I have been reading Rob Brezsny for an hour. He is a madman.
He is famous for his syndicated astrology column now, but someday he’ll be more famous for his mastery in untethering imagination in pursuit of truth. He’s one of the seekers, choosing the reckless (but not aimless) path of uninhibited expression to the spiritual holy grail.
He spends his days devotedly seeking the purest form of connection to our true, collective spirit. The stuff of dreams and psychadelic worlds. The glorious wonders “behind the veil” of our boring little conditioning. The delicious music of the subconscious that breathes love and manna and play into the world. The everything that lives beyond our doomed daily chores of footsteps. The last great grand hope.
Brezsny was buoyed by discovering William Blake’s description of this place, in a passage from A Vision of the Last Judgment:
This world of Imagination is the world of Eternity; it is the divine bosom into which we shall go after the death of the Vegetated body. This World of Imagination is Infinite and Eternal, whereas the world of Generation, or Vegetation, is Finite and Temporal. There exists in that Eternal World the Permanent Realities of Every Thing which we see reflected in this Vegetable Glass of Nature. All Things are comprehended in their Eternal Forms in the divine body of the Saviour, the True Vine of Eternity, the Human Imagination.
I wonder sometimes if the subconscious/ imagination are just an attractive highway luring us further into our super-egos under the guise of naked truth. But because I am (proud to be) easily influenced, tonight I am lapping up the contagion of Rob Brezsny’s reckless truths with glee. Just imagine if the whole world was infected – suddenly swinging wide the doors to our collective and limitless imagination realms – fearlessly and playfully celebrating the grown children we are. If we saw the world differently, would gravity fail to operate and the sun forget to rise?
And so, your invitation. Contribute an expression of your connecting with whatever feels true at this moment. Any form. Do not let your regular brain participate. What leaps cleanly from the tendons of your sense and invites us to a world where we remember our majestic capacity for ridiculousness? Prove we are full to the brim of stuff way more interesting than the aerobics of those woefully limited left-brain synapses. Enjoy five minutes of relief from the way words should go. No edits or judges or rehearsals… this is easy free spontaneous loveful playtime.
Here’s my five-minute-stream-write offering, for starters. And Rob’s site offers a great deal more plentiful juice…
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“Will there ever be a day when we don’t die?” She asked him, her voice wavering in false fear.
“Absolutely not.” He obliged in the condescension her tone so obviously craved.
“I wonder then,” she mused peevishly in an instantaneous but nearly imperceptible shift to real bravery, “if we may have a go at it?”
“What!?” He cried in exasperation. “We are 10,000 moons away from life yet. We must die exactly 8,934,256 deaths before we can live.”
She smiled coyly and slid the secret with her tongue across her freshly whitened teeth.
“Oh don’t you smile coyly at me with your tongue and whitened teeth, just because you have the womb secret wisdom. I demand you demonstrate your fearlessness immediately,” his left eye twinkled.
The death was quick and painless. She remembered milky skin and thoughtlessness. She jumped in to the pool laughing, yelling “It’s been here all along!”
“I’ve been trying to tell you…” he glowered, but her laughing broke his words in two.
She looked at him and he didn’t have to apologize.
“Wanna float?” She smiled.
The Bird Sings 