Mare’s tails and faun’s tales.
What is the outside that falls upon me? In a sense it is always my parent. That is it is that element, that silent force which will from a position beyond every me demand that I dance in a certain way. the world is the therefore that in which we are conjured up into being and that which endlessly reacts to how we are and what or why we are. The world and us. And yet where is this parent? In a sense this a parent can be nowhere that is not transcendental. The world is the external element, the pact beyond everything – the mother of God beyond us, in whither are forced to behave and to function. The world is therefore a transcendental portent.
And yet it is clearly not that simper. There is another sense that he world is that in which we are necessarily priced. It is that in which we are therefore changed as we are. It is our family. Our relation with a wider community. It is our local and yet also general sphere of being. it s that in which we are and remain. It is us. And yet it is of course more than an us. It infused everything that we are, and running through and beyond us. Gives us o ourselves. It is the immanent parent. That which function across us all and dwells inside every one of all of us.
But these two elements really need not be that contradictory. The world falls from an impossible outside and carries us over – but it also immerses and is indwelling. The game is to infuse or conjoin the two together to create elegant hoops of indwelling hope and transcending action.
Here perhaps Dickens suggests one needs to start with four basic methods:
The Mother of God: The transcended falls into the immanent as a force for change and challenge. It is so very easily for what is there to become hooked into its own miserable life. It is so easy for that life to be lost within something else. That is within the noise and tumult of it all. The power then of the transiently in falling into a life is to make that life realize how it is already dancing in a certain manner, how things are better. One needs therefore always voices from outside to realize how ones misery has lifted. One needs silent word of hop to master the thought that things can only be good is certain people are there helping. One loses sight of what one is the sea of hopeful friends and kind actions. One thinks therefore that they alone are the ones that matter. One forgets that a friend is only as good as one is able to listen to that friend. One needs therefore already to be a thing in oneself, open to change.
Nor also looses sight of the fact that ones friend in helping changes things. One does not therefore need that friend full stop. One does not require them to be always there – always mysterious. One needs rather to remember what they have given to one and what they have hoped to give one. One has therefore t allow them to change and be gone. I ties therefore the role of the parent as something beyond, as mother of god to remind one of this fact.
That is it is to cut through the screech and the terror of life and the times in which a body lives, and remind it how it has changed and when and why. How then it was challenged, and why hat challenging has left it stronger. The transcendental is that which falls into a mind and says that things cannot go on forever, but this does not matter. One has therefore no right to one ones family (or even ones carriage) but one has the acidly to be transformer from a partial possession of them, and one needs to be grateful for the fact. The change is the real friend. To adding of a context. The making of a difference. Once that change has been the old friend needs to dies away. The outside falls and needs to be allowed to remain on the outside. It must not be simply resolved into an inner prison world.
Only perhaps a mother or God or god mother can whisper such a silent and welcome-unwelcome voice in ones ear” To be a God mother is therefore to translate not the lived world a message of hope beyond every world. a message that it is the beyond the change that matters, and not the people involved.
It is therefore to raise the question of the outside as such. It is the outside as it falls into the mind that odes the change, and not the friends or foes who appear to do it. One needs thence to allow the outside its proper respect, and never simply qrasp it up an friendship.
The Changeling child.
But then who can hear such a voice the person one hear it is very much the changeling child. An individual which requires the transcending plain of parent or beautiful women to dance according to the realities of the world. What it is to be a parent, the most transcending of categorize becomes them a matter f change. One lives in an experience a set of world and these world inhabit the categories that should be beyond them.
We all therefore know what is meant to happen. But the question is always need it happen?
Need the transcending categorize the stereotype of the beautiful women and the parent. We know what they are and yet can we hold that knowledge down? That is, giving their position as something we all know and yet something beyond us, can we ever be sure that the powerful archetypes they present might contain some extra vale or content/ The crossing over of the parent might therefore be as it is open, reversed. Who is the parent who the child? Which is the doll which the lady? Are the perception in my mind, my immanent truth the reality or the archetypes of a world they appear to represent? Cosmic truth can therefore be blown into new relevance as the stuff of earth invades it, a nod demands that the truths this appears to encode re actually opened in levied experience, and made useful in new ways.
The transcending then keeps an iota of its power. Its function is to preserve the world in the ethic of sacrosanct thoughts. Thaïs the ethic of a space where by not being questioned or by the comic reversal the horrid can be rendered blessed. A child being parent to a drunken father is horrid and yet the transiently makes it comic makes it allowable makes it normal: the idea therefore that a child is a parent makes the entire picture reasoning and reasonable: The transcendental transforms – but what the immanent demands of it, is that it does not control eh circumstances of that transformation. It is therefore not its master or even particular important in setting the rules of the game. It becomes a mere tool to allow the immanent its own power to make things feels aright. The crossing over the very power to transcend becomes then a tool of living life itself – a too lit invokes to allow and make real impossibly defile and painful situations.
The absence of the affect:
Affects are then in this situation very weird. They need not be simply there to be simply effect. Good affect is therefore immanent in the world it effects changes within it. It is always present to it always silently working upon the world. it is therefore always mattering. And yet what it I actually is remains hidden and somewhere lose. In a sense it cannot be anything other. As Deleuze says of something different, its power leis in never being what it is. It lies therefore in avoiding it own simple being as such given this the world. it is therefore never simply there and wet it is every is changes as much in being as in not being.
One affective friend is therefore immanent their and yet never formally present as such.
The public mother.
What though happens if one abandons oneself to whimsy or gin at the point. That is if one lurches r lumbers between immanent and transcend or transcendently or immanent by whim. Sometimes therefore one might fall upon the world wit a dreadful crash from outside. One might shout or rage or claim one is always aright (and do so when one is wrong). One might create therefore as external force. Or else one might be moved in the pits of the world to help and aid. One might therefore allow and able, becomes moved and gives free drinks. O again one might ac from a high horse and yet mean well. One might therefore forever forgive other (when they are not their) and yet mean it as a principle to live by. It might therefore fall on the world as something noble. Or again one might in this world be endlessly sweet and sour friendly or no as one pleased. A world therefore of inner and outer, outer and inner according to whim and fancy.
A world we are mostly all in most of the time;
Hero villain, stooge, victim resonance chamber, friend partial friend mixed motive…the list becomes endless.
The fallen life.
Or again one might here a noise outside and be faced by a new problem. What in this track of crossing over and wheeling within does one allow life itself? which is it? Is it merely the murderous technology which whirls around or something more – something which is always stripped to the grave? question which falls on the problem from the outside….