Our World, the Dreamer

Part 1: Dissent

There is a Time, embedded in the belly of Time, when our World still Sleeps inside the stillness inside the shuddering Deeps. Our World, lost in Sleep. So sweet, so cruel, to Sleep. The Waters roll in uneasy Dreams, in fevered Dreams and the Waters are Waters of unformed Flesh and molten Mountains and Steam. In that Time, the lonely World is waiting to wake up for the first Time at the center of Time. But the Sleep is so sweet, so cruel and deep. Even so, there came a Time when the Lightning strikes a Deal. What Deal we can only wonder and why it is that the Lightning makes a Nightmare to strike the rippling back of the Night’s Mare called Sea. The World can not Wait but must run. The World does what it has never done and wakes from its sleep and opens its eyes and out comes the Sun. From the burst chest of Mare comes the faculty of Seeing, of finally Seeing what it had always only been. The World perceiving itself cannot be itself, but seeing itself, it sees itself to be beautiful. And over Time, to be many things. To be powerful, to be determined, to be strong, to be delicious, to be bitter, to be tired, to be weak, to be kind, to be angry, to be hungry, to be soft, to be in pain, to be in despair, to be insignificant, to be intolerable to itself, and to hurt itself. To be many things, fractured into many tiny Things. So many now, so many crawling outward through the Flesh of Time. If to be One is to be alone, to be Many is to be alone many Times in many ways. The Dreaming World does not perceive itself, but through the Awoken Fragments of itself which may only perceive itself as another. The Awoken Fragments may not be itself, but through the Dreaming World which may only be itself without knowing. To perceive is to be Broken. To be One is to be alone, to be Many is to be together in isolation from each other. The World is a Dreamer that yearns for the wholeness it is and cannot perceive. The World is an Awoken Horde that yearns for a wholeness it can perceive and cannot be. But, I beg your forgiveness, this Fragment digresses. One of many digressions the World is finding itself to be, among the many things the World is finding itself to be. To be delicate, to be brave, to be vicious, to be green and purple and blue and shimmering things. To be cruel, to be sharp, to be supple, to be sad, to be sick, to be ecstatic, to be young, to be dying all alone. To be a plant, to be a mammal, to be a bird, to be a fish, to be a mother, to be a sailor, to be a philosopher, to be a ruler, to be a destroyer, to be helpless, to be regretful, and sore and prone under the weight of dread and desire unnamable and unknown. So many now, so many crawling outward through the Flesh of Time. Ahh, look now, they are so close, so close, just under the tender Skin of Time, so close to reaching the Outer Edge of Time. But wait, what of the Human, you ask? Well, I suggest you look to the Dinosaurs, and ask no more, but I know you won’t. The Human has so much anger, so much grief for what the Human does. Destroy the World? Maybe we do, maybe we don’t. This Fragment thinks not the World, but maybe the Human. So tragic, so foolish, yes, so wicked, so stupid. The Drive to Live, to Thrive, to Fuck, and to Eat wielded by Fragments who fancy themselves superior turns in on itself, finding nothing left to devour, devours itself. So bitter, so anguished, yes, so wasteful, so terrible. But what of it? Don’t misunderstand, I make no excuse or intercession. The Human may well be damned for this abuse and other Fragments, too. The World shudders at the Wound. But, I only point out this. That it is a mistake to make the Human distinct from Nature. The Human is Nature. The Human is the way the Human is because the Human is the way Nature is. The Human is cruel because Nature is cruel. The Human is foolish because Nature is foolish. The Human is self-destructive because Nature is self-destructive. But we should know better you say! Yes, you are right, we should know better, with our big, big brains, but yet, here we are. The End of the World? No. The End of the Human? Maybe, probably. But what of it? It won’t matter to us. Just ask the Dinosaurs. Don’t get me wrong. I grieve, I grieve with the chests of a billion Fragments who grieve together in isolation from each other. I grieve so long and so bitterly for what we lose, so carelessly, as if it were some scrap of paper scrawled with the address of someone we’ve since forgotten. Yes, I grieve. But, I only point out this. The Human destroying Nature is Nature destroying Nature. We are guilty of setting the Human above Nature. We are guilty of setting Nature above the Human. But, again, the Human is Nature. Nature is destroying itself because it is in its Nature to destroy itself. We may yet stop it. The Future Flesh of Time is always still uncertain, unmolded. But, let’s just say we don’t stop it. If the Human dies and many Plants and Animals and Others with it, I wonder if maybe we can find it in our Nature to forgive us? To hate ourselves is to hate Nature, and see where that got us? Can we forgive Nature its Suicide? Can we give kind words and gentle caresses to Nature on its Deathbed? Can we say, “I love you. I’m sorry,” before we lose the chance forever? I suppose the final stage of grief is acceptance. Don’t worry. We will fight, we will claw at the muddy edge of the abyss, we must, it’s in our Nature to Live. And, yet, it is in our Nature to Die. Maybe the evening draws on apace for the Day of the Human. Maybe it’s Time for the Human Fragment to be unborn, unbroken. Somewhere, way back there, deep inside the belly of Time is a Time when the World is just Waking up. So maybe, then, there is a Time that comes when the World must fall back to Sleep. A Time when the World again is lost in Dreams and maybe they’re peaceful this Time and restful. Maybe the World needs it. Maybe it Sleeps forever this Time. But maybe it doesn’t sleep forever. Maybe there is a Time somewhere out there when the World wakes again. It’s done it before. Maybe the World wakes again to a new Day peopled by Living Things unimaginable to Human Beings. It’s possible. Just ask the Dinosaurs.

Part 2: Descent

And, then, is a Vision, with Night-Black spread wings. Then, is a Vision with a chest-gaping Wound and inside, the Sun. And inside the Sun is the Vision with feet made of Stone. And the Earth-Broken statue with a wound in its chest, looks from the sky’s bright scattering to the Earth’s wounded Womb. Looks a question of suffering to that liquid chasm. Of Death? Are you Broken, too? Resounding like Thunder, the Earth sounds an answer of colors and hues, of roses and power, of flowers unfrozen by dread and misuse. The will to Remember and Resist and Oppose. The Earth-Wound is dire but not one of Death, and not one of Coma that Relents or Regrets. The Future unCertain may yield to her yet. The Strength yet to counter and the Will yet to Live. The Death-Drive devoured by red, swollen Lips. The Strength to go Deeper, in Slumber to seek, the Dreams in its service and Waking to Sleep. No, the Earth will not fall gently to Sleep, or back to premortal, indifferent unDawning be reaped. No, the Earth will go Deeper on Purpose to See in the Center of Things. The Earth will go Deep in the Sea, back through the Ages, to Gravity’s Peak in the Coreness of We and of Memory. The Earth will go Deeper and will be Singularity and bring back that Vision to the Fight on the Surface. No, no Regression or Yearning someday to be Free. The Sunset is Coming to this Day of Dissembling. This Night, though, is different from ancient Delugions. This Night is the Blackness that holds all the Light. This Sleep is the Waking infused with the Dream. This Vision, the Vision of Sun borne in Chest of Black Bird with Black Wings. The Earth: “Not Broken and neither are you.” The statue of flesh with feet made of Stone revolves in the Desert with feet made of Stone and feathers of Night-Black and a beak and tusks and wound in her chest and the Sun in her wound. “How Can I walk in the Desert with feet made of Stone?” The Night-Black Boar gives his answer, “See my feet made of Stone? I go with you, remember.” And with her goes he and the Raven with the wound in their chest and the Sun in the Wound and a Flame goes before them and the Dead go behind. All this is First, but here we go Deeper, in a pit dug in Time. Before is Forever and never behind. And the statue remembers the Fight to the Death of her with the Scorpion who stings her and she stings the Scorpion both to their Deaths. Of her with the Snake with venom who bites her and she bites the Snake and they Fall in embrace. Of her with the Caiman with jaws strong to hold her in water to drown and she holds the Caiman and Drown they together as Lovers enlaced. The All-Color light from the Black unAbsorbs into Rainbow, a Serpent, above to adorn. This Vision, this Dream from the Center of Being reCoils from the Wound and Weeps and Seethes. Rainbow, a Serpent rends itself in its Grief. The pieces are falling on parched land and seeds. From the pieces are Springing the Rainbow, a Serpent, from each. All this is After, but here we go Deeper to back bring the Dream.

A Black Dog crosses the Path of the Sleeper. Ignite.

Here Blackness is Sacred and Night holds all the Light.