I feel rather desperate when I consider what it means to communicate and how difficult that is. It's not that I need to communicate anymore, as the sense of urgency has vanished. But I am aware of the lessons, the most salient one being that genuine communication isn't possible. I don't mean to sound sorry for myself as I am not. I've gained a great deal from trying, and there was a point where I suddenly knew something I hadn't been able to know before. God had fallen to Earth.
This shattered glory of this "lascerated existence", as Bataille would term it, is in fact the true meaning of living, beyond which there is not meaning. The impossibility of explaining this is that one can only convey it to those who have discovered similar heights and depths in their souls. Experience outspans verbalised or written meaning.
That matters is not the perfecting but the shattering of God -- that is the insight. But unless one works on perfecting the God and shielding him from any contamination, unless one's efforts are tireless and exhaust all that one has, one will not be treated to the spectacle, because in truth this God that reflects only purity and civilised glory is too small. On splintering, the pieces fall into everything as beauty.
That's how I felt breaking the speed limit at dusk without a seatbelt or in overcrowded vehicle, far from law-abiding Australia. There was a thinner margin between me and death in Africa, but suddenly it felt more real. I even felt I was being protected from harm by this very lascerated God that I had tried to keep in one piece so earnestly before. But now the shattering of my knowledge and my being meant that parts of me were in all parts of the terrain, with grassy knolls, where wild things go to shudder.
To communicate in the old way presumes in the integrity of the old God, keeping up the established order. As YouTuber has commented, "I have said the words that Irigaray was objectively stupid." But his were wasted his words defending objectivity, because if such words are true, they will defend themselves. That's how we thought about life under colonialism. It's the only way to be truly masterful. You can't keep running to the aid of objectivity. Power either suffices or it falls short. Where power is lacking, no argument or augmention will suffice to bridge the chasm in communication.
I lost a lot when I lost Zimbabwe as an exiting white emigrant in 1984, but I gained it all back again and more in 2010. I journeyed back. The shattered God was more expansive that the old God, richer and more able to organise reality along pleasant and justified lines.
One either has or does not have this experience, and I am so tired of thinking it might be possible to communicate it, when it doesn't matter much to those who haven't lost their power or their way. But as for me I had lost everything, and then I found all again. God, like the prodigal son he is, came romping home.
I can joke in this way because I am an atheist and it doesn't mean much anyway. You know I am talking about things stuck inside my psyche, and there is not way to get them out, not in a way that makes much sense of them to others. My thoughts shall be refined companions in my dotage.
I also have historical pals. I understand them but you don't. I don't know why I think so, but it's just my thought. I've seen too many people reading intellectual shamanic texts as if they were spouting nonsense verse for the psychogically benumbed. It gives me a headache. No, no, no, they were writing nonsense verse for people like me who have lost the old God and have spent considerable time trying to figure it all out.
I know what people are looking for when they're eating and praying and loving and trying to expand their minds, but I suspect their reverence hasn't reached a state of tension enough to shatter. Otherwise, they would surely be having episodic reflections regarding a shattered God.
And people will say it's all about me -- an interesting way to splice my texts as I am sure that I was in there somewhere. I definitely was in there somewhere, doing, being and playing some role, before the old God shattered and I and my mind got shattered, and now it has become difficult to find someone who can effectively read my mind.
It's reassuring to think that some people still care, but somehow I have gotten into everything and everything has gotten into me. You might have difficulty picking up the pieces.
I am grateful to those hardy folk and stalwarts who still imagine, hope or believe that I am writing about myself. I hope I shall forever retain a place in their memories.
Communication isn't easy and it's basically a lost cause. You can talk to those who have had similar experiences only and whilst many people yearn for the shamanic shattering I have describe above, they get quite offended when they get an inkling of what it means. They really don't want that at all. They want reassurance or the promise of gentle shamanism that does not give you a pleasant helping of destruction.
This shattered glory of this "lascerated existence", as Bataille would term it, is in fact the true meaning of living, beyond which there is not meaning. The impossibility of explaining this is that one can only convey it to those who have discovered similar heights and depths in their souls. Experience outspans verbalised or written meaning.
That matters is not the perfecting but the shattering of God -- that is the insight. But unless one works on perfecting the God and shielding him from any contamination, unless one's efforts are tireless and exhaust all that one has, one will not be treated to the spectacle, because in truth this God that reflects only purity and civilised glory is too small. On splintering, the pieces fall into everything as beauty.
That's how I felt breaking the speed limit at dusk without a seatbelt or in overcrowded vehicle, far from law-abiding Australia. There was a thinner margin between me and death in Africa, but suddenly it felt more real. I even felt I was being protected from harm by this very lascerated God that I had tried to keep in one piece so earnestly before. But now the shattering of my knowledge and my being meant that parts of me were in all parts of the terrain, with grassy knolls, where wild things go to shudder.
To communicate in the old way presumes in the integrity of the old God, keeping up the established order. As YouTuber has commented, "I have said the words that Irigaray was objectively stupid." But his were wasted his words defending objectivity, because if such words are true, they will defend themselves. That's how we thought about life under colonialism. It's the only way to be truly masterful. You can't keep running to the aid of objectivity. Power either suffices or it falls short. Where power is lacking, no argument or augmention will suffice to bridge the chasm in communication.
I lost a lot when I lost Zimbabwe as an exiting white emigrant in 1984, but I gained it all back again and more in 2010. I journeyed back. The shattered God was more expansive that the old God, richer and more able to organise reality along pleasant and justified lines.
One either has or does not have this experience, and I am so tired of thinking it might be possible to communicate it, when it doesn't matter much to those who haven't lost their power or their way. But as for me I had lost everything, and then I found all again. God, like the prodigal son he is, came romping home.
I can joke in this way because I am an atheist and it doesn't mean much anyway. You know I am talking about things stuck inside my psyche, and there is not way to get them out, not in a way that makes much sense of them to others. My thoughts shall be refined companions in my dotage.
I also have historical pals. I understand them but you don't. I don't know why I think so, but it's just my thought. I've seen too many people reading intellectual shamanic texts as if they were spouting nonsense verse for the psychogically benumbed. It gives me a headache. No, no, no, they were writing nonsense verse for people like me who have lost the old God and have spent considerable time trying to figure it all out.
I know what people are looking for when they're eating and praying and loving and trying to expand their minds, but I suspect their reverence hasn't reached a state of tension enough to shatter. Otherwise, they would surely be having episodic reflections regarding a shattered God.
And people will say it's all about me -- an interesting way to splice my texts as I am sure that I was in there somewhere. I definitely was in there somewhere, doing, being and playing some role, before the old God shattered and I and my mind got shattered, and now it has become difficult to find someone who can effectively read my mind.
It's reassuring to think that some people still care, but somehow I have gotten into everything and everything has gotten into me. You might have difficulty picking up the pieces.
I am grateful to those hardy folk and stalwarts who still imagine, hope or believe that I am writing about myself. I hope I shall forever retain a place in their memories.
Communication isn't easy and it's basically a lost cause. You can talk to those who have had similar experiences only and whilst many people yearn for the shamanic shattering I have describe above, they get quite offended when they get an inkling of what it means. They really don't want that at all. They want reassurance or the promise of gentle shamanism that does not give you a pleasant helping of destruction.
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