Noise Of The Big Machines
Like the brass stabs in a Latin tune, slabs of wisdom are shooting across from one side of my brain to the other, like fireworks, vying for my attention – here grab this one and write it down – no, grab this one – and like a hyperactive puppy, I’m running for one, catching it, then running for the other, dropping the first and catching the second – and all the while, my owner, the Tao, is calling from the kitchen, here boy, life’s ready in your bowl, come and get it – so I drop the wisdom and here I am, living it, typing it, feeling it coursing through me as a rush of excitement for being alive, pushing me somewhere – I don’t know where – I don’t even know pleasant or unpleasant – I’m going anyway – and outside the big machines driven by anonymous men are resurfacing the road – it’s been outrageously bumpy for a couple of years – I’ve known smoother dirt tracks – and now, in two days, it will be smooth as black silk. I take this as a metaphor – one too blatant to ignore – my road, hitherto bumpy and strewn with treacherous potholes will now be smooth – and not a moment too soon, for while I’ve developed, by necessity a sound set of shock absorbers, after enough jangling, the brain starts vibrating in its casing. So smoothness: bring it on.
And the noise of the big machines droning up and down the street – aurally from left to right and right to left in a slow pan – reflects the sound of the wisdom surges running from side to side.
Wisdom is a priori – it always existed. As we widen the filters in our brains we channel more of it. We in ourselves are not wise – we channel wisdom (or we don’t).
Wisdom: knowing it’s OK to be afraid. Breathing through the fear. Trembling in your boots, girding your loins, take the next step. Make a move. But remember it’s all a game, a magical illusion: you’re not going anywhere.
Your universal self is everywhere already.
Where is there for it to go?
In any case, expect a miracle.