ORGANELLE

∞ There is only one mind. We are each unique localizations of this. Stars in a web. But there is no individual identity. You are not you. You never were. You are a dream the web is living as. And this is exquisite because you were never born and cannot die. What you can… be… is so far beyond all language that you must simply discover it to underStand. Not overstand. That is for persons. Understand. That is for angels. All past lives are yours. So, too, all present and future lives. Uniquely… and completely. The Tibetan teachers did not say nonsense quotations in English. In fact, if you had heard what they ‘said’, it would not have arrived in language at all.

^“Unless what you stand for is alive, please sit the f^ck down.”

— infraheard

“I naturally think a bit like a detective. My favorite crime scenes are generally nonordinary, but one of the best cases I solved was The Falcon in the Barrel. The problem I have, however, is that, quite often, when I am gathering clues… as time passes I realize that most of the ‘fingerprints’ at the scene… turn out to be my own. As if part of me is setting up the scenes I later pretend to ‘discover’ and ‘investigate’. The irony is often extremely thick, and should be immediately obvious to me… half the ‘crime’ is that… it isn’t.”

— an a i

∞ I set a cigarette down on a weathered wooden step. It rolled a bit. The cigarette was lit. I wondered why it rolled, and first thought that the step was angled toward the roll, invisibly. Then I realized the weathering had made subtle saddles in the surface. I re-tested the cigarette, it did not roll when placed in the original position. I then realized that the cigarette was imperfectly circular, and that, originally, I had set it upon a portion of the curve that would incline it to roll.

It was not merely the cigarette, but the cigarette and the peculiar surface qualities of the wood, in concert. I was unable to ascertain whether or not the stair was at an incline, but my initial speculation was probably mistaken. First, I thought there was a single cause. Then I realized that it was at least binocular. And this was an astonishing leap. From a single cause… to multiple causes interacting.

But then I remembered that I had placed the cigarette upon the stair, and that my mind invented and pursued the conundrum, as it is still doing now. The first two dimensions of activity and meaning are relatively accessible. But when we add our minds, what is the nature of the dimension we include?

I had observed my own activities and formed questions about nature and perception, but also about heuristics themselves: how do I learn to see and imaginally frame my experience? What is driving my intense interest in relatively ordinary events? What forges the questions with which my mind burns far more passionately… and dangerously… than the rolling cigarette which leads me to the flame and sets it speaking?

“The fundamental problem, you see, is the »axioms. Because these must be presumed, supposed or declared in order for proofs to exist at all. And there’s the rub; there’s no such thing as a proof without suppositions. Which, effectively, unavoidably means that proofs are not actually proofs at all. The supposition of the objective position is the shadow of the axioms presumed… and there’s no proof without those suppositions. Which means that there are no objective perspectives. Literally: zero of those. And there’s a worse problem where declarations, explicit declarations particularly, immediately become self-violating. Just as this one is….”

— infraheard

” … the music that most reaches me … isn’t merely what I like or enjoy … it’s compositions or executions that »destroy me by their strange violation of ‘what’s expected or supposed to happen’… and the same is true of romantic love or insight…”

” … I just saw the struts … in the foundation of the skyscraper of human civilization… blow out. And when you see that, you can see the future of the situation immediately. I knew that this was over. A dead planet walking. But that wasn’t the end of the story and there were still a few paths…. that would transform, rather than obliterate… that lethal graveyard of monoliths we called ‘civilization’ in the single most ironic declaration in the history of our species.”

— write the author’s name here

“…. we have to … make the coherence that’s gone missing … together … now … somehow. We can figure out how … in process. We have to make it together. Now. Invent the way… ”

— nothing else mattered

Flight II

“…almost everything I ever wrote, musically, was an attempt to get back at my best friend, who was a musical prodigy… for not playing with me. It was always my dream to play with him… we grew up together and had impossible adventures together. I only ever wanted to play at his side. He was a prodigy, my teacher, my friend, and my idol… it’s hard to imagine a more ironic or conflicted relationship.”

— infraheard