My cup runneth over so often.
As if to make space for the exquisite and astounding and breathtaking dimensions of existence, sometimes my body almost hyperventilates or shouts or even weeps to the intensity of what I experience. Even from almost abysmal poignancies unto transcendent heights of enthrallment, it is as if my “soul” is suffused. For yes, there’s something more than mere sensory input that processes and provides for the awareness of man.
My physical systems are not just receptive mechanisms of the miracle of this dimension and domain of life to which man’s creation has so suddenly evolved him (or is it vice versa?) above all other life-forms -- the trans-mutation of his awareness unto aesthetics, artistries, creativity. Only the human’s neural systematology can process input (sensory) through the innate paradigm (neurology) and enact or produce replication of the external (substantively in sculpture, painting, etc . . . or trans-neurally via “programmatic music” which replicates the visual or tactile by sound . . . or abstractly via mathematical modeling and linguistic “codification” and even beyond via electronic and cybernetic technologies. What an astounding phenomena of macro-mutation of a creature! The . . . “creation of . . . .” . . . .
Then realize that this trans-dimension of man potentially encompasses the Universe, not only in the scope of inspiration, investigation, and information. For even scientists have experienced extreme emotional responses of awe and even tears to the wonder and beauty of existence, even of the cosmos per se.
But in this introduction I don’t want to delve into the depths of such heights. I want to reveal, down-to-earth, the what and why of my cup runnething over so often.
The sunset with hues from infrared to ultra violet slowly in diminuendo until the closure of the dark . . . .
. . . when clear-sky panorama domed above contains perhaps some trillion scintillating twinkets telling of a time-of-light some billion years ago just now to end the journey through the eonspace unto one’s eye.
An ocean storm: Wagnerian waves upon some rock-ridged shore . . .
. . . . beyond, below in depths stirred only by the currents of the denizens dressed in such psychedelic diversity of configuration and even filigreed bioluminescence, but others mere transparencies alive . . . . where what you see creates your gasp, and even breathlessness or shout of “Holy [bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse]!!!!”
Talons-clasped, eagles on high that pinwheel-plummet (bonding? battling?) toward the earth . . . . yet other times alone, one flies and only tangent-touches surface of a lake and rises with talon-hooked fish . . . .
Transcontinental jet some six miles high some quiet night that glimmers into distance leaving one to thrill, to almost chill, to the phenomenon of some 300 of your specie-kind aloft in closured (not quite comfort, perhaps) conveyance across a continent in mere hours.
2
Symphony orchestra in full-frenzy of such an exponential synergy of sounds from hollow metal and wood with air blown through, and strings aquiver, and tinklings and poundings and all. Yet all congealing into such systematized sonics as to be mathematical per se . . . .and resulting even in one’s tears just to the beauty of the music, aside from amazement of the phenomenology.
Add to the above the accoutrements of astoundment of the musical show, especially grand opera: the sets, lights, as well as the sounds: the astounding intricacy of orchestration‘s framework, the voices of a choir or chorus weaving harmonies, the lace-like linear of the soloist’s mezzo-soprano tremolo like an embroidered border of the whole astounding sonic tapestry. . . . .
. . . .or even just a gospel choir transported in their performance on the “basal-major-triad” variations . . . .
. . . . or just some haunting child’s voice singing solely . . . . . singing soul-ly . . .
Yes, a child, a theater of such extravaganza, staging to be life’s performer and audience both. Such wonder in what, as a being, it was, is, will be, and represents. That, in itself, is “runneth-over” contemplation.
An elder nearing closing . . . .yet you see stage-lights still brilliant, deep within the eyes. And one wonders where the program goes after the curtain falls.
And then there are the Technicolors of autumn. Clouds like “water-color” abstract movies ‘cross the sky. Monumental cities’ recent geometrics counter- pointed with the almost “exoskeleton” embellishment of older buildings.
Manufacturing machinery.
Medical scanners and systems.
Means of modern motion.
Means to provide motion by neural-prosthetic interface.
Man’s mind as, perhaps the ultimate “saltation”!!! (macro-mutation)
. . . beyond mere variation . . . . emerging as creation . . . .
My cup runneth over so often. And I may weep even while I drive along. Or shout or gasp or hyperventilate as my response to the overwhelming ecstasy I experience.
Yet I am humbled. Awed. Indebted.
To something.
For I am so blessed in this time and place and person (me). To be so fully fed and fueled and sentient, aware, cognitive, and emotional as I am, I must somehow owe . . . .
It seems I must attribute all the above to some “being”, the scope and dimension almost incomprehensible (yet so obvious) inherent, thus operant, within and as a miracle of intelligent evolution!!
To call that focus or centricity “God” is the usual. To envision and incorporate and genderize and ethnicize (“old white man with beard”) “God” seems to be the norm. But such a shame, such anthropomorphization of a cosmic systematology (or is it the ultimate heresy (and resulting, so often, heinousness) of worshipping one’s self-projection as the creator of the universe?
As if to make space for the exquisite and astounding and breathtaking dimensions of existence, sometimes my body almost hyperventilates or shouts or even weeps to the intensity of what I experience. Even from almost abysmal poignancies unto transcendent heights of enthrallment, it is as if my “soul” is suffused. For yes, there’s something more than mere sensory input that processes and provides for the awareness of man.
My physical systems are not just receptive mechanisms of the miracle of this dimension and domain of life to which man’s creation has so suddenly evolved him (or is it vice versa?) above all other life-forms -- the trans-mutation of his awareness unto aesthetics, artistries, creativity. Only the human’s neural systematology can process input (sensory) through the innate paradigm (neurology) and enact or produce replication of the external (substantively in sculpture, painting, etc . . . or trans-neurally via “programmatic music” which replicates the visual or tactile by sound . . . or abstractly via mathematical modeling and linguistic “codification” and even beyond via electronic and cybernetic technologies. What an astounding phenomena of macro-mutation of a creature! The . . . “creation of . . . .” . . . .
Then realize that this trans-dimension of man potentially encompasses the Universe, not only in the scope of inspiration, investigation, and information. For even scientists have experienced extreme emotional responses of awe and even tears to the wonder and beauty of existence, even of the cosmos per se.
But in this introduction I don’t want to delve into the depths of such heights. I want to reveal, down-to-earth, the what and why of my cup runnething over so often.
The sunset with hues from infrared to ultra violet slowly in diminuendo until the closure of the dark . . . .
. . . when clear-sky panorama domed above contains perhaps some trillion scintillating twinkets telling of a time-of-light some billion years ago just now to end the journey through the eonspace unto one’s eye.
An ocean storm: Wagnerian waves upon some rock-ridged shore . . .
. . . . beyond, below in depths stirred only by the currents of the denizens dressed in such psychedelic diversity of configuration and even filigreed bioluminescence, but others mere transparencies alive . . . . where what you see creates your gasp, and even breathlessness or shout of “Holy [bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse]!!!!”
Talons-clasped, eagles on high that pinwheel-plummet (bonding? battling?) toward the earth . . . . yet other times alone, one flies and only tangent-touches surface of a lake and rises with talon-hooked fish . . . .
Transcontinental jet some six miles high some quiet night that glimmers into distance leaving one to thrill, to almost chill, to the phenomenon of some 300 of your specie-kind aloft in closured (not quite comfort, perhaps) conveyance across a continent in mere hours.
2
Symphony orchestra in full-frenzy of such an exponential synergy of sounds from hollow metal and wood with air blown through, and strings aquiver, and tinklings and poundings and all. Yet all congealing into such systematized sonics as to be mathematical per se . . . .and resulting even in one’s tears just to the beauty of the music, aside from amazement of the phenomenology.
Add to the above the accoutrements of astoundment of the musical show, especially grand opera: the sets, lights, as well as the sounds: the astounding intricacy of orchestration‘s framework, the voices of a choir or chorus weaving harmonies, the lace-like linear of the soloist’s mezzo-soprano tremolo like an embroidered border of the whole astounding sonic tapestry. . . . .
. . . .or even just a gospel choir transported in their performance on the “basal-major-triad” variations . . . .
. . . . or just some haunting child’s voice singing solely . . . . . singing soul-ly . . .
Yes, a child, a theater of such extravaganza, staging to be life’s performer and audience both. Such wonder in what, as a being, it was, is, will be, and represents. That, in itself, is “runneth-over” contemplation.
An elder nearing closing . . . .yet you see stage-lights still brilliant, deep within the eyes. And one wonders where the program goes after the curtain falls.
And then there are the Technicolors of autumn. Clouds like “water-color” abstract movies ‘cross the sky. Monumental cities’ recent geometrics counter- pointed with the almost “exoskeleton” embellishment of older buildings.
Manufacturing machinery.
Medical scanners and systems.
Means of modern motion.
Means to provide motion by neural-prosthetic interface.
Man’s mind as, perhaps the ultimate “saltation”!!! (macro-mutation)
. . . beyond mere variation . . . . emerging as creation . . . .
My cup runneth over so often. And I may weep even while I drive along. Or shout or gasp or hyperventilate as my response to the overwhelming ecstasy I experience.
Yet I am humbled. Awed. Indebted.
To something.
For I am so blessed in this time and place and person (me). To be so fully fed and fueled and sentient, aware, cognitive, and emotional as I am, I must somehow owe . . . .
It seems I must attribute all the above to some “being”, the scope and dimension almost incomprehensible (yet so obvious) inherent, thus operant, within and as a miracle of intelligent evolution!!
To call that focus or centricity “God” is the usual. To envision and incorporate and genderize and ethnicize (“old white man with beard”) “God” seems to be the norm. But such a shame, such anthropomorphization of a cosmic systematology (or is it the ultimate heresy (and resulting, so often, heinousness) of worshipping one’s self-projection as the creator of the universe?
