Down by the concrete river, the spirits arise from patches of datura where the spiral that became a pinwheel stretches itself again to take on the form of ghostly plant emanations pollinated by the consciousness of any wanderer who lingers long enough for the vegetal spirits to unfurl their psychoactive shapeshifting tendrils and guide the awareness toward the unity of all things through the merging of forms and the collective existence of iterative semblances.
Honey seeps through the interlock of trees that the bear must enter to find what is swirling in his mind. Is my consciousness not flowing like the honey-coated saliva of a bear? Am I not chasing after myself as desire feasts on the honeycomb of memory? Is the interlock not a wood of evaluations projected by my mind?
Some inviolate frame that I cannot access exists outside of this interlock but I can only catch a glimpse of it oozing its heavy sap into the frames like a glue that seems to make sense until the search for more honey brings me to the edge where a chasm of infinite regress yo-yos. The fractal portals demarcate this interlock floating on quantum foam.
And then I fall back into my honeycomb again and swirl back to a part of the interlock where I can carry on with the feast as any other good bear would.
Once a knight was out plucking flowers for his queen’s crown when he looked more deeply than usual into one. Inside the flower, the knight, much to his surprise, saw a kingdom the mirror image of his own. He could see the castle and the grounds upon which he stood.
More flabbergasting than that, he saw an ant-sized human exactly where he stood, and it moved exactly as he did. He realized it must be his miniature self looking into a minute flower. Then, the knight felt like someone else was looking at him. He could feel a strong gaze on his nape. He turned around but saw nobody.
However, when he dared to look up, he saw a giant eye filling the entire sky as it looked back down on him. The earth shook. And the castle came crumbling down. And the gardens folded back into the earth.
He looked back at the flower in his hand and saw that he had accidentally crushed it when he had seen his own enormous eye staring down at him from the firmament. He cried out and lamented what he had done.
He had plucked his kingdom for no great purpose.
We see miniature trees everyday off in the distance. Such a common site gets easily dismissed. But a photograph can cross back over that threshold and aside from any tilt-shifting emphasize this feeling of the miniature.
I think this taps into feelings I have for what is smaller than me. And the tendency to see small things as cute. Protective feelings arise over these baby trees. It’s the deep satisfaction that can come from caring for an aquarium or crafting a train diorama.
Whenever we peer into a microcosm, the observations run simultaneously with the realization that we just might be in a microcosm to a perspective beyond our awareness. Perhaps this is at the base of the religious belief in a higher power. I often wonder about beliefs as side effects or reactions to such phenomenological occurrences as an optical effect.
Would we take better care of things if we saw them as miniature? Maybe it’s time to walk around looking backwards through binoculars at things that are difficult to have compassion for, in order to help out.
Next time a conflict arises, should I just miniaturize the source and care for it instead of miniaturizing myself into an unnecessary struggle? Just like a Buddhist monk might miniaturize desire itself in order to miniaturize suffering?
Or maybe in the future, AI will read our emotional responses and adjust them to a calmer state for better decision-making by employing this feeling of the miniature, while controlling our evaluations so that the decisions made are best for its purposes. The same kind of therapeutic brainwashing seen in cults only turned into an algorithm, for our own benefit of course.
A geyser forms a camera obscura with its steam. In a pocket of time, I fell behind the scenes of what I was chasing after. The aperture of my camera pointed at the pinhole of sunlight and its reflection. What I had been chasing disappeared and I found myself somewhere aside from desire and circumstance – somewhere reflecting the smallness of purpose while magnifying the greatness of existence. As the image slipped away from the steam, only a trace fixed the reference to a memory. What shined through the pinhole illuminated the positioning of the subject and shed light on the futile condition of catching what cannot really be caught. And then the moment unfolded into an object-less arena. A reflexive space formed into a fractal pocket. As if I were in a glass ball within others. Looking at a loose iteration of my activity in another sphere. Inside my camera and outside of my body, floating through a hole in the sky.