I’m looking for something. Looking everywhere because it could be anywhere in any universe, galaxy, world, plane of existence, past or future or worse: it could also be in the here and now, in the eternal present, or in Dreamtime or in that place where thoughts become reality. Let’s not forget that it could be somewhere unknown — a place full of stunning silence that erases any need, desire or ability to name names to explain to my dimensional sense-making selves the colour, feel and scent of the place or the experience.
I can tell you this because I’m hunting. Without camouflage. When hunting, all 17 or 256 senses are attending to the internal and external environments, taking in information that I can’t make sense of. If I were honest about it, at some point all that attending to the senses turns me into a cyclops, which turns everything into a single environment, an it feels as if I’m hunting in a domed city. A faceted diamond. A fractal world. Clearly that divide of in or out, here or there is incorrect, at least to my hunter self: it’s all simply one huge honking environment albeit with different rooms, like a hotel. Each room decorated by a different designer. But why be honest about it?
It’s important you know that I’m hunting so that you’ll stay out of my way. But I will share a secret: this hunting is making me mad — mad in the way of a hatter; as in losing my mind although ‘my’ sounds possessive, and I am not that. I am not possessive. But I don’t really want to lose my mind.
Maybe if I changed the context from hunting to journey. Hunting is too violent a word to be used as a metaphor here. However, I am loath to use the word journey — a word that’s a cliché full of belly fat and lost purpose, a real word with real meaning, a metaphor hijacked by psychoanalysts, mythmakers, gurus, special interest groups and corporatized self-help personalities and celebretarians; those modern-day (post-modern?) versions of the Pied Piper. In this PoMo time, we know that rats have something akin to empathy, so maybe it won’t end all that badly for the followers of such pipers. Maybe. The journey of unlayering social and family and personal constructs, pick up a few archetypes to try on for fit during the journey of self-discovery. Perhaps it’s time for honesty: use of the word journey decoupled from a means of transportation now makes me grrr.
Meanwhile, back on track: I’m either hunting (or journeying) from here to there, inside one moment, outside the next, uptown then downtown, from the water’s edge to the full moon. Actually it’s all at once, but it’s too confusing to explain faster than light and being everywhere, multidimensionally, simultaneously.
What I’m doing on that track is pushing the river. Not the one I stand in: that’s a different river than the one I stepped in. The river of want. The river of waiting. Pushing for something to loosen and bust up what’s holding this dam, this well, this reservoir of words. Wait — wrong terms. Maybe prison is the better descriptor. All these words around me, inside me, held captive and the only thing that I can think of is that the key to release them is another word.
Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps the key to word freedom is not words at all. Maybe I need a visual. Maybe I need to see something on my travels. For that, I need to ratchet up my super-duper powers of deeper awareness of the world around me, rather, all worlds. Notice more deeply all layers of energies and all the while continue to keep up that balancing act. Stay in the middle between knowing and not knowing, in the here and now. Don’t follow any trajectories that might seem to my overly invested in the ‘what if’ scenarios to my overly active Western mind.
Oh, awareness. Another word — concept — that’s been hijacked by every single special interest group, charity, disease and promoters of things, only to be wrapped up in a ribbon and pinned on once a year. Awareness for mind share and share of wallet at fundraising and election time.
I dunno. I’m ambivalent about using my super-duper powers of deeper awareness. It brings great goodness and calm mixed through and through with sadness, that awareness. Sad in the way that Tao and Zen open and accept how sadness comes with everything, to be soft and strong with it, sad in how awareness brings amazing connectedness at the same time it brings equally profound awayness, distance. Paradoxes: “Wanting gets in the way of having. Seeking to know obstructs the knowing. Whatever is desired cannot be had.”
Beautiful, elegant. True sometimes, not true other times. Makes me want to bob for apples instead. Organic ones. Games for balancing.
No more hunting. No more movement. Sit. Still. Attend to mind, be mindful of mind and its bouncing. Perhaps it isn’t seeing something that’s the key to releasing words, either.
Focus. Breathe. Centre.
Half an hour later I’m heading out into the day to follow the Law of the Flea Market whispered to me — en français — in a secret passageway between secret places hidden in plain view in Les Puces. The whisper, translated: go only with alert curiosity, see what you can find. Too often, a specific desire will always be disappointed. I have made this my mantra. Curiosity will tweak awareness when needed. No hunting. No looking. No lusting for something to see or hear or feel or experience to trigger a burst of words. Just a state of curiosity, senses on soft alert. Open.
Writing is a way of going to the depth of Being.