regard to our general purpose. Though a chaos generator in one's pocket could be handy, especially when the search for a distraction begins to appear hopeless. Such portable black holes from which one cannot escape surely would serve as one of the greatest diversions of them all! But there are others around that are not so drastic or desperate
This is why everyone, even the most disparaged of us, looks upon a child with pleasure. They have not what makes the rest of us ansie and on the constant go to become distracted. Even for those who are the most miserable failures at this, and no doubt responsible for the darkest deeds, in their quest to avoid perceiving what the child does not, they desperately go. Perhaps one may postulate that the darkest deeds are committed by those who have only meager resources to bring about this end for themselves..that is, an adult who has profoundly fallen from the grace of a child, one who has become darkly separated, entirely wolf'd without any apparent means to reconnect..they are the greatest at risk to suffer the dread
We are all on the go in our own way. And the world is ostensibly and insidiously a dangerous place. Even within some dark morass, one may be desperate, not because of some particular muck, but for that dirge of all perceptions, for which one may covet the darkest mire, or certainly be willing to be covered by it, if there should happen to be nothing else around to serve as a diversion
One solid and lasting distraction will do, yet sometimes, for insurance, many are preferred as backup, however divided one's attention may be, or diluted one's thinking may be evident. Only the general effect here, is all that is really important. There is a risk, we all know, in permitting only one distraction at a time..serially as it were, for the purposes of a lucid process of thought, from which inevitably pass those deadly empty conscious interims, a serious price to pay, indeed. Surely, something akin to a tender body's exposure to raw space. It matters not here, whether or not, others understand the assumptions made from step'to'step of thought's logic
We are on the go, and the world is an obvious dangerous place within which one strives for those precious distractions, those bles'sed deflections for which one instinctively seeks. A good profession and a commitment to one's art are two solutions to the general problem. Also..the pleasant company of compassionate loving, or the pleasure of satisfying moderate appetites. My pipe serves occasionally without too much risk, or a good draught of well aged whiskey, or the warm gentleness of grooming hands...fine departures in themselves, how ever temporary they may be. We readily take nevertheless, no matter how temporary. Serve me brandy!..if there is nothing else handy
Why do we surprise ourselves, or be surprised at ourselves? Some crazy impulse, a sudden omission of memory that was so easy to recall a moment before. Some variation of action causing our path to divert into some welcome unknown direction. It is simple. It is but another distraction. It is for the sake of diversion. It works
Or why do we fear to change our ways?..because, why risk it if it still works? Yet, in fact, jumping from a rutted track is one of the most effective methods to become distracted...that is, to have to situate one's self all over again within a new environment. Nevertheless, it is often thought, why risk the dread, the end space, the place of serious angst? No immediate need to, necessarily, but sometimes we have to take a risk for the general purpose, and into any direction will suit our need. And sooner or later, everyone comes to learn that for any direction, one has the license to take, for the sake of even a temporary distraction..we are limited only by ourselves. And if a way becomes too deeply rutted, causing those scary protracted incarnations in which the dread threatens to rear itself, one should have enough strength left to jump out of the rut. And yes, I would say oblivion is better than the dread. What is there to lose? One rut usually leads to another. Ruts work. So what? is there to lose
Sometimes we find an open track which we travel heavily. It may seem well worn. From it we cannot vary, but down deep, at least for as long as it may last, we are grateful..we are at ease from an uneasy soul. Sooner or later however, from the track we must depart, or maybe it just mysteriously disappears, depending upon how intuitive or self lit our life may course, and once again here we are...the blackness surrounds. We were lazy, unforgivably otiose, and are beginning to get a little angst'd, then seriously irked..maybe even a little whimp'ring. Anything more distressing, we tend to block out..in general, complaining about one's lack of resources to fill the darkness, and muttle through what is in the middle of it
But wining or complaining is of no help when a diversion is desperately needed. We see, we smell, we feel for anything that will carry us off, away..hopefully far away. These carnal portals are given for lack of available imaginative resources. That is why it is not good to rely upon them indefinitely. Carnal desire can be beaten to death easily. Yet, one small carnal distraction might work. Worth a try. Maybe we get lucky. Sweet serendipity! Luck happens...unexpectantly of course, and I am off!..and happily faraway
But do not hope for this. Actually, to avoid regrets, do not hope for anything. Hope contributes, but it is such a pitifully delicate thing. Hope gives one the tendency to reach for things far out and away, and this could be dangerous, especially if the dread is nearly upon us. Like the carnal senses, hoping is a very easy thing to do, and makes it all too easy to aspire for distractions that are very difficult to obtain. Plan, prepare, calculate...gradually work up to the profound long lasting ones. But this takes humility, and only love makes one humble. Love utterly obliterates the dread for as long as love may last
Hoping is a penny on the ground..but if one has nothing in one's pocket, a penny's worth of distraction may lead to a greater one! It has been written that 'a penny in one's pocket is infinitely more than an empty pocket.' Yet, what a paltry distraction it is because from it, a much greater one is very unlikely. Scrounging, grovelling around in the dirt, looking for pennies, is a sign that one has lost their imagination. The greater the hope, the greater the imagination required
And so it comes to be in some of us. We couldn't help it. Love becomes set. We must feel pain or it is not true, or it must be blue or hell for us to tell, or just a plain ol' pain in the ol' backside sacroiliac. Someone might think it to be a neurotic thing, unfortunate tendency, but down deep, we actually envy those who have it...us, straight and true spirits, blithe spirits with no burdens other than the sun on our back, a'trying to penetrate through. Love is a major cause of dysfunction, that inspires programs of dysfunction. Just imagine..if there was no dysfunction anywhere, we would be in a serious hurt, like a machine made of frictionless bearing parts, no wear, no problems, and..no distractions! So take a risk! And if you don't know how...plunge! A belly flop is better than the alternative
The greater reality is a steady'state eternal thing. How else can the 'here and now'..be here and now? Our problem is, it is the only thing. We have to deal with it. Not too much or too little of anything, because only in relationship with something do we have the means to at least temporarily forget. Too much..our senses deaden from saturation. Too little, one is without an effective diversion. This is why it is advised to avoid cutting short any great sensation, nor ever beat a pleasure to death, because in that death, the dread is espied, invades us, and unsettles us terribly
I've seen it, and stared at it, I felt its terrible oddness..as though if something was to awake in me, if I were to know this something, I would promptly be dashed from existence. Oblivion I can handle. It's temporary. Dashed from existence is disturbing. I was naive, but if I wasn't, I might have been shattered. Who knows what might have happened? That's the blessing of innocence. While innocence always has the worst metaphysical experiences, it is able to survive without being permanently hurt by it..as long as there aren't too many hurts spaced too close, too often. But even if there were, and the child should acquire a few more articles of clothing to cover its innocence, each serves well as a diversion, where each most certainly has already inspired some form of distractive activity. Ignorance works for our general purpose. Sometimes, looking at it, there is an awful curiosity thirst, its queries, but I remember..and wisely become apprehensive to quench. So, I let it fade, blanked out, and again, began without hesitation, seeking my next distraction
If we want to live for centuries, we better have a great capacity for forgetfulness. We should be able to forget readily, a talent to deep'six it, as it were...that is, in addition to science, have a profound appreciation for nescience. That a 'true grit of knowledge will inspire only one question' is not a disadvantage..but a blessing! Sweet mystery is a blessing! Don't stop with the light! Do not make light a 'non plus ultra.' 'Non plus ultra' lights mortally wound the soul. Look farther, past twilight, search deep into the night, if necessary. Bring light to what needs to be seen..keep dark what does not. 'Knowledge for knowledge sake' is not what is at stake here
There are a great many mysteries from which to select and add a little darkness to old age light. Otherwise, we face those tiny vacuous moments of impending doom, when we have run out of diversions. If this should become a pattern, one is truly in a crisis. It is a dreadful stress, the kind that, if protracted, tends to assault the liver. Aye!..therein is the method! Whether weak, regular, or great!..if a piece of soul has a place to set a foot into, or fastened a tether to, even the boot or tether shall awaken and grow in light...that is, even tradition, simple or ornate, can promise a great resource of diversions
With earthly heart, we are only limited by our imagination as to what material things one may be fixed upon, or be obsessed by. These certainly prove better than what figments of a fleeting mind could take up from what happens immediately around. Focus! Reach for the flash! Make a splash! To have effective diversions, we must make a mark somewhere, be sucked in by our own spinning..a new beginning with each portion of us returning to greet us, such that by it we are compelled even more, being ever darkly driven, no matter how deep our mark upon its return, may imprint itself on our backside. We love it, or at least appreciate it. It serves
And once a bit of soul awakens, a great deal more from beyond is in line to incarnate as well. What a great treasure it would be for a bit of soul to live..for one to become that deeply self aware, a great resource of diversions is in store!...an unending procession of them
For a bit of soul to awaken, a general need is required. This general need is powerful. It has no gender or age. The need is so powerful that tethers to earthly incarnation are deep, broad'banded, and supernaturally far fetching. For whether the tether is a passion for beauty, compassion for the helpless, lust for Venus or Adonis..or the inevitable karma brought about by the judgment and condemnation, one divine mind'd projecting upon another...it works. Whether it courses through the flesh, or through the subspace of an idea, or super imposed space between lives..it works
Only the awakened in love can experience death. Death happens in life only..not during disincarnation from life, nor any disembodiment in the after'life..as far as any of us, the living, know. To experience death is to experience the most profound upper or downer known, a value of measured consciousness, whether lost or gained, no matter how long or short the measure may be...still an effective distraction. Death is always nascent, whether great or small..new eyes perceiving newly, a shift in consciousness..a new point of view, a new plane to explore, or a new global space to feel and move freely within...all new opportunities to design fresh programs for our general purpose
Good or bad deeds!...there is no difference. Each serves well our purpose here. As we know, there is karma associated with all deeds whether symbiotic, commensal, or parasitic. Even those who have effected grievous judgments upon another have created an effective diversion for themselves, having assumed the responsibility for their egregious action in some supernatural mode, indefinitely posed until the responsibility disappears. Perhaps good diversion mileage, in itself...Hades, or hell in life, but who would risk experiencing the dread there? One may be born there, but one always goes out from there...not knowingly to there. Indeed!..even the most desperate, the most un'witting may be saved from the dread in life, however much they may have to face it after life
Good deeds also have karma, a reaction that has carried the aura of its antecedent action back to its originator. And its aura compels us to repeat the same action, again and again, for an end we are so grateful for..for more of a good thing here, is invariably better. It works for us. For the good of even a stranger we would take action, but only as long as that action is recognized, which is usually always the case. Gratefulness. There is a return for good turns, as it is good form to have a savings program for any thing of value. Therefore, it isn't necessarily the immediate grateful reaction that is sought here...it is the aura of a past action, a deeper history seeking us that we are on the look for. We bask in that glow. Its warmth shields us from the dread. It's nice
In summary, many things of its past visits itself and distracts one in the present, according to its nature. This is limited only by the imagination that executed the original good deed. Bad deeds, especially the particularly offensive ones, effect distractions well enough, but its karmic rebound lacks number and diversity. Diversity is essential. Since the original transgression is invariably executed with imagination lacking, the same thing rebounds...isolation. Isolated, one's imagination, such as it is, becomes over tasked and extremely stressed in it effort to avoid the terrible dirges of the dread. A good deed banks dollars in diversions. A bad deed banks pennies. This is why good deeds are better than bad ones
To be compelled, even obsessed, we are relentless, as anyone self awakened is or ever has been, about seeking diversion for the general purpose. And it shall be again and again, for memory of form is routinely transformed as it passes incarnate through flesh...or dirge, or some dark foreboding pit! No matter
Oh sweet heaven! The pain for lack of wit! Into some hall of dreaded mirrors I have wandered! Without a narcissistic spell, I am doomed! Yet, that, not withstanding..how sweet a diversion pending is at hand! Let us smash each and every mirror into tiny bits, making it easier to bear, little portions of dread, any shard may reflect