Re: RETURN TRIP - CLARITY

[Theonetwo]

The time to return has returned. Care to know what I found?
PEACE AND LOVE ON PLANET EARTH

https://www.973-eht-namuh-973.com/Alche ... IVE973.htm

A card sharp, card carrying member he
Would turn a trick, for pensioners and young kids
At half the price, but only half the tricks
His magic now a tawdry dull affair
Nights at Camelot, now too long gone
None, now have faith in magic anymore
He paused, he thought, he knew
I’m half the man, of half the man, I was before
Merlin, the man of tattered habits
The master shaman, standing whisky still, stock still
Deep in thought

Master of illusion, man of tattered habits ruefully ruminated.
Where now old man, the wisdom that you sought.
His journey a pilgrimage, a seeking of the self.
There was always something strange about my magic.
The wisdom that he thought, he'd had, he'd never had before.
Wise wisdom lost at sea, drowned in a sea of knowledge.
His blind and gelded senses had masked the way intended.
New age thoughtful thinkers now were all the rage.
They'd seen it all, wonder of wonders and they would not wonder.
Their vices it suffices were sensory devices.
Their aim to transmute base metals into gold.
Sub atomic particles, articles of particles.
But pale reflections of the wizards skill.

He thrust a hand, in dirty habit clean
His many pocketed cloak, around thin shoulders draped

Without a glance, Merlin drew out, from within
The pocket, of his pock marked, many pocketed memory coat
His myriad, mirrored images, of glazed glassed eyes
A residue of demons, once his fiends
And cause now, only for a laugh
The shaman seer, a seance of the senses, would he make
Pull a trick, or maybe even two
Merlin, an incantation breathed

Slight silver spear, sliver of light
Sleight of hand, of mind, and sight

The august magi, belched twice
His plumbing turbulent
An island alone
Aloof, strange, silent
Reborn images appeared
Magic into image see
Magi the magic, blinks, thinks, winks
And pokes, sad embers of a dying brain
Light provoked, barely an echo
Of his once bright flame
He raised his hand, as if to bid adiue
His tired magic, look still works
A rag appeared, from out the air
It was old, and rough, and stained
In bleak despair, he turned to stare
And stare, and stare anew
Startled from his reverie, he rested
On the hard rock cafe, of his reality
The rag, meanwhile, had nested in his hand
He raised the mirror to his knees
And careful not to look
Gently began to wipe, and scrub
And scrub, and wipe, and rub
And rub, and rub, and rub
Lapsing again, into thoughtful mood mode
The busy bee of static, in his head, paused
Merlin, for that were he
Felt the creeping, stalking, numbness
Creeping, and stalking, stalking, and creeping
Within his brain, his skeletal brain
His skeletal, eletal brain
The anaesthetisation of his faculties
His memory, continued apace
Magic of a sort there
He thought, the illusion, of his illusion, was
Is
Was
Is
Was
Is
The delusion, of the illusion
This lay in mother sense
The womb of his creations
Herein the source of all his theatre
How skillfully, and clearly, cleverly, and dearly
Productions such as his, were hard to find
As long as the human race had existed
He had worn the rainment
Of his myriad names, with pride
He knew, this magus of magicians
That he, Merlin the magical
Sorcerer to kings
Was coming towards the end of his line
That he, confidence trickster of the senses
Working in many guises, and disguises, in many lands
Throughout all ages, the magician extrodinaire
Master of magic, trick, and illusion
Like his forebears, he knew all that had passed
And also of the future knew he too
This wizard of pantomine
This master of the five
Servants, ready to serve his every wish
I wish, I wish
When you wish upon a star
Oh how wonderful you are
The old magus, had continued all the while
Polishing his mirror
Without once glancing at it
When you wish upon a star
He ceased his task
The waning of his powers, coincided
As if by chance
By the knowledge, that had struck him
Like a lightening bolt of his own creation
Like a swift arrow of truth
Of sudden realization
Deep, in the heart, of the
Soft, full, fat, cheese, mollases of his brain
Its poisened tip of truth
Had dealt the self, a mortal blow
This central character in his own magic
Knew at last the truth of his magic
He, was part of the magic, of something else
Something much greater
Something, of which he was but a piece
A piece of a jigsaw
A grain of sand, on all the oceans of the world
All the ages of his creations, had been an odyssey
The stars he wondered at on an evening
Were the same stars
That all existing, within this magical reality
That they also, were marvelling at
His journey, a pilgrimage
A seeking of the self
He had asked many questions
Experienced many things
There was alway something strange
About my magic
The wisdom, that he thought he had
He’d never had before
Wise wisdom, lost at sea
Drowned, in a sea of knowledge
His blinded, gelded senses
Had masked the way intended
New age, thoughtful thinkers
Now the rage
They’d seen it all
Wonder of wonders
And they would not wonder
There vices it suffices
Were sensory devices
Their aim, to transmute base metals into gold
Sub atomic particles
Articles of particles
A techno-magic revolution
Changing, human evolution
Pale imitators, of the wizards craft
Suddenly, as was his custom
Offen in the past
A sunbeam thought
Impinged the polished mirror
Of his future past
And sped off into its own reality
In a wink of a blink
Thinking pink
The man that never was
With skin, that made the sun retreat in shame
Behind dull clouds
For fear of Mary Shellys skin
Merlin the magus
Spent his last trick
And he, who in error, terror paused
Became a pig-
A lily the pink pig
A fat, happy, joyful pig
This pig, happy, happy, as a pig in shit-
Merlin again ruefully ruminated
Those of today, those creating a great past
From a future yet to occur
They too still entangled
Hog tide and fixed
Fettered by the senses
A bigger magic
More powerful magic than his
None the less a magic
Which like his, had no basis in reality
This custom made, happy pig
Found a partner
Had lots of pigs
And lived, happy ever after
Merlin the magus
Raised, the mirror to his eyes
His old blind eyes
Eyes, he now realized, he had no need of
Looking at the mirror
He saw its early finery
Remembered, its beauteous clearness
He gave it the tenderist of wipes
As first he’d done
As at the dawn of human history
He’d practised his craft
From first aware of its perfection
It’s glorious perfection
And the clarity, clear, depth
Of the pool, of its sight
The pool, in which his senses had swum
For so long together
Before the corpreal nature, of his sight, caught the glass
He noticed, how old it had become
How tarnished, cracked and glazed, this glass
Finally, his eyes looked at the eyes
That were finally looking at him
Today Alice, did not look back
Saw, only throught the mist
A spectre, of an apparition, of a spectre
He sought, with fingers cold
To rub away, the cold, hot mist of his breath
Only for an instant did he see
That, that, far away
That, that, was me
For a split second he realized all
He knew, I know
Someone, something, somewhere
An illustrious magician, pulled another trick
And, had there been a mirror
Surely it would have cracked
From side to side

[Theonetwo]

ITS ONLY OF LATE AS I SIT HERE ALONE

AND REFLECT ON THE PASSAGE OF TIME

THAT I FEEL THE AGING OF FLESH ON THE BONE

THE GREYING OF HAIR AS A SIGN

OF A DAY THAT IS LONG AND NOW NEARLY O'ER

OF A NIGHT JUST ABOUT TO BEGIN

OF THE WORKING IN MAN OF GODS HOLY LAW

AND A TIME FOR THE PAYING OF SIN



WILL FOOT NE'R AGAIN SQUELSH SOFT ON WET GRASS

NOR TEETH ON RIPE APPLE TO BITE

SHALL I NEVER AGAIN DRINK BEER FROM A GLASS

WENDING SLOW ON MY WAY FEELING TIGHT.

AND WHAT OF THE FRIENDS TO LEAVE BEHIND

THE ONES I'VE MET ON THE WAY

I WONDER WELL DO YOU THINK THEY'LL MIND

DO YOU THINK THEY'LL HAVE OUGHT TO SAY



NOW FEAR BESETS THIS ONCE PROUD HEART

AND ICE IN THE MARROW I FEEL

AT LAST SO IT SEEMS THE TIME COMES TO PART

TIRED SOUL FROM THIS BODY TO STEAL

[Theonetwo]

https://www.973-eht-namuh-973.com/colou ... tton/7.HTM

Human existence, survives a fractional distortion of the true reality.
To be perfectly honest John, without beating about the bush, we as a common or garden entity, reside for the moment, in slumber deep, lost in - Rip, Oblivion, Van Winkle time. Self absorbed, within the spiral of our conjured growth. The question that has to be asked, will the physical home of our common parentage burn down afore we waken, because dear friends, it is already burning. The quite essential moment of the quintessential moment is at hand, and the tip of the tongue words that spring to mind are, not a moment too soon .
Oh Namuh, in the now of your forever, a sea swelling, see change of comprehension, has to be effected by the three score and ten year olds There are dimensions to slip, and recognition to be made, of the existence of other realities of mentalities. It is time to strike, did I say spark, that rock, that the water of spirit flow within ourselves, endlessly, intuitively, and with every comprehending empathy. Embracing union with every manifestation of THAT inhabiting our reality. To finally understand that creative intelligence, is not only within and without, but in between. It is a totality, a supremely intelligent creative living perfection of that everything.
Is it not, that in the now of our change we are entered into a state of critical mass, said Zed Aliz not laughing, but lamenting neither. Karmic response being Karmic response.
Oh Namuh, hypnotised, magnetised being, embrace the constancy of knowing, required by THAT creative intelligent living consciousness on which you so rightly depend. Give recognition to its amazing magic, unbelievably, ingeniously expressive, executing the turns and twists of its star magic life. See with all I's every manifestation and wondrous demonstration of THAT supreme, living, consciously inventive metamorphosis. THAT, which within our blindness, is available to us only within our so limited, hog-thigh'd perceptive range. Beings curbed by the imaginative potential of mind as expressed in thee and me. Drowning in the present of our energised playground. Our thinking having been miraculously transformed from blessed worm, to thee n' me Eht Namuh, living minds inside the amorphous plasticity of existence, understood as our finality.
THAT same reality which says, in deeds a plenty to them as in wakefullness understands, I am THAT.



We see reality obliquely, refracted and opaque, the enlightened constancy of living creative purpose being well nigh lost to our sensibilities, lose in the pleasure-dome, or otherwise, of our own making. Wandering lonely as a crowd, passing through a living dream. Somnambulistic, imaginatively stunted, seeking for meaning around the back of the mirror, instead of doing an Alice.
No matter the escape into space, still art thou Oh Namuh as far away from the truth as ever.



Time to do an Alice, said Alizzed, and quick as you like along with a number of companions, who for now shall remain nameless, hopped, as White Rabbitz do, through the mirror of their future past

[Theonetwo]

At his suggestion she gave Theseus a clue [ thread] when he
went in. Theseus fastened it to the door, and, drawing it after
him, entered in. And after having found the Minotaur in last
part of the Labyrinth, he killed him by smiting him with his
fists; and, drawing the clue after him made his way out again.
And by night he arrived with Ariadne and the children [pre-
sumably by this the writer means the rest of the twelve Athenian
men and girls destined for sacrifice]at Naxos. There Dionysus
fell in love with Ariadne and carried her off; and having brought
her to Lemnos he enjoyed her, and begot Thoas, Staphylus,
Oenopion and Peparthus.
" In his grief on account of Ariadne [continues the poet]
Theseus forgot to spread the white sails on his ship when he stood
for port; and Aegeus (his father) seeing from the Acropolis the ship with a black sail, supposed that Theseus had perished; so he cast himself down and died…"

"But that was not the end of the story. King Minos, when he learned of the connivance of Daedalus in his daughters escape, imprisoned the guilty engineer, with his son Icarus, in the Labyrinth. Then followed the invention of the first flying machine, 3000 years before Leonardo da Vinci…

Daedalus constructed wings for himself and his son, and en-
joined his son when he took flight, neither to fly high, lest the

/ Page 113 /

glue should melt in the sun and the wings should drop off, nor
to fly near the sea, lest the pinions should be detached by the
damp. But the infatuated Icarus, disregarding his father's in-
structions, soared ever higher till, the glue melting, he fell into
the sea called after him Icarian and perished,"

'Daedalus',…'made no such mistake.'… 'He flew, on unscathed to the court of King Cocalus, in Sicily. But says Apollo-dorus:'

"Minos pursued Daedalus and in every country he searched he carried a spiral shell and promised to give great reward to him who should pass a thread through the shell, believing that by that means he should discover Daedalus."
…"Having come to Camicus in Sicily [ writes Apollodorus] to the court of Cocalus, with whom Daedalus was concealed, he showed the spiral shell. Cocalus (Lord of Sicily) took it, and promised to thread it, and gave it to Daedalus."

[Theonetwo]

THE DEATH OF FOREVER

Darryl Reaney 1991

Page 27

"The box is set up in such a way that any such disintegration will break open the poison capsule, releasing enough poison to kill the cat; in the time interval allowed for this 'thought experiment' there is an exactly 50:50 chance that the atom will or will not decay.

This is the basis of Schroedinger's paradox. The observer outside the box cannot know whether an atom inside the box has decayed (opening the capsule and killing the cat) unless he looks. The condition of the cat (alive or dead) is therefore a litmus test of reality itself. According to the strict interpretation of the quantum wave, in the absence of observation, the cat in the box is neither alive nor dead but in some indeterminate, wave-like, in-between state. It is only when the consciousness of an observer enters the picture that the complex ripple of possibility that is the indeterminate 'alive and dead at the same time' quantum cat crystallises into one of the two possible real outcomes: either the cat is alive (no atom has decayed) or the cat is dead (an atom has decayed).

In short, it is the observer's decision (his choice) to open the box that summons forth a real cat, dead or alive, from its ghostly quantum state of non-being."


GREAT CAT TALES

1992

MIKE

Sir Ernest A. Wallace Budge

Page 383 (number omitted)

"(The cat who assisted in keeping the main gate of the British Museum from February, 1909, to January 1929)"


A DYING CAT

Pierre Loti

Page 428 (number omitted)

"An old mangy cat, hunted out of its abode no doubt by its owners, had established itself in our street, on the footpath of our house, where a little November sun once more warmed its body. It is the custom with certain people whose pity is a selfish pity thus to send off as far away as possible and lose the poor animals they care neither to tend nor to see suffer.

All day long it would sit piteously in the comer of a window- sill, looking, oh! so unhappy and so humble, an object of disgust to those who passed, menaced by children and by dogs, in con- tinual danger, and sickening from hour to hour. It lived on offal, picked up with great difficulty in the streets, and there it sat all alone, dragging out its existence as it could, striving to ward off death. Its poor head was eaten up with disease, covered with sores, and almost without fur, but its eyes, which remained bright, seemed to reflect profoundly. It must have felt in its fright- ful bitterness the worst of all sufferings to a cat - that of not being able to make its toilet, to lick its fur, and to comb itself with the care cats always bestow on this operation.

To make its toilet! I believe that to beast, as to man, this is one of the most necessary distractions of life. The poprest, the most diseased, and the most decrepit animals at certain hours dress themselves up, and, as long as they are able to find time to do that, have not lost everything in life. But to be no longer able to care for their appearance because nothing can be done before the final mouldering away - that has always appeared to me the low-est depth of all the supreme agony. Alas for those poor old beg-gars who before death have mud and filth on their faces, their / Page 429 / bodies scarred with wounds that no longer can be dressed, the poor diseased creatures for whom there is no longer even pity.

It gave me so much misery to look at this forsaken cat that I first sent it something to eat in the street, and then I approached it and spoke to it, softly - (animals very soon learn to understand kind actions and find consolation in them). Accustomed to be hunted, it was first frightened at seeing me stop before it. Its first look was suspicious, ruled with reproach and supplication. 'Are you also going to drive me away from this last sunny comer?' And then quickly perceiving that I had come from sympathy, .and astonished at so much kindness, it addressed to me very softly its poor cat's answer, 'Prr! Prr! Prr!' even rising out of politeness, and attempting to lift its back, in spite of its weariness, and in hopes that perhaps I would go as far as a caress.

No; my pity, even though I was the only body in the world that felt any for it, did not go this length. That happiness of being caressed it would never know again, but as a compensation I imagined that I might give it death - immediately, with my own hand, and in a manner almost pleasant. -

An hour afterwards this was done in the stable. Sylvester, my servant, who had first gone and bought some chloroform, had quietly coaxed the cat in, and induced it to lie down on the hot hay at the bottom of a wicker basket, which was to be its mortuary chamber. Our preparations did not disquiet it. We had rolled a carte-de-visite in the shape of a cone, as we had seen the surgeons do in the ambulance. The cat looked at us with a confiding and happy air, thinking it had at last found a home, and people who would take compassion on it, new masters who would heal it.

Meantime, and in spite of my dread of its disease, I leaned down to caress it, having already received from the hands of Syl-vester the pasteboard cup all covered with poison. While caress- ing it I tried to induce it to remain quiet there, to push little by little the end of its nose into the narcotised cup. A little surprised at first, sniffing with vague terror at this unaccustomed smell, it ended by doing as it was asked with such submission that I almost hesitated to continue my work. The annihilation of a thinking animal, even though it be not a human being, has in it something to dumbfound us. When one thinks of it, it is always the same revolting mystery, and death besides carries with it so / 430 / much majesty, that from the instant its shadow appears it has the power of giving sublimity in an unexpected, exaggerated form to the most infinitesimal scene. At this moment I appeared to myself like some black magician, arrogating to myself the right of bring-ing to the suffering what I believed to be supreme peace, the right of opening to those who had not demanded it the gates of the great night.

Once it lifted its poor head, almost lifeless, to look at me fix-edly. Our eyes met - his, questioning, expressive, asking me with an extreme intensity, 'What are you doing to me, you to whom I confided myself, and whom I know so little? What are you doing to me?' And I still hesitated, but its neck fell; its poor disgusting head now supported itself on my hand, which I did not with-draw. A torpor invaded it in spite of itself, and I hoped it would not look at me again.

But it did, one other last time. Cats, as the poor people say, have their souls pinned to their bodies. In a last spasm of life, it looked at me again across the half-sleep of death. It seemed even to all at once comprehend everything. 'Ah, then it was to kill me and not assist me; I allow it to be done. . . It is too late. . . I am falling asleep.'

In fact, I was afraid that I had done wrong. In this world in which we know nothing of anything, men are not allowed to even pity intelligently. Thus, its look, infinitely sad, even while it des-cended into the petrifaction of death, continued to pursue me as with a reproach. 'Why did you interfere With my destiny? I might have been able to drag along for a time; to have had still some little thoughts for at least another week. There remained to me sufficient strength to leap on to the window-sill where the dogs could no more torment me, where I was not cold. In the morning, when the sun came there, I had some moments which were not unbearable, looking at the movement of life around me, in-terested in the coming and going of other cats, conscious at least of something; whilst now, I am about to decompose and be trans-formed into I know not what, that will not remember me. Soon I shall no longer be."

I should have recollected, in fact, that even"the meanest of things love to prolong their life by every means, even to its utmost limits of misery, preferring anything to the terror of being / Page 431 / nothing, of no longer being.

When I came back in the evening to see it again, I found it stiff and cold, in the attitude of sleep in which I had left it. Then I told Sylvester to close the little mortuary basket, to carry it away far from the city/and throw it away in the fields.

Translated by Ambrose Bierce
Page 381

THE LITTLE BLACK CAT
(Posthumous Words)

"I didn't live long on earth, but when I was there I was black, en- tirely black, without ~ny white patch on my chest or white star on my forehead. I hadn)t even those three or four white hairs which black cats often have below their chins, in the hollow of their throats. My coat was short, smooth and thick, my tail thin and sprightly, my eyes slanting and gooseberry green - a real black cat.

My earliest memory goes back to a house where I met a little white cat walking towards me down a long, dark room. Some in- stinct I didn't understand made me go to meet him, and we stopped nose to nose. He gave a jump backwards and at the same moment I gave a jump backwards too. If I hadn't jumped that day, perhaps I should still inhabit the world of colours and sounds and shapes you can touch.

But I jumped, and the white cat took me for his black shadow. After that I tried in vain to convince him that I had a shadow of my own. He insisted that I was nothing but his shadow and that I should imitate all his gestures, with no thanks for my pains. I had to dance if he danced, drink if he drank, eat if he ate, and hunt the game he hunted. But what I drank was the shadow of water, what I ate was the shadow of meat, and I would spend hours of boredom lying in wait for the shadow of a bird.

The white cat didn't like my green eyes, because they refused to be the reflection of his blue ones. He would curse them and go for them with his claws. So I used to keep them closed, and accus-tomed myself to seeing nothing but the darkness which reignecd behind my eyelids.

Page 382

But it was a wretched life for a little black cat. On moonlit nights I used to escape and dance feebly in front of a white wall, just for the pleasure of seeing a shadow that was my own, a thin, homed shadow that with every moon grew thinner and ever thinner, as though it were melting away.

And that was how I escaped from the little white cat. But I can't remember clearly just how I got away. Did I climb up a moon- beam? Did I imprison myself for ever behind my locked eyelids? Was I called by one of the magic cats that emerge from the depths of mirrors? I don't know. But ever since then the white cat thinks he has lost his shadow and he spends his time seeking it and call- ing it. Yet death has brought me no rest, because I doubt. As time goes on I grow always less and less certain that I was ever a real cat, and not just a shadow, the nocturnal half, the black, reverse side of the white cat."