On The Other Side of Supreme Meaning
Thoughts On: Shadow
What is it to be lost and to be guided in life. How does cinema relate?
Breaking from reality through a subordination of consciousness and form, cinema is an ultimate failure when it breathes deeply or speaks loudly. I do not know cinema well, but I sense this. What is important to say must emerge from the realm of nonsense. To speak importantly, we must babble - like children - even eloquently. With no intent that can be solidified, with the will of consciousness returning to emptiness, nonsense speech dies, and pulls us to the other side. The other side is within and before perception, it surrounds one like time; like dimensions with no pause and no knowable origin. Where vertical and horizontal intersect, there is supreme ignorance. The mind is purely ignorant, but may step outside of itself. It can see itself lost and hopeless, at an intersection of untold, mute dimensions of impossible quality. Why becomes an answer and question when this transcendent sight is accessed. The One World of infinite intersections runs by time and meaning. The syzygy formulates the endless soup in which the ten thousand possibilities reside.
Vision is not simple. Neither is the world. We see best our own intent, but if we dare stop to question it, the void may open. What do we do beyond what we tell ourselves? How do we find and contrive these faux answers? In the void, there is the rationality of feeling and emotion; patterns with their very own intent. Deep within the fractal garden of archetypes and patterns is the singular nothing. Call this Tao if we dare. What does it intend? The first true impossible question. Does it intend? The second. There is no answer to be written down. History is silent when fallen deep enough into. It holds no order, it propels no meaning. What survives in form is like a lost child of a fallen civilisation. The child has their nature and it had been nurtured. But part of them has died: that which nurtured no longer exist. With nature moving one and nurture forgotten, the child can never have answers. They have sensation, and, indeed, they are living proof of a fact that cannot be proven. Falsity rings most true; unknowing, not caring, just doing, may be the way back - back to reason. These are answers. Though they have been babbled, they fail. They succeed in this failure, but a pain remains. A deep pang awakens within one the knowledge that this is all nonsense. The search for sense - even in non-sense - is highly irregular; indeed a failure of all sense. Where is sense but in ignorance?
Bottomless ignorance, infinite babble, unknowns with no horizon, nonsense as far as the eye can see and as far as time can stretch. Use order to create chaos in true silence. Do nothing in your creation. This is most important. Do nothing in your creation and you will succeed. Bresson said something to this effect:
"What is true is inimtable, the lie, untransformable"
That which stays still is not part of creation, except in the fact that it is dead. In death, it stops being nonsense even. What is solid and cannot become soft is a lie. What does not transform is an awkward end to the real. What cannot be doubted is the limit of form. Beyond the lie is the other side. But, it is a hurdle and cliff edge, not a way that can be walked. When one mumbles and babbles they refuse solidification. Their words may pass on. When words end, there awaits the void. It is not shown or revealed - it erupts, and the danger of falling is intensely grave. Do not heed lies. Do not seek them out. They cannot be changed, they cannot be dealt with. Lies are very dangerous. Alas, lies and truth, the inimitable and the untransformable, are one and the same: they emerge and return to the same nothing. The true is lost in nothing; therefore it is inimitable. Lies deny the nothing; therefore they must be left to die. It is within human nature to find truth and turn it into a lie, to imitate and make dead that which lived in the unknown. Art is inspired by the endeavour, yet yearns the success it is inevitably to be denied. This is why art fails. It fails willingly - to imitate the truth and manifest a lie. This is at least one kind of art.
Art that breathes fails to imitate truth. Art that lies shakes reality, attempts to trigger the eruption of nothingness. I have been cast into the nothingness before. It is a hard place. Loud speech confuses and soothes the sensibilities. The promise of the heart of nothingness aches in one like a longing for love. Indeed, the two are one and the same. The promise of an archetype's immanence can only send one astray, deep into the dark woods on the other side of supreme meaning if they are not careful.
This world is a treacherous one, and the greatest threat to the mind of individuals and collectives alike, is surety. A voice spoke to me recently. It said, "didn't you know, sometimes nonsense is more coherent than reality." I fall into the unconscious often. I tell myself I know and I am going somewhere for the rest of the day. In unconsciousness, there is some semblance of truth as I cannot pretend. What is finally is. I do not know it, I cannot know, and so peace rains down with shades of harmony. When I go back to work and I carry this peace forward, I begin to babble. I have my reasons, but I am trying to do away with them. I am scared, because I don't know what will happen if I achieve this. But I am on the path nonetheless. It may be one of simple realisation. I tell myself, but I do not know yet, that I hold no reason. Though it has been constructed, what I see in my hands is all part of nothing. I am, but wish to see, myself do nothing. What will come? Peace? Maybe something far worse.
