… the house-guests of body electric …

SHE calls me body electric. SHE – incarnate as hu-wo-man – oh the mystery – and such hard problem for the scientists who establish evidence of truth via the elimination of untruths. Meanwhile they identify my parts, their functions and complexities …

I’m a miracle, my ears perk at the slightest sound – the little groan in the joints of wood and brick when the house moves a fraction as the weather swings about, soft tweet of a bird, the hum of fridge and its sudden shudder, a rumbling pipe, creak of loose floorboards, or the faint scrape on the stair in the middle of night, when the tip-toeing lodger sneaks to the kitchen to pinch a little honey. Not my concern, I only notice. Exquisitely attuned to my network of neurons, I pick up irregularities, tiny fluctuations of mood, unfamiliar smells, odd tastes, taut muscles … the chatter of Jego, but more of him later.

Magic-Leila's wings02Whoever I house, I prompt stretching exercises, crack joints to unblock energy, flex shoulder-blades that still mourn their wings, and shortly massage cold fingers-tips, my antenna for vibes. I rejoice in my multitasking, my handling of objects with skills no programmed AI creature could ever hope to achieve. With the unfailing accuracy of a spy, I pick up signals against the faint background buzz of the blood river and readily adjust to spheres beyond my skin palace.

And SHE – my occupier – revels in the fleeting novelties of my gift, the senses – the paradox of pain and joy, where humour lurks between tears and laughter, moments with friends, bliss in a garden, like pruning branches for light to fall through foliage. SHE loves light. A breeze lifts the smoke of a roll-up, diaphanous shapes flow illuminated against a sunbeam until the shade swallows the spectacle, fluorescent spider webs, and blossoms fall.

Spider, 3

I have bouts of melancholy, made aware that my fine architecture is only a short, temporary abode for my occupier. It saddens me when SHE pays no attention to my signals, or is absent, travelling in abstract realms.

One day she’ll be gone altogether, leaving me behind. There’ll be no more breath and currents flowing through my organs, cells, brain — switchboards to her mind-spheres. Will she take along her impressions and associations?

I perceive phenomena in passing, pure and simple, with an artist’s sensibility. Semi permanence is the business of Jego, a sophisticated but battered and nervous entity that draws conclusions from what my senses transmit.

Example – SHE lets me drive a car to visit a friend. On instinctive pilot, I allow Jego to grab surplus energy. He elaborates on what he perceives through my senses.

That pub, why did the new owner paint it dark grey? A monstrosity, insulting the eye, aesthetically revolting, this must be someone’s idea of a cool concept, what a waste of paint!

Escher's_RelativityThough amusing, his habit of sending spam into mind-clouds affect my equilibrium.

I draw attention to a stomach-cramp. Jego quickly analyses the cause before chasing another thought. It’s marvellous, and thoroughly compulsive, how he creates realities, juggles thoughts, day and night, unless SHE attempts a pause – counting breaths, reciting mantras to calm my overexcited synapses, or diligently monitoring Jego’s pranks to get him to focus on something coherent and creative.

On occasions he achieves concentration, calms, then we all relax into harmony, and for a short while a crystal-clear comprehension dawns …

Ah – we are dancers in a hologram – oh – who’s in charge?

Here Pomp makes an appearance, an intuitive entity, a messenger born of many traditions, with equally many names and disguises, a channel to the universal psyche. Though Pomp is not in charge, he knows stuff, and brings a tribute, the remembrance of an unfathomable awareness behind timeless intelligences every particle has contributed to, is essentially part of …

‘We are more than dust,’ SHE confesses, ‘and to fulfil our purpose I must embrace you, little body electric, and partake of your pain and joy.’

‘What about Jego?’ I ask.Dore - Jeune_Mendiant - desat

‘Poor chap, either he’s praised to heaven or cursed to hell. Some spiritual experts blame him for everything, and label him the greatest obstacle to higher evolution. It’s evidenced what happens to children we treat like that … we must be gentle with Jego.

His task is the hardest. In time, if we model tolerance and patience, he’ll learn to create more coherent realities.’

Her kind words calm me, and make me feel all warm and fuzzy.

Neti neti – not this, not this – no description suffices – what prevails is supreme consciousness, unidentified and unidentifiable, slipping in and out of embodied existence like a wind of light.

Though it gives us equal joy and pain, do you like your body electric?

birds-1a.jpg

And are you on a warpath with your neurotic ego, or do you exercise patience?

‘There is a strange frenzy in my head, of birds flying, each particle circulating on its own. Is the one I love everywhere?’ 

~ Rumi ~ transl. Coleman Barks.

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14 Comments

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14 responses to “… the house-guests of body electric …

  1. Do you, like me, long for a thunderstorm to fuse ALL the lights? Now that I cannot hope for death to give an old woman a rest, but must lug the carpet bag forever, I sometimes long for a simple phut so that I can decide when to refit the fuse.

    Lovely inhabitants you house,must be very good company.

    • I love thunderstorms, they clear the air, expose essentials. You’ve expressed essentials in our writing, for those who can hear.

      I’ve just about learned to tolerate my weird company ☼

  2. …descriptive sounds of house at night in p 2 very good…. “shoulder-blades that still mourn their wings,” is wonderful – what happened to the wings? I think I know. “Though amusing, his habit of sending spam into mind-clouds…” – yes, just so, Jego, the weather down here, as compared to Pomp, who apparently knows everything, where thoughts are clear. Neti = Yoga? Clear voyage once. Well, it’s an interesting idea, and the piece flows nicely, the characters distinct, the narrative focused. Good voice.

    • Satisfying, coming from you. Thank’s Joe.
      Pomp, at best our inner messenger is in tune with the harmony that pervades the universe, despite appearances. I should have added this entity tends to be appropriated by the superego and all manner of ills come from it.
      Important, I think, we need to value the body, embrace it. I recall the Jungian therapist Marion Woodman speaking of this. Must find the quote.

  3. Lovely! Always such a pleasure reading your posts honey.

    Ummm, I must say this particular one makes me sigh. I wish I was able to cultivate a better inner peace and exercise patience…so much of the time my head is a swirl like deep ocean currents all pulling in this direction or that but seldom together. I must teach myself to float on the sea surface and not be continually dragged down to the icy depths where doubt and fear reside. Instead to feel the sun and breeze on my skin and let the waters take me where they will…no control, just trust and peace and patience. :)

  4. I admire you for listening to them all. For even acknowledging their presence. If I ever started listening I’d drop off my perch altogether. Lovely post.
    I’ve always admired your cover picture, but the whole thing is gorgeous. Whose is it?

  5. Ha, I wished I was able to be so switched on. There’s the weather, as we know, and the constellations of planets, sun-storms, destructive thinking, collective resentments, you name it. We can’t be immune, but we can slowly by slowly affect a balance by releasing the knotted energy in us.
    Thanks, I’m glad you aks re: the image of the birds. I captured the moment at the Atlantic coast in Morocco a few years back, and then applied my limited knowledge of photoshop.

  6. Pingback: Third Sunday Blog Carnival: July 2013 | Third Sunday Blog Carnival

  7. Norma

    This addresses me own late deep acquaintance with my cells, my organs, my many selves of blood, brain, chemistry, karma, ancestors, pasts and future beings! Rumi’s images and your birds are like an unknown balm. . answering to the unspeakable aspects of love; I?, Thou? Gaia? the Whole, obviously.

  8. Thanks for visiting, Norma, and finding resonance.
    Can’t connect back through your name or logo. Do you have a blog?

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