Inscrutable Visibility

By Will Alexander

Being in the spirit on the edge of space.
The sidereal body.
    –Roger Gilber-Lecomte

I am thinking of the ongoing condition of the human species, always signaling to itself what can be considered cellular malapropism. Which means history is a slippage into cul-de-sacs, and general behavioral dyslexia, carrying in itself burdensome seeds, existentially incapable of advancing itself beyond its continuing foment, incapable of extracting itself from the power of gross ruination. Never the antidote enacted through the pulse of pure vision. Like a chastised infant it burns with complaint always announced through bulletins of regression. And this regression is analytically probed by its own decay, by the machinery of consensus analysis. The latter built by trauma, infused by genes of unserviceable extinction. This being the psycho-genetic grip which self-describes itself through the popularity of impasse. This being the reality of an odd exorbitant serpent continuously sickened by its own ingestion. A ruinous self-infliction thrashing about by means of crazed insensibility.

Every day the headlines throb with the fever of crises. This issue versus that issue, this death against that death, this attempt at conquering versus that attempt at conquering. Which adds up to no more than a circumstantial fatigue. A continuing malaise which erupts on an ongoing basis. Crises ingested in the collective blood as a general toxin. Under this circumstance it is impossible to project such a condition even 30,000 years into the future. This is an embarrassing coup by the forces of extinction, maliciously punctuated by the stifling tactics and stratagems enacted by the troubling nations to the north, profit through greed being their sole originating principle. Which remains their a priori given for governing human relations. I call it the universal conquering genome, covertly and overtly branded upon consensus thought arrangement. This being the restive nature of the European tenor always seeking to control the general mental vicinity with dualism sustaining and re-sustaining its transmittable paradigm. Which has authored and continues to author divisiveness, lust for gold, slaughter of innocent parties. It has summoned the worst tendencies in the human species over its reign for the past 500 years, so much so that contagion seems now complete, humanity now seems saturated with a smoldering alliance to psychic deficit, to false nostalgia and panic.

Myself, a creature of this menacingly eroded ozone seeking sight outside its choreographic wreckage, seeking at the aboriginal level to free my neurology from dread, to free its powers from a super-imposed vacancy of spirit. By establishing such an assent another level of contagion could pullulate, possibly seeding a new atmosphere of consciousness. All this being stated not in terms of advancing new leadership or in terms of some dazed aggrandizement where I would be recognized as the sole imparting factor of general salvation. I am simply speaking of having a fecund enough liberty to instill anonymous vibration. A vibration not unlike the supra levels above the mind. And I’m speaking of the mind as it now enacts itself as the human given. I am relating the aforesaid to the fact of present circumstance where birth in many ways has become a contaminate property. Witness the monstrous apparitions of Cyclops babies invading our eyes as they pour from wombs in Fallouja, as apparitions of depleted uranium. In many ways, they seem symbolic of the future, with commitment to divisiveness and blinding in unparalleled assent.

This is an energy which tends to reek as if it were a hive of burnt fowl with its glow wafting beyond the troposphere, as if this circumstance could be rescued by cryptic powers from Vega, then rendered into habitable form. This being the covert mantra of the era, to be redeemed by alien enablement so as to freshly start from scratch. I am speaking here of forms outside of oxygen, so as to fundamentally escape our moribund data, our reality of compromised phenomena. In contrast, I see alien immanence as non-utilitarian, as energy floating around the scale of other suns. Saying this, I am not some abstract explorer, whispering beneath my derma, seeking to enter the sidereal in order to conquer. Which could never be a re-invention of Columbus or de Soto. In the higher states, I am experiencing a shift from solar to sidereal, not as a clause, but as a singular expansiveness. For me, this remains the psychic aeronautics of the old Egyptians. The experiential current which they used to float structures, to kindle frozen matter to an animated state.

I can only say that I am a whisperer, having never been provided with an enriched sequestering, always being askew in the crowds, only able to harvest glimpses from the other planes, always buffeted by what is understood to be collective assumption concerning human delimitation vis-à-vis the other. Of course, I am not complaining about fragmented exposure to the higher planes, thus I experience gnosis within medias res. A trans-physical stamina transpires simultaneous with a surreptitious mantra in the cells. A trans-functional listening by means of ethereal cadence. Which is spontaneous, with the being no longer trapped and held by the frontality of shrines. Of course, not a conscripted cadence clashing with itself due to non-integral priority, but the sound in question rising from separative hives of commotion and stillness, susurrus with blurred translucence.

Commotion at this level being decibels of annoyance, infamy by truculence, which are staples of the modern kingdom. Which mimes itself through the anguish of meters and gigabytes. Thus, insight is sullied by the compound anemia of abstraction. Which always produces a state of affairs girded by the ammonia of dimness. Thus, insight in its purest movement seems surrounded by fumes from psychic naiveté, by fumes from general fundamentalisms, from passé instruction spawned from middle class obstruction. The latter three examples congealed by the broken worms of non-awareness. They being paradigms fueled by moribund assumption as kinetic. As vile ideologies enacted by the present mind as finalized habituation, comforted by this or that belief.

Because I am neither influenced by commotion or ideologically imposed silence, I flow through being as a non-conscripted ghost. Thus, I create by my presence contagious suffusion, always leaving my mark as parenthetic absence. An absence, not unlike a signal issued from the cells. Because of this, I remain an anonymous concrescence. Unlike a wandering monster, part tiger and mongoose, I’ve ceased the stoking of flames from my nostrils. In this sense, I do not enact as presence a barrage of terror and scales, nor am I an upwelling messenger formed from the literature of preconceived anathemas. I feel synonymous with evolved presence, and because of the absence which I emit, I am beginning to know the essence of the body as geology of patience. A patience capable of emitting supra-rays, capable of emitting vertical neutrinos. One becomes a surreptitious avatar trans-rationally self-gathered through the means of powers over and above the personality as a given. Say, by evolvement I enter the field of interstellar neutrinos, getting the first glimpse that other states of reality are simultaneous with unending. Presence then remains, active without death.

If I say that my outlook is dark, I am only assuming the pessimism of the age swung as it is by the pendulum of doubt. As a neurological phantom, such doubt does not befit me, does not chronicle me with negation, thereby reducing my kinetics to a wandering specter amidst truncated crops. Under present definition, I exist without context. Not a savior, nor a prognosticator, nor one who registers according to the turbulence of belief. I am an energy minus due fixation, as if my body were composed of asteroidal rays, carrying as my voice transmuted statics from Saturn. It is always knowing in each of my steps the fecund distance which issues from the Sun. Therefore, grasping distance by power other than analytical enablement, I now know the Sun as a non-chronological combining. As non-accumulation, being beauty as vertical phasma. A phasma which floods the field with perpetual metamorphics. My body could be Ison, or Saturn, or Ceres, not consciously knowing, inch by inch, the distance or closeness of objects. I am prone to arbitrary states closed to the general mind by Greek biology and habit. At this level, I have more in common with uncoded whales on the ocean floor swimming, say, along a route between Sumatra and San Francisco. Within my present state, duration is synonymous with transparency, not unlike a saffron-colored butterfly drifting towards Mexico in winter. What I am saying is that there is a natural understanding which I call the other of all rotation. There is its fever which blends by means of vertigo and euphoria, which then burns as an unruly vitrescence. Therefore I cannot reduce my condition to a brass or stoic impact upon itself. Because I am incapable of true collaboration with induction, I am given grief by the perspective from the general social view as to proof of intellectual coherence. The whole cannot cohere through separable parts. The part, for me, remains the sterilized stage along the way. Now if I spit out the parts, they are ammoniated with saliva, with organic psychic pepper. This being a distilled asset of brilliance.

Thus, one cannot engineer portions in lieu of the imagination, in lieu of the circular as illumination. Here I am speaking of the climate of the innate. Of the mind whose speech is a blizzard of sea waves. Saying this, I cannot make up boulders, or transpose schist in order to ensure a type of closure or clarity, piece by separating piece. Thus, I am not a magus who attempts to control known triumph, who inches along the road of chiseled index factors. Instead I am always the migrating skeletal phantom, never tersely configured, pointlessly ensconced within a deserted stretch of land. I am never the fatigued assurance of the conscious mind counted on to remain in one setting. Therefore I am the bizarre infraction which tumbles out of nowhere. Not the patch of filigree seemingly stuttering to himself, but of insight from which the filigree emerges. The latter being none other than the zero field simultaneous with both the anterior and posterior state. Which has nothing in common with a clouded doppelganger. This being purity by internal doppelganger seeking transverse rotational elevation. Such elements do not befit me, burning as I am in an open universe of non-locatable definitives. I would simply be an isolate hurricane teeming with entropy. Instead, there is patience turning the smallest of elliptical motions into upwelling fumes from the field. These being akin to rays creating compound field as the field of fields, always alluding to the trans-state of stellar captivity.

A mind sullenly trapped within its self-wrought contact points tends to make war on the invisible and the seemingly non-begotten. This being a superfluous mind sealed off from itself, sealed off from knowledge from the field, exploring through due course various powers of anemia. Which are forces which attempt to refute the non-measurable, which concatenate the regalia of particles, the private tendency of isolate concurrence. This being lowest elevation of the nanosecond, reducing its scale to the derivative. By going back to the electrical manifestation of the mayfly within the reign of its 24 hours. Saying this, I am addressing the strange array of experiment as it exists across the field. I call it the electricity of the sublime, never confining itself to empirical happenstance, but to magnificent squalls of empirical lightning. Empiricism, in this sense, a revelatory beacon conveying itself as the in-contaminate kinetics of auto-suggestion. Which becomes the trans-reality of the BA, where the life force communes with its own identification.

Which is not psychic banditry seeking to open inner worlds through subterfuge, through unmanaged angles fraught by superimposed forces, but a stage of new electrical reaction where bread is no longer ingested by rapacious bodily urn. This being the body 7/8ths removed from the human state as presently constructed. Not a mirage of false concertos but sound igniting where now dearth exists. This being supra-mental animation, as supra fractal, making it something other than greenish lunar fire. This lunar fire being an abstract diagonal fire rife with broken inner power. Thus, phenomena at the supra level blazes as incarnation of the field and can be no longer colonized at the diagnostic level, but becomes a strange interior summons unto itself. The registered hamlet becomes a non-impactful hull sunken in the ice which is history.

As if I now floated over brazen lava fields inhabited by cured fevers no longer with great electrical depth. Thus I’ve surmounted the point of the purely optical and its fount at the juncture of divisiveness. No parts of motion, no decimal static in the embellishment of being. I am no longer active in the gardening of nightmares. This being purity by internal cyclone which always cleanses the lens of speech. Rising to this level, I’ve always been cleansed by the tincture of absence, by an incipient fire from the Ground, never dependent on the given. Which means there is never the look back, the frenzy to replicate, to suddenly translate ash as perfection, thereby condoning a recursive nerve yield, which imprints dearth in one’s holding grain. Devolved presence, sterile sensitivity, where the alchemical ceases to persist. What follows is that grammar ceases to uproot itself, losing the power to gamble. This being the mind fallen onto prior circumstance, non-conjoined to supra possibility, always conjoined to tautologies of unease. Bound rejoinders, restrictive verb engagement, gainless spiritus. Which is the majority vibration of the global populace. An advancing vacancy, a general failing, an insular state of general darkening.

Now the site of the body is valued only for its attraction of treasure, for its extrinsic worth, for being exterior to itself. All higher discussion is reduced to preambles, to a central exchange of absence, where only the immediate is seen as relevant. A provincial concrescence at best, always prone to annoyance and envy, of brokered spite in the service of inner cul-de-sacs and panting. The latter remains the working paradigm of the era. In contra-distinction, say, the skull of an oryx is shaken with a beam of alien consciousness, beaming through veils of separation. Not only is the oryx conjoined to discredit, but its image is then squared in the media as being no more than the reverie of a feeble Bon Magician. I’m speaking here of an energy which is found in the Tibetan art of healing, where the invisible body is encountered, where not only are the dead revealed and resurrected, but beyond this wakened by the force of universal enigma.

I am concerned here with subtle registration, with less registration than the blink of an eye. In this sense, I am eschewing miracles which raise the dead, which remain in the lone domain of Jesus Christ. Let us go back to the “Westcar Papyrus” and the raising of the dead by the magician Teta in the IV Dynasty during the reign of Cheops. We exist at present in such a state of sterility that can only recall such energy in a fixed Biblical setting with no prior or latter precedent. This being the case of general mental subjection where the populace seems rendered according to false stimuli, not unlike a charged scattering of rodents across riveting outer darkness. This is not the darkness which renders itself as sigil, but a darkness principally defined as stark paralysis. In my view, the ancillary as obstruction, as amplification linked to parochial psychology. The latter, having no wider radius than personal connivance. This is why the Sun is never seen as transpersonal witness. As dawn which rises above seeming liminal opacity, sending a dyad of signals across the phantasmic. Not unlike pure musical yeast conveying in its wake the unscripted.

Which I maintain is higher kindling of the cells, thereby allowing the body to both widen and raise its power of being. I am signaling no known system. I am simply stating the fact of the cells evolved to a higher peril. Which remains the first condition for exploring the transpersonal as biography, allowing an incipient sidereal psychology to flare. The latter partaking of an invisible solar capacity where the eating of one plane by another ceases to exist. This is not history, nor can it be called an irregular shadow field, but simply a new interior species, which trembles with the luminosity of blankness. Which is not strictly the shifting of monerans according to repetitive pre-determination. By its nature, it remains the state of the non-predictable, always altering its density and its form. A perpetual percolation which can never describe itself according to an abstract terminology. I am not stating that all harrowing has been superseded, or that a climate has been instilled where we can generate our efforts as akin to the Egyptians when they stated higher consciousness as Coming Forth By Day. We have achieved at best a liberty of blankness entering and emerging from the zero field, interacting with its tenets, never presaged by any aforesaid phenomena.

Will Alexander is a poet, novelist, essayist, playwright, aphorist, philosopher, and visual artist. Former Whiting Fellow, California Arts Council Fellow, and 2007 Pen Oakland National Book Award recipient, he is a 2013 Before Columbus Foundation American Book Award winner, with new books due out from Solar Luxuriance, Oyster Moon, New Directions, and Litmus Press.