Do not judge what you do not understand. Only mysticism repairs the mind body split, restores childish sensitivity, sensibility, and actually enchanted, actually imaginary reality. Mysticism melds with its symbols and rituals, but transcends religion. Mysticism is knowing being seeing directly.
Ignore her warnings, fail to puzzle out her puzzles, falsely date the sibyl’s prophesies to debunk them couched in a tangle of legalese at your own peril.
“PREPARE THE PYRE. BURN THE WITCH!”
On this Democratic and Republican inquisitors agree.
Their death wish is displaced, having taken the form of an insane compulsion, as it reminds them of their denied mortality, to punish, abuse, and then destroy the human race, the very flowering of the universe suddenly appearing in its mirror, aware of itself and of its astonishing beauty — by which suddenly, instead of spontaneity, it’s vanity, vanity, all IS vanity, but still, without spectators the whole show unravels into incommunicable fragments; the universe apart from tangled, un-knottable strands in point of fact fails to exist. They have so much fun, but when at rest there’s a deep sadness in the eyes of other animals. They seem to know there’s something to know that they don’t know. Of course I’m sure they feel the same about us, homo sapien or wise guy, unable to know unknowing, however dangerously denying this.
Each flower of the flowering is planted in a secret garden and before it opens it is plucked and flung in the air to land on its feet, too divinely flowery as the very flowering of the universe, taking its measure, probing its deepest secrets, again, bringing it into being, to be just another animal, but the more it measures and probes, exacerbating the difference, the more it does indeed deny this.
The Republican inquisitors, occupying the mystifyingly beautiful shells left by the mystics they murdered and donning the gloriously mystifying costumes in the closets there demand that every single flower fructify in a divine flower animal so they can gleefully foster criminal neglect of it. The Democratic version, pretending it’s about fostering fun during planting season, funding the cut flower animals, and the autonomy of the walls, fosters total demystification and universal dispensability of the surrealistic seeds swiftly evolving into universal mirrors, any one of which could happen to be THE savior of world today, ie. ME, whose mission will be expensive to thwart as they must, in order to destroy it.
The ravaged, surviving flower animals busy with the bees blindly submit to the inquisitors’ vicious manipulations, dutifully speak the gibberish of their moribund categories, submit to division, and fight the wars that sustain their opulently un-manual laborious lives. And when they confer medals and honors on each other, the flower animals cheer and like like like, as this dearly bought illusion of disembodied transcendence radiates down on them briefly.
Inquisitors you’re not just greedy and drunk on power, you’re crazy! Wake up! Flower animals unite! Throw off the chains of ignorance NOW. Everybody, stop fostering hope for us in our present form when you have calculated its defeat from every imaginable angle. Do not deny what you know, but cannot yet assimilate. Leap, then learn! The hole in time providing access to the new, already prepared universe is already closing. Follow me! Do not too much grieve what must be left behind, for you drank deep of it, and it is spent. And do not dread death. You lost your dream and mind when you stopped dying all the time.
