25 January, 2012

Australia Day, 2012

Sitting at home, when outside, patriots are celebrating either our nation's past or more likely just enjoying their brief holiday from the work-a-day treadmill, I pause to reflect the sweet solace found in playing a piano with my daughter, especially when the piano is a plastic toy purchased at KMart for $20. The toy was made in that new and rising empire China, and within 15 seconds of opening it, my daughter had pulled off one of the black keys. Before long, she realises more noise can be made with a heel than a hand. After 10 minutes, the box the piano came in is far more interesting to her one-year-old mind. The world seems too fascinating a place for a child to obsess over just one toy. This is a recurring theme of sweet youth; the content being less important than the form. The eye will always be far more naked than the mind.

On the news today, more fears of global economic turmoil, sabre rattling by the Western hegemony (FUKUS) with that unknown country, Iran, whose secrets are deeper than Bill Gates' pockets. Then the media turns on a dime to focus more intently on the ferocity of pre-football speculations about who will triumph when the siren blares that weekend in September's grand final. Australian football, or here as it is known, Aussie Rules. A gladiator sport in the real sense. No padding or helmets, just sheer machismo and might.

But for all our bravado and brute, us Aussie's don't rule. We are the fifty-third state of the USA, the 52nd being the moon. Our malls mirror Los Angeles' franchises, our roads all leading to New York, but not all of them above ground. 'I love America', a friend tells me, clutching his green-and-golds to his wine-soaked lips, 'but I would never want to work that hard'.

In this remote-viewed part of the galaxy, there is unity in consciousness' ability to see itself as nowhere and everywhere. Though I am luxuriating on a couch in a modest rented house, my mind is focusing on the Guardian who is ever present in my mind these days, more like a shadow rather than a ghost. I had a similar experience in the last 30 minutes of my father's life; that all-encompassing presence of his psyche within my mind and merging with it. It is a feeling inexplicable to someone who has never experienced it. More a mind-meld than possession. Whatever it is, this Guardian's presence gives me greater meaning to a previously confused and directionless life. Or maybe it is just a child in my life that has provided the rudder? One asks many questions during a quest, but the answers aren't always the same - they depend on where you are when you ask them. As Richard Hoagland once said, the truth, like lies, varies at every level.

If I knew what was to come in the future, would I accept it, or would I interfere with it, and thus, in altering the fabric of time, would I be forever altering choices in a never-ending journey of choice-action-choice-action? The Butterfly effect is not a complex hyperbole, at least at this historical moment in history. The choices available are few as we approach this summit of peak spiritual experience. For lesser mortals, the choices may be more myriad, but as one ascends the calendar of 2012, the choices, like the remaining chess moves before checkmate, become so limited as to eventually reach end-game; i.e. one has only one choice - to complete one's soul's contract. There is not even the choice of not making a choice. 'Free will' at this point is no longer present. No solipsistic enquiry is available, no philosophical dialectic an option. Only action, compunction, No chance to ask 'to be or not to be'. To wit, Shakespeare's phrase is no longer pertinent.

Welcome to this last decade of dualistic life on Earth! Let the celebrations begin. Let beer flow onto sticky streets, take joy-drunk lovers atop the highest buildings to watch more mercurial fireworks, puncture the preacher's dark cloister with star-filled nights that have never witnessed a second sun, dry the children's teary cheeks with a mother's warm hand, muzzle aged revolution's guns with cotton laughter and silence the wailing walls with a sunny smile. This timeline has ended. The dawn has come. Nothing bad can ever come again, as witnessed by the eternal firmaments that have seen the best and worst of what man has been, and what women were denied to be.