The only thing I really bring to the party is a lot of experience and some ability to articulate it. It’s like it’s not my story, or it’s somebody else’s story I tell, it’s just The Story. And this story is the literary net of synchronistic connectivity that makes life something other than the laws of physics, particles flinging themselves through nothingness, waves dying out in empty space. This isn’t our experience of being. Our experience of being is meaning. That’s my experience. And the meaning is not always pleasant or life-affirming or even exactly rationally apprehensible. Sometimes meaning is a palpable thing: like liquid being poured through cracking ice, language moves ahead of its intent; it encloses its object and gives you almost a reverse casting of the thing intended. There are many ways for words to fits themselves over the contours of intentionality. So personality becomes an issue, because in the future personality — if it exists at all — is going to be a very fluid, dynamic thing. One of our hangups is the idea that we come with one body/one mind, or one body and a mind split into two parts. All these are social fables, illusions. The fabric of reality is defined by whatever large numbers of people believe about it, and now — in the absence of an overarching metaphor that can claim everybody’s allegiance — reality is actually fracturing. I’ve called it the balkanization of epistemology. I’ve poked fun at the abductees and made jokes about pro-bono proctologists from nearby start systems... What this fracturing means is permission to manifest opinion as art. That’s really all there is; there is no truth that is different from opinion, nothing is secure. ~ Terence McKenna, Logos meets Eros 1998
Posted on: Thu, 30 Oct 2014 14:39:27 +0000
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