The ordinary is introduced to its transcendent dance partner.
May it be that the transcendent experience that occurs seemingly outside of the ordinary experience is Schrödinger’s half dead cat or half alive, or Heisenberg’s not so sure of principle. A quantum entangled tongue, in which language becomes twisted upon its own axis, if it tries to speak of such things. Position and momentum cannot be precisely known, not as individual variants, not as separate particulate expressions, only as one fully involved, fully evolved, ever informed, whole-fully individuated state, what is the hand and that of the spinning top. That stilled yet beating heart of the black half-dead cat is in-flamed and in-souled, in the process of reaching across that vast expansive unknown table, to pour another cup of tea and finish writing this plea for sanity. May it be in some position in time that the momentum of the soul catch’s up to the position of our ordinary state of mind, or that our ordinary momentum slides into its expansive frame to behold such a view, never truely lost in-between the dusty kitchen blinds. That the ordinary processes can become a resurrected effigy burning away all sense of meaningless mundane propensities, putting on the seventh day suit of the soul, as the alchemic static clings to the shoulder of a man leaning, bowing his head to untangle the twisted and frayed knots, to learn to walk within this shadow and no longer beside it.
Image by: Unknown, possibly a half-dead, half-alive artist, yet Im leaning towards the latter in his or her penciled expression of a concept that eludes our present understanding, yet informs perfectly well by visual incantations the truths of its appearance.