Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

“Yes. So to conclude that thought… In asking ‘what is my relationship
to the divine,’ or even ‘what is my relationship to the world,’ one is
essentially asking ‘what is my own nature?’ An experience is ipso facto
an experience of ones nature – as other. There is no actual separation
between self and world, nor is there a separation between being for consciousness
and being in itself…”
Alexi’s brow furrowed. “But wait…”
“Thought makes distinctions. That is its function. By talking about
something, by categorizing it, we are changing its nature. Any relation
always changes the participants. Being in itself and Being for consciousness
are both themselves just thoughts or abstractions, and what they
refer to is a singularity which we have to think of as a duality. That is to
say, for instance, that the universe expresses itself—in totality—within
my body. My body is a mirror of this world around me, and the world
around me is then in return just a symbol of our bodies, or our minds…or
this present moment… But here we have this problem of memory, which
I related to you earlier. So long as this present moment is not an eternal
one, we live more in the fragmented associations of our memories than in
this lightning flash-here, now. This is how the symbol of the shards
comes in. Every thing is devoid of selfness-in-itself. The Hindus have an
interesting meditation on this idea which they call the Net of Indra.
Imagine a net, stretching in every direction, with a highly reflective, clear
gem at each nexus-point… Each gem exists, you might say, as a reflection
of all of those around it… Its very being is given identity in its relation,
through whatever mode, with those that it relates to, in the way it
relates to them. Thus I say, as you read in the last chapter, ‘existence is
purely a relation of surfaces, only subject to evaluation within the very
specific context that gave rise to all related phenomena…’ And so on.
Didn’t you ask a question about this passage?”
“Acid?” Johny asked, making sure he had heard right. Two disembodied
voices floated over his shoulder. “Nice dress…Want to fuck?” Johny
ignored them.
“Yeah, that’s right. Five apiece.” The man looked around, running his
hands through his thinning hair nervously. Somewhat old to be in a
nightclub, Johny thought. He looked more like a collage professor than
anything else. Well, except for the clown suit. His eyes were unusually
luminous, though. Sure, why not.
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