poet and mystic side quest
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Madison Scott-Clary
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> Do you feel better, now?
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Not really. Just a different kind of melancholy.
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Not really. Just a <a class="pulse" href="/poet-and-mystic">different kind of melancholy</a>.
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> Ain't that just the way of things?
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@ -1,32 +1,12 @@
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---
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date: 2019-08-22
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date: 2019-08-25
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weight: 39
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---
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<div class="verse">Here is the difference betwixt the poet and the mystic, that the last nails a symbol to one sense, which was a true sense for a moment, but soon becomes old and false. For all symbols are fluxional; all language is vehicular and transitive, and is good, as ferries and horses are, for conveyance, not as farms and houses are, for homestead. Mysticism consists in the mistake of an accidental and individual symbol for an universal one.</div>
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Let's talk about writing.
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> Pretty.
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> If you'd like. We still have a few others on the list, don't forget.
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I didn't write it.
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Would you let me?
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> I know.
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I scramble through great heaps of words and sounds to try and at least pin some of them to fleeting symbols. Maybe then I'll be able to learn to see more of the accidental and individual symbols.
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> Too many words, too many sounds.
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Yes.
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> You wrote four pieces about the winds coming down over the foothills near Boulder (for, of all things, wind quartet), just to try and capture one ecstatic experience.
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I like those. I like the result.
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> You like the first two, most of all. They remind you of how hollow you felt, how you could feel the wind blow through you, vibrating your soul like the pipe of an organ, exciting you to ever higher harmonics.
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Yes.
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> But then you kept writing.
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Yeah. I make a terrible poet.
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> You make a terrible mystic. Your poetry's just okay.
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> Of course not.
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@ -1,34 +0,0 @@
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---
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date: 2019-08-22
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weight: 40
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---
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How can I capture that essence of stillness? How can I become nothing?
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> Not reaching. Not trying.
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How can I read the ecstasy of signs? How can I feel those black birds bursting free of my hunched shoulders?
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> Step beside yourself. Take your own hand.
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How can I feel the cord that ties me to the center of the earth? How can I see where it leads? How can I walk the spiral?
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> Reach down, bury your fingers in rich earth, take root.
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The cant of ritual.
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> The scent of incense.
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The rhythm of chant.
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> The ripple of water.
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Call and response.
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> The flicker of a candle.
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Voices echoing voices echoing voices echoing...
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> Clay between fingertips.
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And then?
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@ -1,79 +0,0 @@
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---
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date: 2019-08-24
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weight: 41
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---
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March 10, 2004:
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```
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This morning, I had an awful time waking up, but I eventually did it, making it to Shannon's on time to get everyone picked up for the BREAKFAST OF DOOM, whereupon we all ate ourselves sick and I spent money. We wandered around for a bit before ending up sprawled in a fire-escape at FHS with Shannon in my lap, me in Ash's lap, and Andrew in Kiran's lap. Andrew ditched to go shooting with Ash and Kiran, while I went to bomb a history test. That's when things started getting really weird. I had a percoset relapse (whether that's what it was or not, it felt oddly similar to the real thing: an incurable itch buried beneath my skin, to the point where I can't actually scratch it) near the end of the period, and then in choir I imploded from empathy - so many emotions from others that I had no room for my own. Then, horns grew from my chest and head, and wings from my back; a giant fox escaped, left, and exploded into a thousand birds over Viele. Mind you, none of this really happened, but I sure felt strange. During latin, I exploded from empathy in a patchwork swirl of colors while Starin et al. stared on as I banged my head against the desk. Ms. Gibert didn't notice. I yelled for help inaudibly and searched out white points of light in the black silhouette of Boulder. I yelled at Ash and searched for Moondog.
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Afterwards, I figured out how to regain control (mostly) and just in time for the bell to ring. I got a small mocha at Cafe Sole, got eaten by small greenish crystals on a table while supposed psychics did fairy readings from a kids book, and here I am, about to take a shower and get ready for Great Works rehearsal, and then group, whereupon I shall request to Reiki Moondog (again) during the speakers board on gay marriage. Hopefully I don't ex-/im-plode again ^^
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```
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April 12, 2004:
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```
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You have come, finally, to a safe place. You have arrived at the point where it counts most, the point at which Life itself seems to fall away, leaving behind nothing of it's former shell: that blackened husk of body and mind that housed a bright bright star. Years and years, it took, places and places and each day offering good and bad, but you, lucky you, saw past that, saw beyond the grid of your perception to see inside others, touching and caressing the bright points of light that were essentially them, cherishing each for not only their good points, but for their faults as well. The energy flowed around and through you in the concentric spirals of [1st symbol] and the Bat Qol kept you clean and pure with the voice of God and the Buddha in me to the Buddha in you weaved everything under the sun into Life itself. This is Rapture.
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```
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June 7, 2004:
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```
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I'd like to chant, perhaps Emmeleia.
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Or.. you could come up with something on your own. You know, do something productive with Nanon.
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There's a thought. I still need to do those spells for Androo.
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Exactly. Productive
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I've noticed that, while my emotional colors are fading, you're becoming more prominent.
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Who are you?
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I'm a meme; I'm the idea of Lady Sage and Master Yage,
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or maybe Eris and God. Are they the same?
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I'm me.
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I'm you. Are they the same?
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I'm the fifth line of five.
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You're an elusive bugger, that's what you are.
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Damn straight.
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You're depressing, too.
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...hello?
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```
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October 5, 2004:
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```
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Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani.
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Upon reading certain things, upon hearing certain songs, upon seeing certain people, upon smelling certain scents, upon tasting certain foods, upon feeling certain feelings and upon losing myself, it flows, the light, in through the head, out through the heart, washes over all, and, being lost in it, have found myself without.
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How poetic.
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These are the white things. Cold, bright, burning, white.
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Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani.
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But the light isn't as it used to be. It was a thing to light up a day, a thing to light up me, filling completely. Now a simple thread flows from head to heart, and the light doesn't stray from the path of least resistance.
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Love follows not the law of Ohm.
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Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani.
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Light can be many things, but here, now, it means love - all four loves - and it's a strange feeling to have been so full of it for so long, then to suddenly be nearly without.
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Full of what? Full of shit? How pathetic, how trite.
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Having deified love for several years, it's a shock to my faith to have it disappear, even if it only turns out to be temporary.
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Faith? You're faithful? How have you EVER been faithful to love?
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Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani!
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```
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@ -1,53 +0,0 @@
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---
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date: 2019-08-24
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weight: 42
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---
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<div class="verse">What have you changed?
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<em>My mind</em>
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What changed you?
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<em>Nothing</em>
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What became of it?
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<em>I am not who I was</em>
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What have you changed?
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<em>My name</em>
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What changed you?
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<em>The word</em>
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What became of it?
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<em>I am called who I am</em>
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What have you changed?
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<em>My looks</em>
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What changed you?
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<em>The light</em>
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What became of it?
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<em>I am seen as I am</em>
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What have you changed?
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<em>My chemistry</em>
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What changed you?
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<em>The substance</em>
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What became of it?
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<em>My form is my own</em>
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What have you changed?
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<em>My body</em>
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What changed you?
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<em>The knife</em>
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What became of it?
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<em>I am shaped how I am</em>
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What have you changed?
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<em>Nothing</em>
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What changed you?
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<em>I was accepted</em>
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What became of it?
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<em>I accepted myself</em>
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What have you changed?
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<em>Everything</em>
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What changed you?
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<em>Everything</em>
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What became of it?
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<em>I became who I am</em></div>
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@ -1,18 +0,0 @@
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---
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date: 2019-08-24
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weight: 42
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---
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> What is your point?
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You know.
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> Yes, but it is important that you make it. What are you aiming at.
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*It's the immediacy, the seamless immediacy...*
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It's about meaning and self. It's about defining where your boundaries are; your physical boundaries, your mental boundaries, your spiritual and emotional boundaries. It's about that ground-state training that you undergo so that you might step just a bit to the side. An inch. A mile. An age.
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It's about breathing in for the count of four, holding for the count of two, breathing out for the count of four, holding for the count of two. It's about feeling where your feet touch the ground. It's about drawing a straight line from your center of gravity to the center of the world. It's about becoming totally present.
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> So that you can disappear entirely.
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---
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date: 2019-08-24
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weight: 44
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---
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> Why this? Why after your dad?
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Why talk about ecstasy?
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> Yes.
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Dissociation.
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> Well, that was quick. I was expecting more roundabout. We would banter. You would get flustered. I would get smug.
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Derealization, depersonalization, dissociation. Pure and simple.
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> Well huh.
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Would I lie to you?
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> Oh, totally.
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Fair.
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@ -1,44 +0,0 @@
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---
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date: 2019-08-20
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weight: 45
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---
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<div class="cw">Cognitive hazard, audio autoplay, color changes</div>
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<pre>
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( <a class="pulse huh" href="/aside/3">...</a> )
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O
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o
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.
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_____,,,_^..^_,,,_____
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__|____|____|____|____
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____|____|____|____|__
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</pre>
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<script type="text/javascript">
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/*
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Arrows this time?
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I like arrow symbols. There's just so much weird little things you'd never think of that someone said, "Wait, hold on, we *definitely* need that in unicode."
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Besides, some of them are pointing at me.
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*/
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const grawlix = [1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 0];
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let el = document.querySelector('.huh');
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el.innerHTML = '';
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el.insertAdjacentHTML('beforeend', '<span class="i1"></span><span class="i2"></span><span class="i3"></span><span class="i4"></span><span class="i5"></span><span class="i6"></span><span class="i7"></span><span class="i8"></span><span class="i9"></span><span class="i10"></span>');
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let filled = 0;
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window.setInterval(() => {
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let inner = document.querySelector('.huh .i' + (Math.floor(Math.random() * 10) + 1));
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if (Math.floor(Math.random() * 10) % 3 == 0 && filled > 3) {
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inner.textContent = '';
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filled--;
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} else {
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if (inner.textContent == '') {
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filled++;
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}
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inner.textContent = grawlix[Math.floor(Math.random() * grawlix.length)] + ' ';
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}
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}, 250);
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</script>
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@ -1,10 +0,0 @@
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---
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date: 2019-08-25
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weight: 46
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---
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> You're not very focused.
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I know.
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> Ask.
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@ -1,30 +0,0 @@
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---
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date: 2019-08-25
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weight: 46
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---
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How does one approach what one can't describe?
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> Swing the flashlight rapidly across the room. Piece together what you can from the sweep of the beam across the walls, the furniture.
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How does one hunt down what leaves no tracks?
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> Unwind the maze by keeping your right hand on the wall. Pray that the walls do not move.
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How does one call down the gods to commune?
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> Speak thrice, and enter.
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I'm tired. I'm so tired. I'm tired and I'm upset and I'm lost.
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> I know.
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I want to shout and to whisper. I want to talk about how I feel when I read Stevens or Esch or Rilke. I want to put words to the feeling of falling to the ground and taking root.
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I want to say how it feels when I step outside myself.
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> You tried.
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I guess that's all I can do.
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> It's not, but it's important that you have tried.
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