literature, narrative, story-life/song

SONG Called to be a guide and finally christened. To look and know. The tribe. The New Mythologies; the real history. A bridge appears out of thin air; my ancestry. The lost origin. Natives. The tragic past. But to know it is to be healed. I am ready to begin. Playing and Song are binary stars. Song is accessible to all senses. But deep play is a song whose meaning-making music tells the Story of our ancestors, the story of where we came from and who we were and what happened to the world and our fight to win back the world we worshipped, the meaning that used to be, not only not the result of doing, but also not simultaneously created in process. Rather meaning was there when we arrived. We didn’t have to make it. What we call meaning was our God. We worshipped the world precisely because it supplied not only everything we needed but the very reward that capitalism can never deliver: Meaning that can be saved and held and will secure us forever and feeds us and requires no work for it is sacred. So it is not a reward but a bonus. Life is not comprised of labor v. rest. Work v. vacation. Time given v. allowance. Free-time’s imposter dies and Free-time is finally freed from it’s serfdom to gravity. Children and Story are one. A grown person and Story are one. Child’s play still translates to adult’s deep play, but the two are not defined by an opposition between the age of two bodies but the synthesis of one’s own life stages into a Story that is a case in point when it explains what we might see if we could what happens to the Star’s Being when it explodes in a ball of light and disappears, or it’s body shrinks to a rock that circles until it stops and floats thru space; a relic of the greatest battle that ever took place, while the light, taking on the so-called proof of its existence, departs from the half we still see or understand to exist floating in space as “matter”; that half remains because without it, our dichotomous Story-Life would collapse by force and not free will; by slavery to living without Choice rather than free-will; not because we lived and in living achieved immortality by the Song but because the very thing that created us in resisting god, responsible for our mishap, was checked, not by us but by God. But God is the Parent and the Devil is the Bastard parent. Sins are equal. God wants us to grow up. We must accept our past. The devil like a parent must be understood as separate and in some way like us, free to choose their path. Each gets their turn. I’ve always said that a can of worms brings a school of fish. I’m opening up a can of worms right now, I just know it. Perhaps if you resist trying to catch them, laying your hooks down at the door, they will stir the waters that play my song. As Emily Dickinson wrote: This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me, the simple news that nature told with tender majesty. Her message is committed to hands I cannot see, for Love of her sweet countrymen, judge tenderly of me! Still, for those who do so, whenever or by whatever cause, it becomes apparent that living out loud equals playing the song of YOU to the audience that is the world… the worlds around you. Like any song, people are free to hate it or love it and all or anything in between that and in as many spoken or unspoken ways as there are possible. Fate and destiny are here invoked. To me fate is what you cannot avoid, and fate is that life is a musical instrument and you will at the very least make sounds and noises whether you want to or not, and fate is that the song will end whether you want it to or not. Fate is also that your instrument, like all instruments, has limitations you can’t exceed while simultaneously being capable of producing limitless music. It could be the sonata on a grand piano. It could be a freight train on the tracks. Destiny is s in many respects the opposite of what is avoidable. If fate is the guitar in your room destiny is the song you might die without ever playing. But destiny’s song, if played, and once it’s played, like the songs you love the most in life, you would see in what you hear that there’s no other way it could have been played; it’s perfect. That’s a great song on a great album you can play on repeat throughout your life. That’s a great film you can watch again and again. That’s the poem you memorize because like the song from a guitar when strummed meaning is only present in the process of being made so you recite the words and demonstrate the function of something that left alone is meaningless. The song cannot be touched but with one’s heart. Fate is the train tracks. When you were born they carved through the earth and split our world in twain. You are the hobo and you are the train. That’s your life, moving thru cycles. That’s the song, made stanza by stanza, moment by moment, day by day, person by person, and place by place, and the song has no quality when being played in hopes that the playing will keep the instrument safe and intact as long as possible before it warps and dies. The quality of the song is proportionate to the extent that you play it because you understand playing itself is true freedom. For children play is serious and deep an meaning-making is done so purely and instinctively that it’s too fleeting to perceive that any good comes from games and so we think it’s merely good because children are innocent and we like to see them happy, even if by things so silly. But for an adult to truly play like a child they must accomplish what a child accomplishes when they play, and this has little to do with “what” they seem to be doing and everything to do with the freedom with which they inhabit space and engage place around them. It has to do with one definition of process versus another. Objects and circumstances are not meaningful on their own. Meaning is made in the process of engagement with them. The definition of “play” in child’s play is an entirely different thing than “play” in adult play. Play is to a child what deep play is to adult; playing adult (cooking, mommy) is to children what playing like children is to adults ; they are entertaining the way watching an animated movie can be simultaneously entertaining to adults and children. Deep play is when adults are daring to engage life in what are meaningless or purposeless ways. This is why we love pirates, and hoboes, and mystic wanderers and gypsies. They are the children who’s playground was a training ground, and who, in playing there trained so that one day they might play in the larger playground of the world, where the stakes are high and the bell that ends the game is for them, as far as they are concerned, the bell that ends their world. It’s not what they taught you in school but what you taught yourself outside in play that holds the key to your freedom. This is what meaning-making with freight trains is all about. If education is a process… if learning is a process it is a process that subjugates process itself, clipping its wings… a process of separating the maker from the meaning, and therefore of learning that meaning is not made in doing but earned by certain doings. Thus romance and reality, once binary stars intrinsically balanced and united by Process of revolution after revolution are torn from one another at birth by a violent separation that sends them spinning off in different directions to begin growing up with entirely different contexts, construed as strangers, exiled by an exile whose seemingly all-powerful hegemony is ensured by the fact that one dichotomy gives birth to many, which give birth to many more. Romance and reality bring fiction and fact, materiality and imagination… to a mysteriously unnamable but apparent self-evident and purely logical significance in our make-up to see black an white, inside and out, up and down, heavy and light, light or dark… for we see time thru, for one, day which is the world seen and night which is the world unseen. Yet all these things can be read in exactly the opposite way (and this is how capitalism will undo itself). Which is to say, In the day, we tend to focus what we are thinking around what we see, whereas at night, we focus what we are (or aren’t seeing) around our thinking. A dichotomy has a dichotomy. Then dichotomy, defined and understood as one thing opposed to another, actually becomes both an opposition and a synthesis. The dichotomy negates itself, for it is made not of two but of infinite oppositions, but this defies the definition, transgresses their/its roles, playing deep to pull the hyphen out of story life, dissolving the Stranger and in doing simultaneously, nearly retroactively, blessed by the Stranger that leaves meaning and a lesson and a gift. Risking absurdity to insist that hope lives at the very center of doubt. That gravity work for us, making-making as it grinds metals and gases to create light. We then believe in the impossible. That we can reverse the separation that gave birth to us (bastard children, trains) thru a mystical pursuit to prove that light is stronger than darkness and space is merely a place for this to go down. Binary stars flung apart comprise the universe that we call “me” or “I”, and those stars grow and shine and fade and die each in very different ways. A star consumes the last of its own body in such a passionate and heroic and violent plight in a war against its sworn enemy now, its own body which insists on dichotomies that rule over us, that it humiliates the paradigm, exploding in a supernova of light like a warrior at the center of final doom pulling the pin to prove, everything a dichotomy has ever named and determined as our so-called reality, is an illusion made possible by freewill, and that true to the nature of story-life, right there in the manual, capitalism’s undoing, is to say that competition, in holding the highest laws and virtues of existence, must man up and pick on someone it’s own size; competition. Competition cannot compete against cooperation because we cooperate in competing. We agree to compete. If we have that in common, then competition is left to compete with itself, which means competing to cooperate. One slogan of capitalism is Free to Compete. To what extent are we free to compete? I take this on. The War Tags bare this, as they do all major aspects of the Paradigm. Until the last hobo is gone and the last Native American dead it is not too late to stop the war we are responsible for not for starting but perpetuating it. The hero must risk their security, sanity, everything, and life, to refute matter by engaging the pieces as instruments that make meaning in a musical of life that dares to do what is not being done, to be the one they only love in fiction, they are scared of their own revelries of “if-only” coming true and shattering the only life they know. Die to the seed. The hero transcends, supernova of light exploding out and the result is not that the light goes out and the matter flies off to reincarnate or drift for ages; the result is that the dichotomy is slain and what remains is so utterly alien to our captive lives that we cannot perceive it. The space that contains it we mistake for a lack of light. We see ‘nothing’ because we are divinely schizophrenic, delusional, and absent, mesmerized so by dark spirits possessing the body of Song and by such demons Song becomes Story-life, soul and body, money and poverty. .