Are you composed or decomposed
In the undecidable of the in-between
Pulling towards and pulling against clicking into an archetype
But resisting that structuralist move with a dive into the plural symbol of the preindividual
As the ground of your interpretation as praxis
Playful as a Klee or a kite
In pop-op graphic art style.
The swan first comes to eye
– The Ramakrishna Mission having accustomed the eye to the sign of it –
With its black pool whirlpool –
Or is it a white shell
Or petal
Or leaf to the eye flower
Suddenly deliciously 3-D and tactile in a 2-D world
Its bud about to open
Which conforming to Einstein’s thought-experiment of nonlocality
Instantaneously though at a distance co-experiences the opening of corresponding
isolated eye-bud
From which drops –
A tear?
A small shell?
Into the ocean? A large shell?
Cup, leaf, receptacle?
The pearl in the oyster
The seed in the furrow
The jewel in the lotus?
Water to water, matter to matter
Or not quite any matter
But self-organized matter
Dry and durable
Carrying the seamarks of evolution
Only the flip side of the mutable medium
Its cooling or slowing (same thing) into a stable (though fragile) quasi-eternal medium
For archaeology of inscription, palimpsest, dense information archive
Techno-organic proto-individuals
Whose lord is the hybrid elephant-human splice, Ganesha
Claiming the shell-petal-cup-banana-rubberpipe-inside/out-twocolor-coil for its trunk
Or collapsing the elephant into its taxonomic ontology of animals including aves
The bird-flower-shell-water spliced with the divine-human eye
Observing but expressing compassion
In a mono-no-aware severe essentialism
Dried out to the bone
Of shell-tear.
Or the eye and the bird follow the image of the two birds of the Upanishads
One the witness bird, the eye
The other the bird of time, it’s matter-fluid inscribed with the spiral pattern of evolution
But the witness is not just sakshi
But the Mother expressing her descending compassion
In response to the evolving yet static ascent of the swan
Which, after all, is nothing but the fine twine of black and white threads
Spinning upwards like an oil wick with an eye-flame.
Yet the black pool refuses subsumpsion into universal frames
And pulls into the infinite (ananta) folds of involution-evolution
The tear of Tara-Kali, shell, liquid cocoon, multi-sheathed vessel
Not unlike the human material-vital-mental-psychic-supramental (and higher numinous) bodies
Or to get into the civitas dei a la Simondon, material-vital-psychic-transindividual body-in-the-making
Sutured through technology
Folded into the first evolutionary substrate as will to technology
Not for having but for becoming
Putting into relation in dynamic structures
Of inter-related complexity and baroque flexibility
The self-maintaining and self-perpetuating machines
Negotiated by the nameless will to individuation
Acting through each individual as agency.
The teardrop responds perennially to the aspiration behind the struggle for evolution
Fertilizing rain to the furrowing and seed-planting
Traveling the grades of consciousness without end
Though static as an Idea
Or what Deleuze would call a machinic portrait
Or Sri Aurobindo would call an event outside time
Or Tantra would call a yantra
An engine of perpetual becoming.
Tear of Green Tara
Mother of Compassion as Insight
Just as you are yourself the tear of Avalokiteshwara
The Compassionate Witness
Who looks at/after/into the locations of the lokas
And sees all that there is to be seen
Nothing is he allowed to close his eye from
So that to fertilize the needs of hunger and thirst
He produces you, body and soul, as a tear of Compassion-as-Insight-Idea
And you, O Mother Divine, allow to flow limpidly through you
Your self-replications as forms of compassion-insight becoming
Each a unique infinity of the Infinite
Outside a shell or liquid cocoon or multi-sheathed vessel
But inside, the Person, the One no other, You
Not a body-mind split but an added dimension
The center of the circumferenceless circle,
The jewel in the lotus,
Presence.
Compassion-as-Insight, Compassion
As Insight, Compassion-as-Insight
Can we like beads repeat
Hoping to arrive at Compassion-as-Insight
But without exercising compassion or insight
Compassion as insight implies understanding
The lightning bolt that illuminates Ignorance
Revealing the unity of things
Insight is searing, it is pitiless
It burns through the bone, leaving no residue
Unity as Idea is experienced as Insight
Not mental Idea, but Real-Idea
Experienced, in each sheath of consciousness in its own way,
At once as/by the In-dwelling Person.
Eye of Mother Kali, Eye of Mother Tara
Like the outspread wings of the silver eagle-bird of Vishnu
(Forming the orifice of exit of the tapas-Agni of your Third Eye,
Hot as turmeric, red as chili)
Are your eyebrows of massed Lightning
Supporting Indra who funnels his thunder-seed
As the Insight in your Compassion.
Like an exotic triple-petal-whorled fire-flower
On the summit of your archetype
Is this seat of Indra.
Above, and invisible, the solar Gnosis burns
Whose descent is Indra.
Below, at the other end
The playful swan has two dysfunctional legs
Or unstable props like long balloons
Spiralling to stability – kundalini paired with its bourgeoning complement
Reaching for balance –
The signs of the tusker.
