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Were there any final conclusions
then?
Yeah, that mystical tracts lead to anti-drama, their dialogue being
indirect, too playful, the ineffable being difficult to describe, it being
this poor drama, with indirect dialogue often building up to simply
NOTHING and leaving everything hanging in the air, there being just
too much dampening.
Now this inner shot:
The nuns sing in chorus this Om Tara Tu Tare Ture Hum as I sit on
my knees and press my chin to my chest. I then pull my head back, lie
on the floor and press my chin to my chest again and again. I lift my
hands backward. I hear an atonal chanting in my ears, it’s so sublime, I
see tormas everywhere and leave them alone, no telling who’s living in
them. The morning mist is slowly rising above this monkey hill and no
telling who could be going in circles there.
And so did it flow?
Most certainly. It had this graduation of big colors in torrid and
temperate and frigid zones: it had these vehicular ramifications in continental
lake contained streams, and confluent ocean flowing rivers with
their tributaries and transoceanic currents, gulf streams, North and
South equatorial courses: it had violence in these seaquakes, waterspouts,
the Artesian wells, those eruptions, torrents, eddies, freshets,
spates, ground swells, watersheds and water partings, these geysers,
cataracts, whirlpools, maelstroms, inundations, deluges, and cloudbursts
....
176 pages into the journey