Posts Tagged ‘life’

The second he put his thumb in his mouth, he knew it. The instant he put his thumb, burnt from the salmon of wisdom, in his mouth, he was in trouble. It wasn’t so much that Finnegas would be angry. Finnegas was too wise to be angry. No, Fionn was in trouble because Fionn was now Fionn. Fionn was now Fionn with all the wisdom of the world, with all the wisdom of Fionn. Nothing would be the same ever again. He could not stay at the river with Finnegas any longer. He could not stay with Fionn any longer. He knew too much. He was in too much trouble.

Cormac mac Airt was in trouble.

The moment Cormac mac Airt saw that mysterious youth on the green, was the precise moment when Cormac mac Airt was in trouble. The glittering branch could have been named “Troubles Herald”. Ahh, the sweet red of trouble in those the nine apples. Cormac was in trouble. He was prepared to pay any price for that trouble, the price of trouble.

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But for now we are in trouble. We have been raided. We are dead. We find ourselves in the paradoxical moment that is both death and birth.

Do we need a book of the dead?
Do we need a book of the living?
Could the book of the dead also be the book of the living?

This great book could show us the way into life within death, death within life. What wonders await us?

What perils?

Is there such a book? Is there a book of the living and of the dead, or should we leave the dead to the dead and seek a new way of living? A way of living that arises out of the death. Where is the way to move from this terrible moment where we are not dead yet we do not live, where we have perished, and have been birthed? Is there such a book to show us the way out of this terrible moment?

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It happens, doesn’t it?
The day comes when the world pushes open the door we have closed against the world.
-John Moriarty, What the Curlew Said

It does happen, doesn’t it?

That fateful day of the door crashing in on us, pushed open by the world, different levels of the world, that in one way or the other, we have been avoiding.

The fateful splintering of the door of denial, escapism and addiction. The door shattered by a reality that is larger than we imagined, larger even than we can imagine.

Thus shattered, the floodwaters of Reality come rushing in. A Reality made not of reality that we might know something of, but a Reality that is far beyond anything that even reality knows anything of. A Reality that includes, transcends and integrates. A Reality that has suffered long enough in its exclusion, an impatient Reality, a Reality needing to be on with its work of transformation, its task of becoming, its labor of emerging through us, into us. A Reality that, in actuality, amounts to little more than boundless Potentiality.

A Reality brimming with Potentiality already crashing over the edges of our perception, already straining the hinges of the soul.

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