Words don’t exist
Soundtrack to this piece:
…every thing is gone, my sense of self, the imagined place where ideas form, the difference between the body this consciousness is purporting to experience reality from and the air, the barrier is broken there is only ‘the all’; the unfolding interplay of particles set into motion interacting and performing in ways that have no other possible configuration, that is, when the first atomic reaction resulted in this output and so on and so forth unending and this chain reaction unbroken since the first stumble that made it so this world exists is brought back into focus by the rotund stone that sits atop a petite stone and will not fall, I use the word will because this stone, as imperfect and unimportant as any having been raked into its position eons or moments ago by a monk who felt the most serene he has ever felt in raking because today he realised that the process or the aesthetic is not the thing, no, not the repetition but the inconsequence, that is the juxtaposition of perfection against the will of nothing to seek perfection and indeed that perception, as in, based on our limited senses could even begin to imagine an organisation that may approach a universal perfection, that is, that the entire goal of any task achieved by us mere sentient beings limited by five (or six or seven) senses tied to a biological organic evolutionary construct could ever possibly ‘arrange’ or ‘discover’ anything grander or indeed ‘influence’ or ‘control’ the inevitable and unstoppable interacting of elements that have been like a domino effect continuously “playing out” or in having this ‘procedural’ feature as perceived/observed by quasi-sentient beings who have developed over millions of years certain ‘sensors’ for a selection of phenomena that exist and so, one could say, have developed and continue to (imagine?) develop antennae to interpret or at least taste or witness various iterations of sensoria (it started with light, then touch, then sound and so on) and/or enhanced ideas forming from the anticipation of or particular wavelengths altered by this imperceptibly tiny stone (size is irreverent, it could be mountains but that would only be time) or even a grain of sand perched elegantly on the most seductive edge of another smooth surfaced stone, the interplay between smooth surfaces an orgasmic exercise for physicists which is why we are here now the hairs on our heads and forearms raised, the monk has uncovered an anomaly or perhaps there he approaches the Buddha, the conscience, the moment, this moment of all moments when you imagine what focus is, what the chaos and unbridled entropic continuance means for the feeble minded Neanderthals such as we with minds which are small enough to care for close born hominids and large enough to hope for a greater scope to this succession of living breathing creatures who collectively bare generations spat out to blindly carry on and learn ‘a’ culture formed for millennia over and over as raw and new, limited lifespans to take in the whole, like a conversation with an archetypal god or angel, but instead it’s the smallest of moments, the physically impossible (as far as we know) tension, and when there’s tension in the air, nine times outta ten there’s (Kendrick Lamar) this moment of serenity, the stone could fall, it could destroy villages or create myths, “but for now and today my lord he flings himself unto the Earth”, he supplicates himself unto the ecstatic crown of sensory delights, in that he is enamoured, and this is a real feeling, this is a feeling of an intensity that could be described as psychopathic, to study this stone as it sits there atop another stone and for no discernible reason continues to perch, the level of anticipation unequal to the level of Zen (the Zen monk slapping the student on the forehead or back of the buttock for failing to grasp the base concept of Zen logic, returns to the problem at hand) encapsulated in this one unfolding thought, to ponder why one wants the stone to fall, that is, why is the falling a satisfying (i.e. desired) moment and also, to imagine a delicate simple elegant structure that holds up this precarious stone so as to increase the element of emotion one is capable of experiencing in grasping all elements ‘exposed’ or ‘featured’ through this unique scenario playing out (so different to western culture, to tease or enhance the precariousness, to eventuate the subtleties of the situation), where one imagines that a tiny grain of sand that is a perfect cuboid ground down by the sea and wind and it’s interactions with human foot traffic and sitting for years buried in the corner of a gutter until the decaying petals and built up grime of the road was on some day washed out by a torrential storm and this small grain was set free and travelled a great million kilometres through sea and tides and cast up on the shoulders of the wind to end up at the exact focal point where it was possible to observe in another country that shares a coastline with this dislodged perfect cuboid stronger-than-diamond foreign alien or common but structurally unique or not even simply and plainly the only and in an incalculable universe such as there is only one possible ending for all beginnings this piece of quart-crystal to position itself between a stone of a certain size and general smoothness that would normally, based on what one would expect of a stone of this size sitting atop another of disproportionate although pleasing to the eye colour and shape would, when you glance at it quickly imagine that the stone atop the other should eventually fall off, that is quickly give way to gravity and so that tiny perfect cube (rare in nature) is positioned at some mathematically calculable point between each so that it perfectly counters the weight and provides the perfect ratio in size and positon and general hardness (integrity) between these two grand masters, the ‘Zen’ monk imagines, then casts his mind to a smaller dimension, one which begins to cause some discomfort, namely to the rock garden that he swept, and now he sees, or more accurately, now what is revealed to him is the actualisation of the emotion he had always felt; that during the process of raking which is supposed to be meditative and itself a self-realising activity that brings one closer to identifying the core concepts of Zen practice, that through that process he was able to discover an extra dimension, one which was perhaps hidden to the original practitioners because they were unaware of the subatomic world, they had not been given the opportunity to subsume the subatomic in to the whole, in the way that we should surely begin to see that there is no separate thing such as Zen (which is a Zen idea) but that there is only ‘the all’, and that it is unfolding and realised and observed by a process which itself is a version or window into understanding the all and it is within that idea or conceptualisation that the monk sees a chink in the armour, the end of belief, how clear the vulnerability in all belief structures is and that through the medium of the activity, that is, its inherent ideology when applied builds a path to its own destruction…
