01
- 02a - 02b
- 03a - 03b
The
parable of Gross Concussions: The view from GR 222-BM3
I'm
living in this mind Universe near downtown Osaka with the fugitive
wombs and with these wild mothers and their dizzy lovers, this
is the wrathful initiation into the hungry Japanese mind: it's
another pilgrimage with all kinds of secret navigations. It's
just this travel between multiple dimensions and, I'm just going
round and round in that doggone RINNE TENSHO; it's this reunion
of dialogues with these jittery intuitions and these dark shades
of meaning. You see, there's a crisis here.
|
|
It's
AH SO DESKA. It's crazy you say. This play of forces and queer
alignments, this breezy release. It's just a Noh play and the
rushing energies are stripped down to their most darkest essence;
they are being tracked in this silent and abstract space, yes,
this haunted space where karma furiously circulates.
And
there's this mind war and there's this delicate mind play. You
can see the psychic evolution along with a few of its historical
cycles; it's a sort of uneasy encounter now, this Shinto linguistic
rapid fire with its butchered pauses, and you surrender because
you really need this ferocious concentration.
|
|
You
see, Japan is just this echo process, and it's all about that
mysterious thing called ki, and it's often good, bad, big and
small, and this ki needs to be swiftly replenished and then
furiously circulated, and it's simply about getting ki just
right, as the misty elements start to collage in these cryptic
poems and these preliminary paintings, and in the utterances
of this abstract kind of photograph.
You
see, you need discipline now and also this exquisite patience,
and this refined sensitivity and this courage that just get's
cultivated over many lifetimes, until this process then leads
you slyly to this still-like beingness that's quite miraculous,
and you see the ki is this playful kind of thing and it's so
delicious in October
.
|
|
It's
like watching the silent bunraku and these ghosts; and these drums;
and the sticks and these low moans with their sinister masks;
and I smell now some incense, and I see this ghostly lake near
Nishinomiya; and the kamis are now coming for some tea in the
evening. |
|
And
it's just this habitual siege, and you know, things seem fuzzy
now, and sometimes you don't get either a YES or a NO, only some
sake and maybe sizzling omiyaki. And the smiles are hiding this
funky stress; and I'm gazing at these Nintendo games; and I'm
smelling the rice balls and looking at these babes in their streaming
colors, they look good in browns, reds, and blacks. |
|
And
I'm now on the Hankyu line with the family; and this juku society
is driving me crazy; it's just so hard and silent, and you need
this reserved seat, do you get it Miyumi-san? You say everything
is broken. It's these puzzling eyes and the black hair and these
bewitching mirrors inside this bardo where you can get completely
lost in this pressure cooker of tight conformities, and the
cost of living can be high. It's a single snapshot of psychic
process and structure. This strange black and white stress.
I
think it's a critical juncture for the Japanese and there's
this endless love as I sit, reading and staring now; can you
just give me some ki. I'm going to this vortex and there's genius
here in this chilly isolation. So domo arigato.
|
|
I'm
just doing this ki cleaning in that giant atomic cemetery
.
It
was just this crash, like German artillery, and I'm doing this
Hiroshima chod because there's this fucking ki that's now CLOGGED
in this psychic minefield; it's just this violent kind of acupuncture,
you know. It's just this big mess in the global mind wind; and
something quite sinister has been dislocated here. Something
charred and burned; it's this searing atomic puja that's growing;
and something seems to be missing here; it's just this invisible
psychic thing; and it's still pretty mutilated and bleeding,
and these mind things are twisted in this rice dust. So konichi
wa.
|
|
And
it's an offering to Japan. And to the kids with their black
cameras and all these heavy suits, here in this dust bowl. You
see, there is only holy ash in this epicenter and it's still
a bit weird. The ki is cooling slowly here in this Japanese
Auschwitz, and I'm still in a state of profound shock.
It's
this burned out geisha SATORI and it's in that green tea and
those sizzling leaves. You see, it's in everything. It's inside
this meaty sea food, and I'm seeing the rushing ki in this haiku
of rice and fish. And a child's kimono becomes a bento of twinkling
flows and colors, and I'm a stumbling yostebito, you know, this
homeless mischievous wanderer. I'm an American samurai just
jumbling around in these psychic fields, and I'm this fancy
calligrapher of the unexpected flashes and flows; you know,
they just seem to spring up now wherever you go. It's pretty
intense.
|
|
And
I'm having all kinds of mind encounters with these Eastern geishas
and with all these familiar consorts, and it's a kind of international
Tantra; and it's this stew of American English and these delicious
kinds of sushi; and it's also millions of these spindly kabuki
plays, and it's about Akira Kurosawa and listening to the Walkman
straggle while popping in the dark, karmic tapes. That will
soon reveal to me these multiple snapshots of psychic process
and structure; and this is the glory and challenge.
And
I'm feeling the wintry wind, you see. I'm this silent kamikaze
inside the Earth's fierce mind streams, first flying in; and
then out into these weird dreams of this ancient past, not far
from Okinawa, and really not far from the Tokyo babes and those
Kansai dakinis holding and steering those wheels of the ancient
steam ferries nearing Awaji-Shima; and you see, they're not
far from Atlantis now. It was all simply a single cycle of time,
mind, and matter.
|
|
And
it's this glowing November day; I've landed briefly in modern
China not far from the seldom seen meteorites; and I'm near the
gigantic, sleek city of Shanghai; and it's been over eight dreary
years since Tienanmen; and old Deng is buried and dead; and it's
been over twelve years since I last saw Tibet with its surprising
psychic planets; and I'm coming back to the swirling Himalayan
vortex; and it's this lift-off! There's no time to say nihao now.
It's just mother's will
. |
LEXICON
01
- 02a - 02b
- 03a - 03b
All
contents of this site © Finberg Books 2000-2004 by Michael Arthur
Finberg
|