(4 pm. – promoted by ek hornbeck)
Walking down the old dusty two lane, faded yellow lines, melting hot tar crack sealer and a gravel edge. The side falls off fast, covered in brambles, weeds and accumulated crud and drops into one of the prettiest creeks I know. I wonder as I stroll along, worn comfortable shoes crunching out a leisurely beat, what is the story of here?
Slumbering patch towns, Roscoe, Livingston Manor, Ferndale, Harris. The occasional car or pick up pointing out from even narrower tracks, cut stone on tar or plane old rutted hard pack. Phaboom phaboom, phaboom.. Phaboom, phaboom, phaboom. Eighteen wheelers blast by off to the other side, drivers trying to make time, separate, insulated on the new expressway.
Duality, you and I, us and them, here and there, now and then. Deep contemplation for a quiet walk on a sun dappled morning. This is a place where at least for me duality dims. Gnostics and Buddhists have stories key to their beliefs regarding duality. Both in different ways look at duality as illusion all or wrong and here on this road I want to believe.
Once their was then was became conscious of itself and duality began for too be conscious of oneself one is then separate. Monkey realized he was monkey one day. He saw fields and sky and thought I need shelter and he moved into the shelter he then thought he might Ned to defend his shelte and put bars on his window and a door on the font and voila he had built his own prison. Out their became other and fear ruled his life
I wonder when and to whom that happens here in these idillic low nils. This area had been the fruitful domain of native Americans for countless years before the Dutch and English came these hills and creeks are among the oldest on earth, once tall and proud peaks eroded by millennium after millennium of wind, snow, ice ages and finally man.
The Gnostic gospels of the Nag Hammadi discovery tell of Sophia. One of the last aeons created by Bythos. Bythos is the entire thing as in Alpha Omega, begging and end, the whole enchilada the Pleroma. Sophia and the other archetypes are or I should say we’re not separate from Bythos but aspects of Bythos, like the white, green, blue and red Tara’s are to the Buddha.
So one day Sophia becomes self aware and creates her own reality, a flawed reality, she promptly falls from grace. In fear and longing to return to to the Pleroma she accidentally creates the reality we know and the Demiurge Yaldaboath who forgets Sophia and declaims himself the one and only God. Anyway, Bythos sends Jesus to convince Sophia to return.
The miles slip by, the clouds run like prancing horses, the creek gurgles and flows, the sun dips closer to the mountain ridges to the west and I want to be one with it all.