Introduction

Friday, June 23, 2017

Thaumaturgy

I need awe and wonder in my life. I realized when I was on my trip to Baja in May that the big spaces feed my soul, definitely. Ocean, desert, forest, stars. 


The west facing side of Isla Magdalena
Endemic pines on the peaks of Isla Cedros


But there's also the wonderworking of human connection. Something vast also exists in the soul connection with another person. I'm learning how to recognize and value it for what it is. In one framework, we navigate four distinctly identifiable realms: spiritual, emotional, physical and intellectual. It's too pat, of course, but it just might be useful. 

My habitual reaction to a more vast and sublime spiritual connection with a woman in particular is to try to bring it down to the ground somehow-- usually physically. In this way, gaining control and moving from the sublime to the beautiful (in Kantian terms).

A good summary from Wiki:

Kant, in 1764, made an attempt to record his thoughts on the observing subject's mental state in Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime. He held that the sublime was of three kinds: the noble, the splendid, and the terrifying.
In his Critique of Judgment (1790), Kant officially says that there are two forms of the sublime, the mathematical and the dynamical, although some commentators hold that there is a third form, the moral sublime, a layover from the earlier "noble" sublime. Kant claims, "We call that sublime which is absolutely great"(§ 25). He distinguishes between the "remarkable differences" of the Beautiful and the Sublime, noting that beauty "is connected with the form of the object", having "boundaries", while the sublime "is to be found in a formless object", represented by a "boundlessness" (§ 23). Kant evidently divides the sublime into the mathematical and the dynamical, where in the mathematical "aesthetical comprehension" is not a consciousness of a mere greater unit, but the notion of absolute greatness not inhibited with ideas of limitations (§ 27). The dynamically sublime is "nature considered in an aesthetic judgment as might that has no dominion over us", and an object can create a fearfulness "without being afraid of it" (§ 28). He considers both the beautiful and the sublime as "indefinite" concepts, but where beauty relates to the "Understanding", sublime is a concept belonging to "Reason", and "shows a faculty of the mind surpassing every standard of Sense" (§ 25). For Kant, one's inability to grasp the magnitude of a sublime event such as an earthquake demonstrates inadequacy of one's sensibility and imagination. Simultaneously, one's ability to subsequently identify such an event as singular and whole indicates the superiority of one's cognitive, supersensible powers. Ultimately, it is this "supersensible substrate," underlying both nature and thought, on which true sublimity is located.

So the inspiration for my own thaumaturgical impulses is, in this perspective, fueled
by an experience of the sublime. It's the sublime in music that I often look for-- for example, the seeming 
boundlessness of One Too Many Salty Swift and Not Goodbye .

Or the suggestion of the sublime in visual art, one reason abstract expressionism always appealed to me, I guess. 


Yet, somehow, when a woman really blows my mind and we meet in a sublime space where boundaries and categories get obliterated, my impulse is to define, contain, possess the experience, etc. I have been unable to allow mysteries to be mysteries, in some ways. For example, one can't really partner with the sublime, so the impulse to form a partnership with implicit or explicit agreements is another strategy to find a container for a vast experience that is otherwise unwieldy. 

My first AA sponsor used to try to explain to me the difference between relating and being in a relationship. Relating is happening in the present at all times. Being in a relationship is seeking a form for that experience. Nothing necessarily wrong with that, except that it often takes the place of relating, since we're prone to wanting everything to be human-sized, "manageable" and reliable. He used to say that a relationship is when you put your relating on a ship and wave goodbye. Ha. 


Another way to look at it is that we just can't hang for too long with the sublime. We want to make it beautiful. There's no problem in this at all, except that I tend to forget that it is a creative act I am doing that makes it seem possible. I am creating the beautiful out of the sublime. It is vital for me to recall that the materials for this creative process come from and return to the sublime-- something far greater than myself. 



1 comment:

  1. Every day you play with the light of the universe.
    Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,
    You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
    as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands.

    You are like nobody since I love you.
    Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
    Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
    Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

    Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
    The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
    Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
    The rain takes off her clothes.

    The birds go by, fleeing.
    The wind. The wind.
    I alone can contend against the power of men.
    The storm whirls dark leaves
    and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

    You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
    You will answer me to the last cry.
    Curl round me as though you were frightened.
    Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.

    Now, now too, dearest one, you bring me honeysuckle,
    and even your breasts smell of it.
    While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
    I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

    How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
    my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
    So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
    and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.

    My words rained over you, stroking you.
    A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
    Until I even believe that you own the universe.
    I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
    I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
    Pablo Neruda

    ReplyDelete

This is an anonymous blog, mostly in an effort to respect the 12th tradition of Alcoholics Anonymous. Any identifying information in comments will result in the comment not being approved.