No one drinks vintage wine and immediately wants to drink fresh wine. Saying 47c, The Gospel of Thomas.
Fresh wine is the raw experiencing that makes up physically-based consciousness. Vintage wine is the rarefied and entrancing atmosphere of the invisible.
We tend to call the first, the realm of brute consciousness, real and to call the realm of vintage wine, the realm of spirit, imaginary.
What we call imaginary is the fruition of what we call real: the vintage is a refinement of the fresh. Paradoxically, the vintage also births the fresh. Since they birth each other, the distinctions we make between the two are arbitrary, show our inability and unwillingness to allow the dissolution of their boundary.
When we cast our lot with the realm of the invisible, of spirit, we may not wish to return to the realm of the visible. We wish to keep sipping that heavenly wine. But at this time, we are embodying. We are fresh wine. We ask to let this cup pass from us, but we must drink it.
Fresh wine is the raw experiencing that makes up physically-based consciousness. Vintage wine is the rarefied and entrancing atmosphere of the invisible.
We tend to call the first, the realm of brute consciousness, real and to call the realm of vintage wine, the realm of spirit, imaginary.
What we call imaginary is the fruition of what we call real: the vintage is a refinement of the fresh. Paradoxically, the vintage also births the fresh. Since they birth each other, the distinctions we make between the two are arbitrary, show our inability and unwillingness to allow the dissolution of their boundary.
When we cast our lot with the realm of the invisible, of spirit, we may not wish to return to the realm of the visible. We wish to keep sipping that heavenly wine. But at this time, we are embodying. We are fresh wine. We ask to let this cup pass from us, but we must drink it.
We are the cup from which we drink, having a taste for our own self-intoxicating fresh wine. Spilling out to allow the vintage wine to flow--like life blood coursing through the chambers of our heart--means our certain death. Being self-intoxicated, how could we not want this cup to pass?
ReplyDelete--Gary