Saturday, June 24, 2006
Reality Tunnels, can't dig 'em, don't hold water, go nowhere
I've been thinking about reality tunnels as a metaphor for belief systems and whether looking at ones own reality tunnel from the other end would reveal a diametrically opposed belief system, or a realization of the world that had been denied and a forgetting of the world seen from the accustomed end … or the master diagram with which the tautology of the tunnel was woven over ones lifetime and may therefore be dissembled like the unweaving of maya’s veil. But then for the latter to occur, there must be a reality brought clear upon the dissolution of ones tunnel and for Robert Anton Wilson’s theory there can be no such thing. The sensations of ones cells can only be gossip about the civilization of the body they’re a part of with no external stimulus to transmit, which, when you think about it, is a pretty good description of a body composed of the entire universe in a psychotic curiosity about its own existence, there being no feedback from without for such a supposed being. Sorry, Bob, for me to see what I call green there must be something to see whether it has color or not. To go beyond labeling what I see and behold its essence can be a simultaneous apprehension of the universe from matter to energy and back again in a mobius loop continuum of awareness crackling with the spark of life. I have no evidence, no proof of such a statement for anyone who cannot see through the cells of my words.
Rather than a tunnel, how about a hologram metaphor? So long as one questions the correctness, importance or purpose of ones life, the image of ones design specifications is distorted by wherever one imagines the supreme creator judges one to be, like the area of a hologram in which the entire picture may be seen — tailored to the perspective of the area. The having or even needing of such virtues may be no more than a cultural imposition evolved over 16,000 years to enmesh new energy in the grid of the current local collective belief system for ultimate control of the environment as commanded by the imagined creator of it all. With no designated perfection, status or purpose, cultural or imagined, against which to judge oneself comes an often frightening freedom of independent self reliance fueled by energy newly freed from such artificially important considerations. And for those merely toying with existence outside the grid there’s a scary loss of an artificially certain future replaced by the bother of actually paying attention to the immediate environment since it is no longer seen as a mere stepping stone from one air conditioner to another in the progress of purpose.
It has been my experience in the process of weaning myself from belief systems and the debilitating cultural teat that life becomes a happening of which I can either be an observer or participant according to my whim d’moment. Now, two years after moving here, I look at the signs of environmental symbiosis evolving around me in the fledgling garden and burgeoning pond and I can remember no more purpose or labor than satisfying a spontaneous urge, no more importance than remembering to water and weed the plants in exchange for food, feed the kittens in exchange for snuggles and the fish in exchange for entertainment for the cats and I, and no more correctness than feeling my fresh veggie smoothie cause me hiccoughs as my cells to do the jig with every swig. But that’s my reality tunnel … maybe.