RESISTANCE IS FUTILE!

Resistance to what seems inevitable may be futile, but - in my world - there is a lot to be said for so-called futile gestures - in fact 'my world' seems almost entirely composed of the stuff. I'm not sure why. May be I feel better defined by them, I'm not sure. I am not interested in finding a 'solution' though. And yet I am. For we are here, this is it, as far as I am concerned. We are it: a sort of infinitely mutable origami puzzle-box programmed to both perpetually un-puzzle and out-puzzle itself. The puzzle does not sit still for a moment, it always changes, and the solution is always trying to keep up, forever-born, forever-dying, locked in the ever-changing crest of a wave of potential. If the puzzle-solvers recognise this, they may recognise that they are also the puzzle-makers, that the making and the solving of the puzzle are twin functions of the same thing and there is therefore no solution so there is no point in trying to find one. It is futile. But to stop trying would be to disappear. Would it? Hmmm. If finding a solution is about seeking an end, then this would certainly do it. But if the donkey realises it will never get the dangled carrot, should it give up? Probably. If it were a sensible donkey. But where is the fun in that? And anyway, it is a very hungry donkey, and it knows that if it just stopped, it still wouldn't get the carrot. The very act of solving perpetuates the puzzle. And the puzzle demands to be solved. It is futile, and yet essential, in order to exist. Reality As We Perceive It may be an illusion - in fact we pretty much have to accept it is: We seem to be unable to make any claims of actual, only of seeming. Things seem. or seem to seem. So, it seems that a phenomena is at work, or present, folding itself (by design, accident, or both or neither) - by way of smoke and mirrors - into the scenery and the very tools of perception (or invention) that observe (or invent) said scenery and themselves and each other and etc.. But perhaps it is an illusion that (though incomplete, and imperfect) completely and perfectly describes some thing or facet in which we are embedded, by way of providing a 'context': an illusionary medium for reflection and response, for poetry, if you like: The illusion of interaction, of relationships between the ineffably indivisible (the proverbial 'difference between a duck', i.e. one of its legs is both the same). We are always infinity minus one or else we are nothing. The elusive 'one' must never be found yet always sought for, perhaps, and the 'one' in question is infinitely interchangeable, will always be present as a 'blind-spot' to make way for an 'optic-nerve' (?). The question is not really about the illusory nature of reality but whether it is or isn't (by accident or design or both or neither) a divisive illusion. A worth-while one. Less 'illusion' perhaps (as that's what we're saying it is, ) than 'description' (as that's what we're saying it does). Then everything is exactly how it (in all its diversity) emerges subjectively. Everything (in all its diversity) is exactly what it seems. More exactly than it would be than if it were the thing itself. The facsimile, the interpreted projected image, becoming more authentic than the original. In a way. No. That's not right. I think the 'authenticity' must exist in the dynamic between the two. The imaginary inter-relationships between apparent 'otherness' in all its rich variety and contradictions. We are in a preposterous and impossible situation, and therefore can only respond preposterously and impossibly. Either blindly, by accident, or deliberately. And we are defined by this response, and yet we are not, because there is of course no 'we'. And yet, at the same time, there is.

I suppose you are right: This would be a good time to call in the Zen-Plumbers. They are at least - if they are worth their salt - not afraid of paradox. But they've got no bloody taste...