Fragmentary Notes §19—§25

§19

All the rays of conscious activity emanate from a lone, aperspectival locus, an apperceptive unity, a kernel of self-determining and self-bestowing meaning, a being who is inclusive of all that is lived and known; this is the “I”—the knowing Subject—that being for whom, and to whom, all is Object.

§20

A fragmented, makeshift patchwork of discrete and discontinuous atomic qualities is not to be found in Experience. Indeed, a genuine pluralism is, strictly speaking, inconceivable—to think of Many is to think of Many-in-and-for-One. Just as a single, lone sound is heard from the moment of birth and rounds off at the time of death, so too is there but One Experience—the World of Experience. This sound, like Experience, may flicker and oscillate in tone, quality, shape, and definition, but its permanent essence remains invariant and One.

§21

Being is but the ribbons of feeling that dance on the winds of knowledge.

§22

All lies before the silent, stationary, and eternal “I”. The “I” cannot be brought into the light of consciousness, for it constitutes the limit of consciousness.

§23

Experience is immaterial, and Consciousness is immaterial activity poured out in time.  

§24

In the act of self-reflection, the one “I” becomes acquainted with the sublimity of its inner sense—that scrolling canvas which collects the showers of colored-meanings bestowed upon it in and through the gaze of the knowing Subject, the “I”.  The inner sense is a sandy beach which memorializes each unique bead of rain with an ephemeral crater, only to be filled again by the tide’s mighty arm—a crashing wing whose foaming feathers sweep the shoreline and prepare the canvas to be mottled anew with heaven’s tears.

§25

The present is a durationless sliver wedged in the heart of Being, crushed between the arms of eternity. The present is a rocky islet whose towering spire emerges from the roaring waves of ceaseless change and punctures the static vault of heaven.  Stretching into the infinite past and infinite future, the wings of time shelter the whole of Being.  If one were to climb that lone, crumbling mound, and reach its misty peak, one would find the “I”. However, the “I” cannot be seen, for it sees everything; the “I” cannot be heard, for it hears everything; the “I” cannot be known, for it knows everything. Apart from this seeing, hearing, and knowing being—there is nothing.¹

^[1] Cf. Anquetil Duperron, Oupnek’hat: Theologia Et Philosophia Indica, Vol. I (Paris, 1801), p. 201-202.