I’m still trying to get my story straight. It’s not easy because the story is based on a series of metaphysical experiences. And the distance between what I make the experience out to be (my story) and the actual experience itself is separated by a great gulf. I know what happened, continues to happen. But transposing my experiences into a story — a form for general consumption — involves a bunch of linguistic gyrations too vast to bridge that gulf. A polyglot lexicon of everyday vocabulary, spiritual terms from various traditions, and my own attempts at finding better ways of expressing the ineffable. The need to structure that which has no structure, a process more about the rules of story telling and self-promotion than about the experience. Getting the story straight is a pain in the ass, and an impossibility.
“For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”
|Faces Tell Stories: An Old Man and his Depends|
I'm not enlightened, I'm realized, which means I realize I'm not enlightened.