When I
was first introduced to my wife, I told her that I had always missed her but
had never realized it until we finally met. She was present as a kind of
pregnant absence. I was aware on some alternate level of the self of a kind of
negative space, like the shape of a missing puzzle part, to which her image
corresponded. Shape would one day fit itself into corresponding shape to
complete the occult structure. We might certainly wish that this process were
more foolproof than it is, that so many things could not potentially go wrong,
and yet, in its own wonderfully slipshod way, this tendency of linked fragments
to reassemble themselves into an image sometimes takes us where we need to go.
Are we
meant to have certain experiences? Are we meant to connect with certain people
rather than with others? At a multidimensional intersection—at a 19th
Century train station as designed by Giorgio de Chirico, let’s say, where the
newly arriving and newly departed search for their respective tracks—it is
possible to see how precarious forces constellate, not always to our advantage.
You would think that each soul might choose the simplest path, so that joy
would feed on joy. Why would we choose to live in exile, far from our own
coast, to be stepped on, starved, and deceived? It should not be so difficult
to return to the Satya Yuga. Nonetheless, it is. We break what we love. We then
yearn for what we broke. Habit is not harmony. Safety is an illusion of the
microcosm. With their eyes that never close, the seers of the World Maritime
Empire watch.
Listen,
and I will whisper in your ear. Perhaps earth-shattering events happen every
day around you, more or less invisibly, as you brush past in your haste to buy
a donut. A catastrophe that occurred in 9800 BC is only just now informing you
of the whereabouts of your heart. After so much time it has decided to return,
again to advocate for its role as the seat of true intelligence. If you do not
stop the world, for just a moment, to talk to the stranger standing next to
you, you may have thrown away your one and only chance to meet that significant
Other. But where was the music of the occluded sphere hiding, and why did
love’s messengers take so long to appear? No doubt you are bad.
The more
romantic among us are used to thinking that there may be one true soul-mate for
each person. It is less common to imagine that friends or teachers may also
play such central roles. How many of these are there? No more than a small
handful. They may do no more than acknowledge what you are, but without them,
somehow, you would not be you. In the staircase of your DNA, there are certain
friends who wait on certain landings. At the Institute of Interplanetary Forms,
a bird has programmed an encounter with a teacher. “Real” events are later
tweaked to correspond. Such collisions have about them a great sense of uncanniness;
the world has changed, and it is not possible to return to your earlier and
simpler view of existence. Certain bits of information had been stored in your
subconscious. If these were not meant to stay hidden, why would they have been
put there? Why should this Mongol invader have access to what you cannot touch
yourself? A kind of right to left reversal has occurred. Your mode of vision
has been altered.
Once,
let’s say, you despaired of ever meeting a teacher who could see you. Then,
through no effort on your part, such a teacher is just there. In retrospect,
this meeting will no doubt seem inevitable, the most natural thing in the
world. At the same time, you must study how the opposite is true: such a
meeting should be seen as an “opus contra naturam,” as an alchemical “work
against nature,” as the reverse engineering of a series of wrong turns, as the
deconstruction of a badly deconstructed text. How do you know when a bird has
programmed a key meeting? You know because the meeting should not have taken
place at all.
Continue reading at Scene4:
https://www.scene4.com/1023/briangeorge1023.html
Masks of Origin: Regression in the Service of
Omnipotence is available through Untimely Books and Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/Masks-Origin-Regression-Service-Omnipotence-ebook/dp/B0BLTCBJP8/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2XISN0WF9K6ZA&keywords=brian+george+masks+of+origin&qid=1697981230&s=books&sprefix=brian+george+masks+of+origin%2Cstripbooks%2C77&sr=1-1
Image: Ernst Fuchs, Penna
Vulcana, 1973Ernst Fuchs, Penna
Vulcana, 1973
