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Ask,
you will be given
that which you ask for.
Seek,
and
you will
find.
Knock,
and
the door will be
opened.
For
everyone who
asks,
receives.
Anyone who seeks,
finds.
If only you
will knock,
the door
will open.
At first nothing appeared changed.
I noticed first of all that the rug
was no longer flat and lifeless, but
had become a field of
stirring and undulating hairs, much like the movement of the sea anemone or
a field of wheat in the wind.
The doors, walls, and windows
were liquefying.
All rigidities disappeared.
I had been plunged
to the bottom of the sea;
undulating and wavering.
The door knobs were
no longer door knobs; undulated
like living serpents.
Every object in the room became
a living, mobile
breathing world.
I walked away, into
a hallway opening into
several small rooms.
On the way there was
a door leading to the
garden.
The dazzle of the sun was
blinding, every speck of gold multiplied.
Trees, clouds, lawns
undulated, the clouds flying at
tremendous speed.
Now appeared the most delicate
patterns in perfect symmetry.
As I designed them they produced their matching
mandalas.
When
I drew a long orange line, it emitted its
own orange tone.
My
body was both swimming and flying.
I felt gay, at ease and
playful.
There was perfect connection
between my body and existence.
The colors in the designs gave me
pleasure, as well as the music.
The singing of mocking
birds multiplied, becoming a
forest of singing birds.
My senses
were multiplied as if I had
a hundred eyes,
a hundred fingertips.
The murals appeared perfect,
Oriental, fragile, and
complete.
Then they became actual Oriental cities, with
pagodas, temples, rich
Chinese gold and red altars, and Balinese music.
The music vibrated
through my body as I were one of the instruments,
I felt myself becoming
a full percussion orchestra.
The waves of
the sounds ran through my hair like a caress.
The
music ran down my
back and came out of my
fingertips.
I was
small, light, mobile.
I
could dissolve, melt, float, soar.
I was a rainbow cascade of
rainfall.
I could use any
method of levitation I wished.
Wavelets of light touched
the rim of my clothes, phosphorescent radiations.
I could see a new world
with my middle eye, a
world I had missed before.
I caught images behind images, the walls
behind the sky, yet the sky infinite.
The walls became fountains, the
fountains became arches, the domes skies, the sky a flowering carpet, and all
dissolved into pure space.
I looked at a slender line
curving out into space disappearing into infinity.
I saw a million
zeros on this line, curving, shrinking in the distance:
I laughed and
said:
"Excuse me, I am not a
mathematician. How can I measure the
infinite?"
Now I was standing
on the rim of a planet, alone.
I could hear the
fast rushing sound of the planets
rotating in space.
I wondered who went before me and whether I would
return to Earth.
The solitude
distressed me and for the first time, the sense of distance.
I asked Gil
very vehemently: "Are you
sure that I will find my way back?"
Gil answered reasonably: "Of
course, I found my way back. I'm here."
Steve Winwood
// Can't Find My Way Home
I returned to my starting point,
standing in front of an ugly door.
As I looked closer I saw a Buddhist
temple, a Hindu column, a
Moroccan ceiling, gold spires forming as if I were watching the hand of a
designer.
Designing red spirals forming
a rose window mandala with
edges of radium.
An undulating line emitted music in perfect accord with the design.
The designs were preparatory sketches for entire Oriental cities.
I saw
the temples of Java,
Kashmir, Nepal,
Ceylon,
Burma,
Cambodia.
All in
colors of precious stones illumined from
within.
Then the outer forms of the temples
dissolved to reveal the inner chapels.
Reds and golds of the
temples vibrated to an intricate musical orchestration.
Two sensations,
at once, began to torment me:
one that
it was happening too quickly and
that I would not be able to
remember it, another, that I would
not be able to tell what I saw.
It was too elusive and too
overwhelming.
The temples grew taller, the music wilder, it became
a tidal wave of
sounds.
Gold spires emitted
a long flute chant.
Every line and color was constantly breathing and growing.
A feircely cold wind blew
chilling me to the bone.
I felt shruken in my cape;
an Alice in Wonderland
metamorphosis.
I remembered the illustration from
Saint-Exupery's Little Prince.
I looked at the curtains of
the room and they turned to a gauzy gold.
The whole room became filled with gold, as if
by a strong sun.
Walls turned to gold, my body became scintillating
warm liquid gold.
I was GOLD
It was the most pleasurable
sensation I had ever known outside an orgasm.
It was the secret of life,
the Alchemist Secret
of Life.
From the feeling of intense cold, as if I were
chloroformed, of loss of gravity of the
legs, and diminution in size, I passed to the
sensation of being
gold.
Suddenly I was
weeping, weeping; I was
gnashing my
teeth.
I could feel the tears and I saw the handkerchief in my hand.
Weeping to the point of dissolution. Why should I be weeping?
As soon as the concept
of absurdity struck me, the comic spirit appeared.
It was another
Anaïs, not the one which was lying down weeping, but a small, gay, light
Anaïs, very lively, very restless and mobile.
The cosmic spirit of
Anaïs became aware.
The cosmic
spirit of Anaïs shook herself jauntily: "Let's stop this weeping.
Everything is more wonderful above water ! It is alive and
it
breathes."
After the feeling of GOLD I had
a feeling of danger.
My world, so beautiful, so fragile was
lonely -
empty -
a vast desert.
I was
pleading for protection of this evanescent beauty.
I thought I was the
quickest mind alive and the quickest with
words, but words cannot catch up with
these transformations,
metamorphoses.
The infinite appeared again, bordered on each side by the celestial
gardens.
Temptation not to
pursue the infinite, but to
enjoy the gardens.
Space is definitely without sensuous
appeal.
The comic spirit
of Anaïs stood aside and
laughed at the extravaganza.
The other Anaïs maintained her pose as a
Balinese dancer with legs
slightly bent, the tips of the fingers meeting in a symbolic gesture of
pleading.
I watched a shoreline of gold waves breaking into solid gold
powder and becoming gold foam, and gold hair, shimmering with gold
delights.
I felt I could capture the secret of life as
the secret of life is metamorphosis
and transmutation, but it happened too quickly and was beyond word.
Cosmic spirit of
Anaïs mocks words and herself.
Ah, I cannot capture the WORD
with words.
The secret of life was
BREATH.
That
was what I always wanted words to do, to BREATHE.
Cosmic spirit of
Anaïs rises, surrenders to the
mystery of life.
Now I
know why fairy tales are full of jewels.
Anaïs
Nin
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