Letters From Zombieville.
I am writing in the wind tunnel that is my beautiful one room apartment here in the Living Waters quarter of Zombieville, when a February wind is howling with great force off the lake a few hundred metres away, that now resembles a tempestuous sea. I've dragged the kitchen table to the window beside the gas fire, that heats, almost exactly, two cubic metres of air, to a liveable temperature. The light is good. The sun is busy in it's part time winter job of doing just enough to stop us dying while at the same time flooding us with crystal clear light so we can really enjoy the spectacle. Frustration is driving the car today. The co-pilot is a kind of desperation born of serial disappointment. Yes, this is my creation alright. No doubt about that. I am responsible for the present status quo. I have created a reality where wealth and spiritual wellbeing are mutually repulsive. I created it because I was conditioned to believe that it was the case. The catholic church taught me that a wealthy man can never know the kingdom of heaven and I bought it because it fit hand in glove with my father's favourite quotation that "money is the root of all evil". And so I now live in a world where material wealth equals spiritual poverty. For some unfathomnable reason, perhaps to do with the famous "cosmic giggle", there are exceptions. Allélula alors, there is still hope.
So what will I do with my creation? Human behaviour baffles and dismays me. And yet I know and accept that it reflects me perfectly, though in ways that are far from understood. I must change myself so that it can change my creation. This to me is self evident. Easy! Ha!
Torn from my concentration by the realisation that I am freezing, my body moves into action. Action also the fruit of a lifetime's conditioning. The head turns on it's semi universal joint, the eyes scanning quickly, looking suspiciously for the source of the apparent drop in temperature, and an arm, the right one, born with an innate advantage and honed to perfection by a lifetimes bias, reaches for the thin chain that hangs at eye level from the latch of the little window above my head, that remained open long after the last cigarette was finished. So now my room is wonderfully smoke free but woefully lacking in warmth.
Yes I am smoking again. I know. You can't believe it! I can barely believe it myself and yet it seems to be the case. There is evidence everywhere, but mainly in my chest, of quite serious tobacco abuse. Look on the bright side. Now I can stop again, but this time in a dignified manner and not because of a desperate promise to a young boy, my son, used as a crutch to launch the last failed attempt fifteen, or maybe twenty years ago. Very recently I would have said and did in fact say that it was unimaginable that I could ever smoke again. Now the idea of never smoking again holds a similar, though slightly lesser sway. It has to stop and in fact it is stopping today. This writing is part of that. A declaration of intent. But just to finish properly, before I change subject, the story of the smoking father and the young boy. He allowed me to promise a second time because I broke the first one. Yes, I know the depths at which a human being can sometimes wallow.
I stop writing occasionally to answer SMS messages from my artistic "benefactor" whose pre-occupation with the prison she is building for herself, her "castle on the hill", lost in the vineyards of Provence runs the risk of destroying any hope of a growing friendship. I was invited to stay in her fairy tale castle on the pretext of artistic benefaction. But she sees me more as cheap or free labour in the relentless struggle to impose her will on the world. There is painting and wood cutting and gardening to be done. Much gardening and many other little jobs have already been done but all that holds no value at all for her outside of the obvious, aesthetic appreciation of a wilderness tamed. So I am playing word games with her. Walking as always the tightrope of diplomacy in order not to reveal painful truths that would be very badly received, that would put an end once again to a promising opportunity to finish my record. Opportunities that come and go in faster and faster succession. Opportunities certainly not wasted but nonetheless not fully appreciated. I am human and God knows I try. God knows everything and so of course he knows that I don't try hard enough. Hence the present difficulties. If I had followed the plan and done what I said I was going to do, and purify myself for my "Sacred Space, Spirituality in Art" installation, of six months ago, God knows where I would be now. Certainly not here writing this. And yet here I am, writing this, because it had to be. This moment had to come because cause and effect brought me here. But not just the "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction" cause and effect of physics, first proffered by Newton three hundred and fifty years ago, and proven everywhere, all the time, since as before, by events such as, car hits man, man dies or man hits car, man goes to prison. I'm talking about cosmic cause and effect where energies as yet unobserved by science but nonetheless present in the body and the mind of man, interact in ways of such mind staggering complexity, that the cause and effect trail peters out of view into ever smaller and ever more complex spaces.
God is order. Perfect order. No dirty underpants left hanging on the bathroom door handle. No underpants at all in fact. No handle even. No thing at all. And yet the cosmos has no frontiers. Can have none. It is illogical to think so. Divine paradox! Godly metaphors abound but here is my currant favourite; God is infinite energy in an infinitely small space. No space at all in fact. This is pretty fucking dense soup we're talking about here. No space for lumps. Just creamy nothingness for as long as it takes for nothing to happen in a bowl the size of nothing at all. Mmmmm sounds good. This soup would scorch the hairs right off your top lip if you could squeeze the damn thing into the nothingness that already has everything in it. No man made computer can ever mimic the mind of God. It is beyond us to understand very much at all, but we can accept that and in an act of cosmic humility, admit that we are clutching at invisible, immaterial straws in our quest for understanding. But it will and must continue. I'm not at all against science and technology. They are fascinating domains for the blossoming of creative ideas and leaps of faith and anyway, scientific endeavour and evolution mirror perfectly, in some incomprehensible way, the present quest for another, more spiritual path. There are mile stone metaphors galore in the scientific field. E = MC2. Matter and spirit are the same thing in different forms. But the most obvious is the discovery of Quantum Mechanics almost a hundred years ago. A beautiful light metaphor that speaks of observer created reality and is confirmation of the Indian mystic's and the Buddhist's claim that reality is a reflection. The observer sees an incredibly complex mirror image in a 3D holographic illusion of his own, usually unconscious creation. Quite poetic that. All that he is and has ever been, as a human being in this and every incarnation and all that he is and has ever been as an evolving soul during the whole of eternity and beyond come together in an impossibly complex equation that decides his experience. Free will is of course in the equation. And so the game is never perfectly predictable because our myriad daily choices depend on a constantly changing set of personal circumstances and emotions that influence every decision. But I suspect that even the unknowable has laws and formulas that predict a certain outcome when certain energies come together in certain ways. This is good dogma because it allows us to accept that, really, it couldn't be otherwise. It's cause and effect all the way. No let up. No days off. Twenty four seven, week in week out, forever and ever amen. But we can choose which cause will perhaps give a desired outcome and play with the beast like that. We don't have access to all the information that governs this cosmic law but we can seek to know more. One more definition of the word spiritual?
I sigh because it is such a chore to sit writing ideas and poetry, if not a little wisdom, on the laptop screen. It is stimulating and fruitful and yet something in me wants to sit on the heater and smoke another cigarette. But at least we are writing now and it's not so painful.
I mention God occasionally, dropping his name as if we were good friends. We are not friends. We are one. And yet I am in awe of his glory, separated as I am in my human condition from his perfect mind. I can remember with certainty the revelations I received while inter-dimensional travelling on Ayahuasca and pure DMT, and as astounding as the revelations were, and as overwhelming as the quantum leap towards divinity was, I am nonetheless aware that what I experienced in all it's sense shattering intensity was nothing more than a toe in the vast expanse of the ocean that is God's mind. A sneak preview of something beyond the veil of imagination. And yet no more than a minor player in Gods vast, little game. Ayahuasca and DMT in it's pure form taught me cosmic humility. I know that I am God, and I know that you are God and I know that all is one and one is all, fractally speaking. But saying that you are God doesn't sound too humble to most people. Not long ago I was also one of those people. The word God carry's with it very heavy baggage and it is this predominantly religious baggage, in one form or another, be it Christian or Muslim, Hindu or Jewish, that is fixed in almost every mind on the planet. Drop the dogma and we are left with an evolving process of rising consciousness, governed by laws of cause and effect. A cosmic machine that runs on auto pilot. A machine of such complexity that the precise outcome of any particular event within it remains unknowable. But the "natural" laws are there doing their tedious job of instantly calculating the most logical outcome and then delivering it. Every time!