If one lives the life of the Absurd Hero, the Sinking House
eventually ceases to be a problem. One does not venture into the exercise of
futility which is the construction of a Sinking House. One does not take the
Leap, be it into absurdity or one of faith in logic (the two become the same).
All repeated attempts are seen to be the same, for there is no evidence within
those infinite stretches of time, within which every second contains more
Planck-seconds than there have been seconds in the Universe, and wherein a
simple eight hours of dream-time may amount to an entire life-time, that one
experiment is any different from the next. One commits oneself to systems
insofar as one’s Heart is in accord with their service to the Self. If this be
madness, yet there is method in it. What I describe is nothing more than that
territory we see at peak experiences when Reason has been intensified to a
crescendo that sharpens to an infinitesimal point and poetry, not mathematics,
is the language of the Universe. It is not unscientific, but rather available
to any man or woman of Science that retains his or her imagination and
humility. It is an appraisal of the territory of the Artist and the sovereignty
of the child’s mind. It is truly a life without appeal or dogma, for the
repetition which makes possible that dogma, which rests so heavily upon a trust
in Memory, now falls apart like a pier smashed in by a Tsunami, condemned to
the definition of Insanity, yet condemned not as one condemns a soul to some
eternal hell, for even its condemnation is temporary and ephemeral, bothering
the mind no more.
Dm.A.A.
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