NOEMAYA

I feel the openness, my eagle flying so high; I have flown the highest, so high that I felt the edge of the world. 

It is true! People respond to myth and not to the so-called objective world. The objective world, the one constructed by logic and science, is absolutely nothing; it has no values and no reality and no place in the human heart; it is at best a secondary shadow, a symbol of a symbol, a poster on the busy wall; it is a world far removed from what is lived and felt in us.

Much of the deprivation of meaning in modern times that drives people toward extraterrestrial interests, conspiracy theories, making appeals to quantum physics to rescue their dead spiritual traditions and rituals, and all sorts of maladies of our modern age; these are all diseases of meaning, symptoms of a fundamental deprivation and a separation from life itself. 

This modern man lives in a world deprived of life and lived meaning; he lives in a picture framed so tightly that he can no longer feel his transcendental dimension, the very dimension from which life flows and through which life is lived. 

The constructed world sold to us by scientism is a dead world; it can neither hold life nor tolerate it, for it has no place for continuity and consciousness except as a mysterious epiphenomenon whose emergence cannot be explained. This world which is represented by mathematical models, one which is based on calculus, a calculus which only mimics continuity by way of limits, was once just a model, a mere tool with predictive power that could at best approximate the real. Over time this model substituted itself for the living world, the grand heist of the last millennium! And now the model is taken as the real thing, and the real thing as a mere subjective construct. The construct overthrew the real and slept with the queen, the soul! How intimately did Shakespeare feel this fratricide in Hamlet! The secondary, derivative world which always flows and appears in the stream of consciousness is now considered to be the bedrock and even the cause of that stream! How ironic and absurd is this picture! 

When meaning is forced to live in a meaningless world, when one blocks a flowing water, everything shoots sideways in all directions but where it ought to flow. And this is what is felt as the sickness of our times: a living being placed in a lifeless world and believing that world to be his reality and himself merely a secondary and insignificant part. Whereas that lifeless world itself is constantly deriving its meaning and significance from the very depths of this living being! 

That’s why people, in their now empty self-apperceptions in a constructed world, have lost touch with the living flow of life. Ironically, everyone is turning toward streaming services while oblivious to their own extraordinary and creative streaming life. This cosmos of astronomy, this universe of physics, cannot inspire even the most sensitive poets, for it’s so ugly and lifeless and repulsive to the heart and living consciousness that even the scientist doesn’t bring it home with him and chooses to leave it at work and deal with it only in classrooms and pale laboratories.

It is no wonder that lofty visions and revelations ceased to pour into the hearts of men and women, that prophets and saints faded into historical figures of a constructed past! The plenitude of divine inspiration can only be beheld by a vast and open heart; where hearts are shrunk, myth finds no place. Is this shutting of the gates of lived meaning, of mythical existence, not the true Fall of man? Only if we knew what lies behind these gates: the heart, the ocean of restless revelation, the truth, the Being of all beings! But this new man, this last man, is so petty and so small that he can’t but burst into laughter in the face of grandeur; he grasps not and thus ridicules the unfathomable whispers of a few who are shaken and moved, against their own will, by the power of myth. At last we became a people who traded our eyes for a brass staff; we could not bear the life of the heart, the life of seeing, of true responsibility as the vicegerent of Being on the plane of multitude. We lost contact with the living dimension and became the creatures of this flatland.

And my love, let me tell you the truth, I who believe in myths more than straight lines: if man shut himself to his own streaming life, if this man has turned away from the absolute and the infinite in him, if he has abandoned the 3 dimensional space in favor the flat, 2 dimensional space, all this is because he has shrunk so much, thanks to his shrinking pictures of the world, that he no more sees himself worthy of the infinite, worthy of the majesty and grandeur that dwells in him. He can’t stand his own transcendence, the flight of the eagle. It’s his fear of heights, of what is lofty and always above and within that has bound him to the surface. The modern man is small, and so is his place and station, and so are his feelings and his fever. And it’s so tiring living among small people! They who ridicule height, the short people I call them, the short people of this earth that are willing to lose their heads lest they are too high for others.

Oh love, I feel so deeply, so highly, and so beautifully that words shiver when I call them to expression, and I am so alone in feeling, in flying so high, as if I am the highest of all eagles, the last of my species. I fly across lands and seas, and I can’t lift my glance from the turquoise blue of the ocean of life. You may be a being in the world, in the framed picture of your imaginings, but I! I am a different story: being pulled outside this frame, I have found a cloak that can hold all the gods and their angles, a dimensionless cloak from which an eternal stream flows. Let’s now land for a minute.

Enough with description and time for prescription. To rescue oneself from this prison, to step out into the world of light, is at once the easiest and the most difficult task: it’s the easiest because one will find that there are no real shackles but one’s own submission and belief, and it is the most difficult because one must free oneself from something that doesn’t even exist, from imagined shackles, from an idea. And the hardest thing in the world is to free oneself from the unreal. 

It is to return or, to be more precise, to realize and notice the very streaming life, the stream of meaning, that is being poured into and gives life to the very constructed world of which we imagine we are a part. It is to return to the life of the heart and of Being, one which is always already known as our most true and most ancient element. It is to recognize that the meaning we seek is the meaning we have lent the constructed world, and that to rescue ourselves amounts to taking back our loaned meaning, to reclaiming life from a dead world that can never receive or hold life, a life that is only ours and can live only in us, and everything that lives and ever lived had to live in and through us. The more of our meaning we pour into concepts and categories and constructs, the emptier of meaning we become. But somehow and somewhere we were told or came to believe that we must project our meaning out and onto the other in order to experience it ourselves, that a mirror must exist to reflect my beauty or else I think I am ugly. I don’t know how this came about but it is what is.   

What am I then? I am the living, eternal flow of meaning. All life is the life of meaning; if one asks what everything is made of, one can’t help but conclude that everything is made of meaning. But meaning is not made of anything, neither can it be defined. 

I am the life of meaning. I am the eagle that flew across all lands and all times from eternity and has seen all that has been and all that will ever be. I am always in flight; I am the eternal flight.