Nothing worked the way that he had wanted. Everything seemed to take a will of its own, rational or not. This was his destiny: to be forever out of control of his destiny, to forever be wishing for more power, more control. It did not please him, yet he realized that it was not the duty of the world, in its eternal extension, to give in to his pleasures. He was by no means the hedonist that was becoming the template, the norm by which he would judge himself. He fought the conscription forced upon him, struggled within its limiting system, trying to understand the symbolic construction that, he was told, was the great constitution of the universe.
He did not believe. He had no devotion, no lingering faith except in the power of his own perception. He could be sure of nothing, could trust in no one, but he could, at the very least, take comfort in the fact that he need not worry about his own existence. The Cartesian genius was not at play; yet still, he felt there was some shadow lurking through the corner of his eyes, waiting to wrap him and pleasure him in its frigid frailty.
One day, without deliberation, he caught the shadow and asked it, "what is your purpose to me?"
The shadow, startled by this audacity, spoke in whispered riddles. "I have no purpose to you, but I have a purpose to which I can divulge. Give me your hand, and with it, I will show you what you lack." He gave the shadow his hand, not knowing whether to trust in its whispers, but curious nevertheless.
As he did so, the shadow wrapped itself around him, and in this act
of sensual pleasure, this sanguine lust, he began to feel sensations previously
unfelt, and began to see farther into the noumena than ever before.
This was the realm outside of his mind, and in this regard, his stubborn
instructions, calculated passions, were not a hindrance to his perceptions.
He looked at his body outside of it, thought with a mind not itself but
outside. He watched his body with the morbid interest of a scientist,
observing every nuance of his own being as a child would watch his or her
parents.
It was beautiful. The experience had no words, and indeed, the narrator finds himself struggling to even reach an analogous vocabulary; the closest word in the English language is sublime, or perhaps, otherworldly. Yet, even these words do not fully speak of the spectacle, the presentation of the united world. He could see an outside self interacting with his body as a puppeteer, pulling strings not in the literal sense, but willing the body to move, willing neurons to fire, willing thoughts and memories. This spirit was like unto a computer programmer, telling the program (his body) what to do, when to act, what thoughts to think; he thought to himself, no painting has ever painted this experience, no poem has ever written this feeling, no song ever invoked this feeling.
"Do you like what you see?" the shadow asked, and somehow he sensed there was a smile.
"How could I not?"
"There are many who do not enjoy this sight, if it can be so-called. One man cursed my name, calling me Satan, and a false vision; he said I was sent to tempt him from his belief, to pretend that I was giving him godliness."
"Is this godliness?"
"Godliness is but a definition, and one made from the lips and tongues
of the living. This realm is not that of the living, nor is it that
of the dead. With but a breath, I can send you to all corners of
the world, extend your being to all experience, and thus effectively hinder
your return into your body, for it is not meant for you to see. Indeed,
you will never live as you previously have lived, but with a different
taste in your mouth, with a different ring in your ears." As if to
elaborate, the shadow danced around this entity of a man, this fragment
of a beast. And with this dance, he began to see far into the future
through the past.
The world was chaos in front of him. Nothing was real, everything contingent and he was the great beast without contingency. He stared across the cosmos, seeing through everything to its truth, to its noumena. Everything faded in and out of existence, like a christmas light on an ever-expanding tree. Shapes and forms were interchangeable with their essence, and in the darkness, there was a goodness that was not subjective, a truth that had no veil.
"Do you see?" asked the shadow, as it danced around him.
"Can I be said to see?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On your greatness."
The shadow danced seductively, trailing its dark fingers around his existence. Everything was unified and discontinuous, one and many. He felt like screaming, like ushering in life with the sound of his own voice, as an experiment. He felt like touring across everything, past, present, future. Yet, he still could not see the truth that was before his eyes, for he was blind. Nothing registered, though everything was presented. There were no filters, nothing that had to be a priori in order to build the structure he was experiencing.
"Can I return?"
"Why would you want to?"
"This is too much."
"This is too little."
"Why do you contradict me?"
"You mean correct."
"Nevertheless, regardless, however, I would like to return, go back, exist."
"Very well."
The shadow moped around him, lumbering lethargically. He began to hear, as if completely within himself, a sound; a harpsichord melody, non-threatening and delicate, played within him, was a part of him. He was music for a moment, or at least this sample of it. Encased within the melody, enriched by the harmony of the music and his entity, he became, from nothing, something. He breathed himself into existence, an auto-natal. He found his eyes wide open and dry when he entered into his own flesh, and for a moment, all he could do was shout nonsensical, chaotic jargon.
"Mer sidi kurra urulu martu!"
"And they shall be four in number," said the shadow esoterically.
"What have I spoken?"
"Shall you know? Do you wish such a thing upon yourself?"
"I do not understand."
"No one truly does. One with words, by virtue of our existence, sacrifices understanding for communication. Pure understanding cannot be purely communicated. That would be a contradiction. For in mouthing the words, in singing the sounds we sing now, we kill off purity, we see through a filter that cannot be removed. Does this disturb you?"
"Nothing I have not heard before."
"Very well. I will leave you to contemplate. You should
have four meanings, upon reflection. This is a watershed moment.
Without these four meanings, you will not understand what you have seen.
WIthout these four meanings, you will not be able to tell yourself the
lie of what happened. You are to speak of no words, listen to no
words. The meaning shall only be minimized upon writing, if you try
to do so, but the message is necessarily minimized by your understanding
of it. Humanity has the gift of diminishing reality through grasping
it, making it sick in their starving world. Make understanding your
pet, and you shall receive the gift of wonder.
The first meaning came to him after the shadow had departed, and it had power over him greatly. The meaning was compassion, and it was manifold. It had within his breast great power and audacity, could be a positive or a negative; indeed, the meaning was precisely found in the ambiguity. Compassion was a weakness and a strength. Should he be compassionate, he would fall and rise simultaneously, and in this fall/rise, he would be closer to the chaos that he had witnessed. Compassion was a purity that few could attain, for within it was not its sub-contexts, such as forgiveness, forgetting, and the such. The meaning was not contingent on its parts, nor were its parts contingent on the whole. Mereology had no place in the formula. Indeed, forgetting was a function of compassion but not its whole, and forgiveness was far from even being a part of the formulation. Forgiveness was, however, a part of the next meaning.
The second meaning breathed in his ear, and he felt the tickle of its sincerity. It was understanding, and, unlike compassion, was contingent. For, the second meaning had no direct translation, but understanding was as near as he could translate into words. It was a basis for relation, but again, this was not its entirety. The concept spoke more of seeing all, and thus was not phenomenological. Understanding, then, as was spoken to him, could only be translated as an allegory for the experience that he had witnessed, in its purity, untainted by language and materialism. There was a transcendence to the understanding, a purity that he could not hope to attain in his material form, though he had a touchstone of it through deliberation and calculation; observance, reflection, descrying-- all these had a role to play in the understanding, but as with compassion, the meaning could not be contingent on its parts.
The third meaning stopped his heart; his brain did not function in the normal, material sense. This was power. The meaning was not a human abstract, or at the very least, not the human abstract that had strict connotations within politics. This was power over one's enemies and in protecting one's loved ones. The power to hate and love simultaneously, to love with the fervid passion of hatred, and to hate with the open eyes of love, with careful scrutiny. The meaning could be synchronized with control, for the two are separate but relational.
The fourth meaning was all around him. It floated, just away from his fingers, taunting him. It flicked his nose and tugged on his toes, flying in front of his eyes but fleeing from his catch. This taught him patience; the need for this was apparent in his limitations. He could never catch true hold of what he wanted, though he could see it and feel the pressure on his nose and toes. The fourth meaning was there for him, he could see it. But it would forever be out of his reach. Knowing this, he felt great patience, and took joy in observing this meaning as it floated around him. He could never speak this experience, could never describe what he was seeing, but he was not left without any phenomena; as much as he trusted himself and his sensations, he could have hold on what the fourth meaning entailed, though he could never have absolution.
Comforted by this last fact, and the knowledge that, should he understand fully or not, it was possible for him to experience what he wanted, what made his heart beat faster. All he needed was the four meanings and the ability to truly understand them, and with that, he fell asleep, as the shadow watched his slowed breathing.