meditation #n

I live in a world that does not know me.
And I do not know this world.
At the very least then, is a speech, a dialogue or a language that binds me to this world; in order to participate.

all that is left is that complex relation between I and this world.
but really, is it a subject-object relation?

grace is what brought me to a here and now.
every god-inspired breath, every prayer (speech) is a faith;
a faith of everything always incomprehensible.
to pretend that we know is to lie.
to lie is to forget the honesty of being a being.

must I silently scream out my existence? in the face of possible existents?
'it is the best thing I ever have.'
the best is always what I already have, have had.

must there be metaphysics?
aren't we always facing the immediate?
what is not immediate is an indeterminacy; as if I have no means to reflect on its truth
but can I ever?

an anxiety comes with the daily onslaught of the day; that which is the immediate truth of a new awakening, after a night of insomnia or sleep.

that is true metaphysics, the seconds or minutes of darkness as you shut your eyes away from the immediate, resting on the almost eternal, as if there will be a tomorrow, after the today is just yet to be gone.
that is when the silent Creator whispers nothing to you.

for so often we deal with life with a presence, a materiality or a evident object to substantiate truth. It is as if I must do so and so to be a truth.
That is a great conceit.

there is, in that span of silent preparation to sleep, a profound communication of an extreme void or absence of anything and everything except sleepiness; like a thief that snatches your treasures immediately when he faces you or after a long gruelling sleeplessness and wait, finally he comes when you grow tired of waiting. Instead of throwing a weight on us, it is pure transcendence via a darkness, a nothingness; a transition from consciousness to unconsciousness and back again. In between; almost an aporia, an impasse that consciousness cannot grasp; cannot experience; unable to comprehend while awake, in immediacy.
that is the antithesis of whatever simulacra or performances this world of sin throws at us, pretending that we are masters of them. You don't seek to comprehend it or even devour it. You simply cannot. It predicates incomprehension. It is, to begin with, always a mystery; always abstract, always experience in the unconscious.

eventually, it is really a cycle of destruction, creation and regeneration; fire, water and mercury.
the condition of grace; grace as the most incomprehensible das Gift. the freedom to dream and yet the chain of existence that pulls you to sleep.


now, do not reduce me to a Sameness.
in the alterity in us all, is the baby steps to bridge (or not bridge) that gulf of infinity.
It is where I sleep, perchance to dream, perchance to prepare; as a precursor to the final sleep, the final face-to-face with my Creator.