As I layed in bed this morning, I thought about this blog. Originally this was started to make comments about the connection between physics and mysticism and it has morphed (dwarfed?) to/into prose, the reflections of a midlife rambler. Then when I came to facebook today, I learned my niece Deirdre, who I haven't seen since she was a little girl, 20 years ago (has it really been that long?), had been reading my blog. For sure she read some of the poems from Every Man's Life. I'm uncertain if she's been here, but guessing so because I had posted the link to the story about Darby's scary night here.
When I wrote the entry, I said Dear Diary, kind of tongue in cheek, meaning "no one reads this." Naturally, thanks to Facebook-- a writer, even with as little talent as mine, can cobble together a few readers.
But the reflection for me in that waking state was about the meaning of life. I really wasn't "working on" anything. I was working THRU stuff. The philosophy of anti-matter and quantum physics continues to pull on me. And yet, with about one week before Christmas, the nature of being, as we find ourself in the circumstance of life, seems to be so much more of the real thing. And there is the catch.
Buddha pegged it for sure. Illusion. The trappings of life, such as possessions, such as position, such as all the emotions, both negative and even joyful--are all tied to our skin. Would I trade being in my skin for all the enlightenment of Lao, Jesus, or Jerry Maguire? Nah. But will this little exercise lead back to matter divided by energy equals magic--in the words of whoever coined the phrase--Go For It!
It just occurred to me that I saw a quote yesterday by Arthur C. Clarke, who said, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." I want to postulate that magic is the real thing and that technology is what we name it later. This mystic, (moi), honestly believes that the more we advance as a species, the more we need to disguise the magic. In the same way that SPIRIT only moves in one direction (it always expands and never goes backwards), humans as a culture, evolve further and further away from reality. So much so that our skin actually gets thicker, allowing less and less of the real stuff inside us, to escape.
Last night I knocked on our neighbor's door to find out if she had the baby yet. Sure enough, her one week old daughter had just finised nursing and the grandparents were there, who seemed to be visiting the manger. My enthusiasm was muffled somewhat, but still, I must have seemed like a fireball bombing their household, compared to the gentle cloud which pervaded the inside of their house before my arrival.
When returning home, or I should say later in the evening, the memory of our first week or two with Darby reminded me of my realization. Babies come to us from the side of God. They enter this world with full knowledge of the unknown. All they have is magic. None of the inherited weakness of our confusion. They're new in their skin and with each passing day start to identify with the wrapping, but being in the presence of the sacred child, you know you're linked to the infinite. You understand that all the space around you and that fills the whole household is magical and mysterious.
You're reading this now and our connection can never be reversed. We're inexplicably linked. We own everything. Nothing is missing. Nothing could be any different than it is.
Merry Christmas.
Oh yeah!
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