« on: April 24, 2007, 05:24:29 pm »
I like it, especially the forward/positive element at the end.
Also, here's an example of what I was talking about re: editing.
-By various contributers
This is in regard to the metaphor of the Black Iron Prison. It attempts to expand on the metaphor by describing the things of which it is made. Please keep in mind that this is merely a creative way of explaining certain elements in perception, and in no way describes something that is ‚Äúreally‚Äù there.
The exterior walls of the BIP seem to be put in place by our existence as humans. As previously stated, our perceptions seem to be limited by the relatively narrow ranges of our physical senses, and by the fact that our brains can only process so much information at a given time. Even when we try to expand our sensory ranges by building and using mechanical devices, it's very difficult for us to observe both those expanded ranges and our "natural" ranges - we have to focus our attention on what's under the microscope and can't necessarily notice the fire that just caught in the far corner of the laboratory. This is why we can never fully escape the Black Iron Prison - we either don't have the sensory perception, or we don't have the mental processing power. If we try to expand both at once, we end up frying our brains with data overload. None can look upon the face of God and live.
However, the BIP seems to be chock full of interior walls, and it‚Äôs possible we can smash those to our heart's content because we're the ones who put them there, or who allowed them to be put there (which is almost the same thing). Smashing those walls won‚Äôt change the fact that we're in prison, but it gives us a little more wiggle room.
One of the troubles in wall-smashing, though, is that many of us knock down a wall, then use those same bricks to build a new and different wall. One can liken this to a common experience: Many guitarists admire Jimi Hendrix for being innovative, so they try to diligently copy everything he had already done, thinking they are somehow better for it. It‚Äôs as if Hendrix had smashed a wall, and these guitarists, by emulating and imitating him, were very meticulously picking up the bricks and building a new wall.
However, to extend the metaphor even further, if you knock down too many walls without rebuilding at least one or two somewhere else, do you risk collapsing the ceiling on yourself and going completely mad? And is it somehow less offensive to live with walls that you have built, since you chose to have them there and you will probably remain aware of their existence? This seems to be the case. Awareness of what you're doing can be liberation.
You can also rip down walls and use the material to help solidify your foundation. There is some benefit to be had from viewing things from a different perspective. Tearing down a wall does indeed bring rubble, and what do you do with it? Choosing what to build where seems to be an important step in this process. We can get very excited about destroying limiting elements in ourselves, but if we don‚Äôt choose where the new walls are built, we seem to be relinquishing our freedom.
Some might ask, ‚ÄúBut what if we are comfortable with our walls?‚Äù To be true, as said above, it appears we cannot knock these walls down without risking madness. How can one advocate for destruction of the walls when the alternative is to be unable to function?
The answer appears to rest upon the idea of balance. Much the same as how even the intuitive poetry of ee cummings still relies on the ordered rules of language, the disorder of the experiential Universe is organized by the pattern-making processes of the brain. When one breaks down all their walls, they have removed all structures that can be controlled. Essentially, all internal aspects of reality have been obliterated. In order to function in an external reality, one needs to rebuild, the difference being that one can choose how the patterns can be understood.