The statement "as above, so below" has come into prominence in my attention span recently. I watched some videos suggested by Bob English and one of the themes of the videos was how early man attempted to repeat the images he discerned as special in the skies above him on to the ground below his feet. Some of the patterns are featured in a wild book called Chariots of Fire.
The strange thing was that these patterns could only be seen from up in the air. It was only upon the invention of airplanes that they could be seen from above and with the advent of satellite photography they can be viewed at leisure. They are facsimiles of specific constellations in the sky. I don't know exactly what this has to do with the computer programming language named LISP, but that's what I started out to write about.
I don't know anything about LISP except what I've read about it online. I took a truncated, futile community college business course on BASIC, but what I learned there didn't amount to much. I guess it gave me a better insight into computer programming than no exposure at all, but what clued me in about what might happen with me and a proposed avocation of programming revealed itself in the way I didn't have the enthusiasm or dedication to surmount the learning curve like I do when I actually accomplish something. LISP is said to be the choice programming language for schizophrenics. To them it's heaven on Earth.
If I'm really interested in a subject I'll seek it out at every opportunity, and although a lot of the subjects I possess some expertise in might impress a rank amateur, my supposed skill is ostensively clumsy and entrenched with the angst of the self-taught. I consider myself lucky when some true expert decides for compassion and doesn't expose me for the fraud I am is. I picked up a book or two on LISP, and read articles about people who favor it, but I never followed through.
My favorite metaphor for this huge difference in technique between the learned and the self-taught is the primitive oil paintings of Grandma Moses as compared to the wild passion of Vincent Van Gogh or to the schooled fine art of Rembrant. It's not that they don't hang side-by-side with comparable worth. Sometimes, its the sheer arrogance of the self-taught that causes me to take a second look of pure joy.
It might be tedious to say for true that people create the image they model their life and even their looks after, previous to doing it or whether it's a simultaneous, serendipitous uttering of the word that self-assembles as if according to some unknowable master plan. A woman whose attitude I admire wrote something to the effect that such creativity is and must proceed unintentionally.
I conjure the image of a non-physical sort of pearl suspended in your psyche. If you can't boot it up, then just lie to yo'self and pretend you can anyway. Imagine this pearl as something that is alive. It has volition, curiosity, and an odd me-more of it's own relationship with the me and thus of ti-me or it-me or it-me, ergo, the id.
This possibly imaginary alive entity can look like a pearl because it's center is a nothingness/void from which emerges these separate radiations of pure light that only extend from the vacuity of it's nothingness out just so far, and they stop at a specified distance from what would be a common center. Collectively, all these extended end points of radiation give off the soft, luminescent glow reminiscent of a real oyster pearl.
However this pearl-like entity is described, the point I'm trying to make is that what is important is that it is the goal of the hero's journey. Sometime referred to as the golden Queen's table or by the more adventurous, Circe.
My experience with this pearl derives from being on the outside of it looking in toward it. Somehow, I circumnavigated it merely by focusing on the emptiness of it's imaginary center. In and around the outside of this pearl were all the possibilities of the universe. I KNOW!! LOL It's a paradox. I'm describing the id, but it's normally considered to be contained. It's counter-intuitive to consider the fullness of the id being outside of an empty anything.
Maybe the deal is that from outside the pearl you can perceive everything as anything inside the pearl. But from inside the pearl everything is nothing but the sa-me thing. There is no everything or anything or even nothing. It's the sa-me without the slightest hint there might be more to it than what it is. It is.
The woman who writes like a priest talks (she forces me to listen to what she writes as I read it) about women representing the inside of all things and the unconscious mind. The thing of it is that while circumnavigating the perimeter of the pearl I would suddenly get pulled inside of it in the blink of an eye, and from the inside of this pearl-like living entity, I be-co-me-d omniscient due to the fact that outwardly the exterior of the pearl can only be viewed omnidirectionally in instantiation. Nothingness is merely the result of a lack of a point of view in time. Nothingness ain't got legs. '-)
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
