Monday, November 11, 2019

in the dream

the temple i'm in seems to be making an argument or an irony about the divinity of nature the space is lush or louche and varied some areas have the texture of cave walls except the texture is compressed creating a more striated verticality it reminds me of the end frames of certain older films where the horizontal is compressed in other rooms there are fetish objects housed in honeycombs some of them make sounds some include oil lamps or candles some are denizens and there is both an air of beauty and slight danger drugged sacred snakes wearing petite armors or jewelry i don't linger long later there is a large room of murals and a sort of altar or anti-altar beautiful scenes of nature painted hyper-realistically and animals bees even trees are painted with faint halos a mother bird feeds her young the lighting is low but comes from elaborately patterned grilles of resin shaped like molars and tusks the anti altar is like a 'human fur receptacle' one steps into it nude i surmise until the sacrificial fur engulfs one's body then a special wasp stings the initiate on the forehead i imagine then a sort of drugged epiphany where the various species become one the biological ego is crushed out one emerges with an experience which language may not reconcile a sublime torsion teetering on annihilation not exaltation the feeling is one of gratefulness for the accident 'the thin route' of survival and the bluntness of knowledge's absence

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