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It has been forty days since the inception of the experiment. Today is a grand day. Today I awoke with the scent of Espresso Creama in the morning air. No other willing participants in this experiment. The cost is too great for them to mistake the information, the consequences far too long reaching if I am right. But who would know? Who would understand the dataset? The material? The proofs?
I have been called a mystic when I wished to be called a philosopher. I have been mistyped “Artist” in place of “Scientist”. The information is not hard to understand. It is just far too dry for the ordinary mind. Can you feel the surface of your brain corroding under the arid winds of my Hypothesis? But then, I couldn’t expect you to understand. They may find this manuscript three hundred years from now and call it the bible. Religions will arise from the false notions of the old. I shun your religion, as it is neither Holy nor True. It falls away in the face of temptation. It becomes Heresy to those who are too weak in the mind to tolerate humble honesty.
I have multiple personalities. Not in the way of normal possessed beings, but in the manner of character. Frater This, Soror That, Society of the Whatever. The interesting thing is, the subject matter is an illusion with a structure of tangible symbol systems and representations of mathematical and psychological realities. It is a system of Metaphors, designed exclusively to develop the mind, to conquer the soul.
There are not enough hours in the day. I am awakened by the light of dawn, sun rising over the windowsill above the mountain peaks across the morning British Columbia mists. Yoga in the morning with my wife and daughters, breakfast and then work. Today is no different than any other, except the anniversary; The Saintly Fortieth Day. Temptation by demons in a world not of the world. I am no ascetic. Socialist? Perhaps, and far too fond of a capitalist society to be of use in a Marxist universe.
The computer is my laboratory. The Mind of the Mystic is my data-set. Mysticism, that word of many meanings, but the only one that counts is as difficult to realize completely as the Perfection of Self that its mastery promises. A lifetime of dedication, and forty days of dedicated practice. Ritual is my programming. The paraphernalia of my art a series of binary codes developed to represent the Kabalistic and Archetypal formulae. I prepare for the experiment every morning with the same Invocation that every Mystic has memorized. The words and languages may differ, the symbols are as subjective as the perceptions we use to understand them with. I have become lost in their context, subdued by their intricate matrix of allegory and imagery.
“…Among the garbage and the Flowers…” whispers the Lion Priest, Leonard Cohen. The Garbage and the Flowers: another metaphor, another symbol. Mysticism is everywhere. Some of you might call it language. But this one line, this simple phrase carries volumes of surreptitious information. In fact, many influential thinkers have looked at such patterns among symbols. Some of our most ancient writings suggest that the original Hebrew characters and their positions within the two-dimensional array of the page reveals new meaning in every phrase.
The letters upon the pages are numbers in an ancient dialect, revealing the truth that each concept, each idea has a value. Each word is a number intimately related to every other mathematical formula sharing that number. Cross reference and indexing each one with a line of code, zeros and ones blur past my eyes. The Silent Aleph, One. Not such a vulgar system as numerology, but a definitive series of significant meaning alluding to all other meanings. Exact references, using the human ability to bind together two entirely unrelated concepts with the cord of revelation.
WRITE < Chet >: …
The letters of the alephbet are the causal link between the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. To the degree we perceive language to be primarily denotative and rooted in the tangible things of this world, we partake of the lesser tree. To the degree we perceive the connotative and transforming dimensions of language by its use of allusion to the principles underlying creation, we are partaking of the higher tree that leads to life eternal.
The hour strikes and the sun splashes across the South facing window pane, glistening flowers of light shower my desk, announcing noon. I arise from my desk and stretch, noticing the crisp edges of each and every object, examining the aura around the circumference as a light of the true nature of the universe: energy and life force. Even my computer glows with a mysterious white outline, reflecting that my eyes are not the only sense with which I see.
“Hekas, Hekas, Este Bebeloi!” We announce over our food, as is the tradition in our home. This series followed by our thanksgiving: not to a nameless God, but to recognize that the experience of appreciation banishes all pessimism.
Meditation of two hours. It is the maintenance of complete awareness in the absence of stimulation. It is the cultivation of perfect alertness of mind and control over the subtleties of being. Not a “Turning off” of the mind, but an organization so thorough that every thought is completely accounted for, every movement ruled by mastery of the flesh. Every breath inhaled for thirty seconds, held for thirty seconds, released for thirty seconds, withheld for thirty seconds, each in a complete cyclical breath through the chakras in the electrical body and the arteries of the physical.
The afternoon’s work is a blur of alephbetic correspondences and codex …the sacred scripture of the Torah Shebiksav and the Torah Sheb’al Peh. Numbers and letters combined to create ideas, concentrated in a tangle of interrelated structure and meaning. There are no impure ideas here. This days work is only of the greatest accuracy and truth. Tomorrow, perhaps, I may choose otherwise, but today is a day of Adonijah.
The mountain air blows crisp against my face, the standing meditation against the banks of the cold mountain lake. The Hindus called this Vrkshasana, the Tree Pose. I am held upright by a network of roots that spreads out and pulls downward. I am grounded by a network of branches which pull me down into the ground. As the moon follows the sun, so too does my mind follow the serenity of the tree.
The sky darkens and the feast awaits. Dinner is light, and the vegetables are fresh from our garden. Excepting our prayers, there has been no talking, no garrulous and empty speech, only loving appreciation. Today is an auspicious day.
Ah, for you who would misplace the ideas and ideologies of religion thinking them severe and abstinent do not understand the true meaning of the word. As I make love to my wife in the darkness of our room I can see her form silhouette against the moonlight, a faint blue glow surrounding us as our auras intertwine, the atmosphere crackling with a static charge. Our minds are focused on experiencing each other, and the divinity within each of us becomes one as we build and release. Oh, for you who would forget that God is Love, I pity all that you have failed to perceive! In this I have found that all-loving, all-encompassing Universal Intelligence within us all. God is not in your buildings of wood and stone. Thou art God, and in this there is only one true, acceptable, and finally ultimate goal for each soul - Divinity and Human Perfection. In our union we create God, we make God, just as we would make Love.
And even here there is science. Even here there are universal codes hidden within the moans and whispers. There are frequencies of sounds, there are vibrations and octaves. They all have a mathematical key, and can relate by this to Euclidian logic and Pythagorean Mysticism. The Hebrew Language is Mathematics, and every sound is a creature. Berashit ... In the Beginning. Could you possibly understand with your vulgar mind that God is a Verb? All Infinite Be-ing. God is within you and all around you; the Rabbit and the Wolf; the hunter and the hunted; the stalker and the prey. “Each number in infinite. There is no difference.”
"Perfection of self is the highest philosophy, one which most will never aspire to, nor admit to if they had." -Anon.