The Soul-Reality and James Joyce: Consciousness as the Chalice of the Sat-Chit-Ananda Experience Permeating Poetry of Life/ “Priest of the Eternal Imagination”

James Joyce circa 1902 Dublin Ireland

James Joyce circa 1902 Dublin Ireland

“His soul was swooning into some new world, fantastic, dim, uncertain as under sea, traversed by cloudy shapes and beings. A world, a glimmer or a flower? Glimmering and trembling and unfolding, a breaking light, an opening flower, it spread in endless succession to itself, breaking in full crimson and unfolding and fading to palest rose, leaf by leaf and wave of light by wave of light, flooding all the heavens with its soft flushes, every flush deeper than the other”.

–         A Portrait of the Artist as a Youngman, James Joyce, 1916

… I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.-  James Joyce

 In 1963, when I assigned the name “quark” to the fundamental constituents of the nucleon, I had the sound first, without the spelling, which could have been “kwork”. Then, in one of my occasional perusals of Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce, I came across the word “quark” in the phrase “Three quarks for Muster Mark”. Since “quark” (meaning, for one thing, the cry of the gull) was clearly intended to rhyme with “Mark”, as well as “bark” and other such words…

– The Quark and the Jaguar, Murray Gell-Man, American Physicist, Noble Prize Winner for Theory of Elementary Particles, 1969.

 

“Consciousness is a fundamental thing, the fundamental thing in
existence   it is the energy, the motion, the movement of
consciousness that creates the universe and all that is in it   not
only the macrocosm but the microcosm is nothing but consciousness
arranging itself”. – — Sri Aurobindo, The Life Divine

“I regard consciousness as fundamental. I regard matter as
derivative from consciousness. We cannot get behind consciousness.
Everything that we talk about, everything that we regard as existing,
postulates consciousness”.- Max Planck, Quantum Physicist and Noble
Prize Winner and Founder of Quantum Theory, Observer 25th Jan 1931

 

                                     

The Sun has blossomed on my iris                    

An American Prayer, Jim Morrison

An American Prayer, Jim Morrison

A thin veil of clouds have lifted the lid of the sky

The smoke and mist have moved away

The din of the castle walls and the corners of the street

Acquire a new way of deciphering the meaning

Life is pointless points of soul-acquisition

My boots stand for my existence

My feet for my liberation

And my words for the whole human race

Nothing contradicts my will

Far beyond the present reality

Above the mind, the true hidden source is found

That is the artist’s divine quest       

For neither time nor eternity can toil like the words

And forge something absolute out of that inane nothing

To create what was not there by the sole action of your choice

We live in multitude and on a point of poise our hearts tied to one consciousness

Being of time where the saviour laid his head 

Sprung like a child trying to unknot the mysteries of life

A brilliant flash of light creates the patterns as a revelation

Seabirds crawl into that cradle of stars appearing as thoughts

Fashioned by the poetry of a higher mind

Stillness, silence the vibratory sequences of this multiverse

Can trigger the marvellous journey through the doors

Into the place of virgin oneness

That must exist or nothing else can

A pen on a piece of paper makes a diagram

It starts from this revelatory point

And the mind that directs this cinema of the worlds

Measures each sequence step by step

His observation is the cult of this worship of arts

Without which the pen or the paper are only void that cannot speak

Existence is multiple points from one singularity as consciousness choose them to be

Unknown to man a giant seabird leaped into his soul

And he looked straight into the sun

That gave him the vision of the everlasting light

–         A promise of liberation and the soul substance of fire *tapas/jyoti

– J

James Joyce and the Subatomic Quest for the Chalice: The Final Grail of Quantum Identification

  James Joyce, Monalisa, 2012

James Joyce, Monalisa, 2012

James Joyce, Monalisa, 2012

 “I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes”. – ‘Araby’, James Joyce

The Grail Chalice is the outward symbol of man’s final quest for beauty – the beauty that exists in love, and in life- its that enlightening aspect of self-transformation in things. Without it, life is a sordid cup of sorrow, the artist cannot paint the Madonna of the mind or the Monalisa  of the dream. The Buddha is the Christ in the mediation of the cross on the rose of the eternal coin. That coin is the tree of prosperity,the kiss the final wealth to be accumulated by the outpouring of grace – winter harvests the spring of the early descent of the Lord into the monsoon of green vegetation thereby renewing the cycle of life from birth to birth, and from that birth to the rebirth in immortality. The sacred wish is to attain that liberty- the dzochen is the beauty self-preparation for that stage by acquiring the consciousness to enable the process.

Time was the fragment of the stone, Chintamani

Time was the unconscious element flowing in the stream that gives recognition to objects

The quantum wave is the writing on the stone, the scripture of the artist

God whose sacred poetry is the prose of the Stephen Daedalus in the many moments of the light travelling from the point of origin

Sun gods are young in the nubile river of the diction, words afraid of the meta-entanglement are jumping like seagulls into the sea

They cannot see the heavy rock that takes the shocks of the waves transmuting the pain into the litanies of the full moon joy- birth to birth is rebirth and the end is immortality.

To Shambhala, the future is the locked secret of the sweet envisioning

The King can see over the cold Gobi desert

that the world is about to change

as destined in the words of the prophetic oracle

Man is the choice for the next experiment in evolution…

– Joy Roy Choudhury

PENGUINS AND DEERS, LIONS AND PIGEONS ARE THE FOUR VERTICES OF THE WINGED-SQUARE IN THE DOMAIN OF QUARK

Quark I, Samij Datta, 2012

PENGUINS AND DEERS, LIONS AND PIGEONS ARE THE FOUR VERTICES OF THE WINGED-SQUARE  IN THE  DOMAIN OF QUARK

Consciousness-Analogue

Glistening in the rain’s quotidian wake, the mountain-leaf quarks sing do-re-mi

Fa-so-la-ti colors on Achintya-Bheda-Bheda-Tattva

Quantum aquarium where flower-fish fly on chrome-wheel-chrome

Questions understand answer’s religious kinesis

Quark is the chariot of the leaf-prime-integer king

Carrying consciousness from matter to matter

Anonymous voices from inside it, says Brahman is singing.

– Joy Roy Choudhury

 Quark II, Samij Datta, 2012

Murray Gell-Mann took the name ‘quark’ from James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake (ref. line “three quarks for Master Mark). Gell-Mann later went on to received Noble Prize in ’69 based on his work on classification of elementary particles.

Quarks and Leptons are building blocks of matter as we know it, but what is the Domain of Quark?

BRAHMAN IS DIRECTIONAL- NON-DIRECTIONAL CONSCIOUSNESS, EXISTING ON  THE   RAINY MOUNTAIN BLISS  AS ACHINTYA BHEDA-ABHEDA TATTVA- That is the Domain of Quark

Quark III, Samij Datta, 2012

BRAHMAN IS DIRECTIONAL- NON-DIRECTIONAL CONSCIOUSNESS, EXISTING ON  THE   RAINY MOUNTAIN BLISS  AS ACHINTYA BHEDA-ABHEDA TATTVA

The Flash Disk Apostrophe of the Bhimbhetka Stars in the Day-Rhyme of Alblackica Illumination

Day-Rhyme, Alblackica-Clock, Samij Datta, 2012

The Flash Disk Apostrophe of the Bhimbhetka Stars in the Day-Rhyme of Alblackica Illumination

 Consciousness-Analogue

The flash disk apostrophe of the Bhimbetka stars saw the yahotri yigadohum….yanimbha kaal..entering the creation-physical-proper; in the eye of the superimposition the day-rhyme of the parasol gives shelter from the sun, time holds the Mesolithic key to the naked destiny of the future as on its lap the ear of the Shambhala heard Beethoven compose the ceremony of the first symphony in C with an grand eloquent performance on 02.04.1800 measured by 0081.40.20 points to cover the French armies’ advancement into Cairo; the river is not a hot metal plate of the Heliopolis but a scriptural design, some call it the water-bed of the vineyards of Provence, some call it the hand- book of the navigators of justice but it’s a quasi-fluid in the hanging drama of time-self multiplexes, the alblackica working in the alblackica to change substance and form, to evolve mankind towards a greater destiny, and with supramentalisation of matter, the spirit is the hanging cross of the breathing years of laughing cows in the pre-Buddha-Buddha of ajax informational-functions;

 

When the child was the Hari-takyat moon of the seven seas then the camera was watching the differences in the solar unity of the one, in the zero-muscular reticular analogues it felt the Rolls Royce Silver-Ghost in the habber-brahman looking for itself in the neo-platonic rosariums of Plotinus, Porphyry and al-Farabi; in the beauty was the knowledge the drifting waters of the Ganges before the sun-task of resurrection was an alblackica rhythm, but, now in the hollow isolation of the I-pipes, the thunder is a bed on which the horse unplugged its vision to create the Nomura, Numero Uno of the distant stars;

Time is coming like the rider on south seas’ eternal leopard, swift sensations are denominations of the cupboard chess playing the game with the bicycle of Jonathan Livingstone Seagull; the ra-ru-re dream of the child-in-play in the cloud’s epiphany of the Stephen artist is the primal void from which everything is run; let the sun eat the tomorrow in the arrow of the stars and we can dance another time in the Alblackica day.

– Joy Roy Choudhury

Ref: Archival Photograph, Bhimbhetka Cave Paintings, India

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WHAT IS TIME ASKED THE TIME IN A TIMELESS WAY! (The Alblackica Journey)

WHAT IS TIME ASKED THE TIME IN A TIMELESS WAY!

 The timeless way is the red dharma, the bazuta-swan of the Eisenstein that flies into the waters of the etheric sea with the multi-cloud fascination of the penumbra in the circle of the original unity; who flies with thee O Father of the lands? The tree is the cult of the primeval space, green as it looks in the broken hands of the meadows of grey earth, I have seen the Surya-rose horses drink from the Polynesian pools of an unupbraided innocence where Nicholas Roerich dreamt the savage cross in the genealogy of Lévy-Brühl, or in the alma-matter of an anthropologist who opened his book to revisit the first days when the moon’s octet was the lotus of a yellow sign in the wild rose of fashion, its perfume was diffused by the refraction of colors in the density of the mental primal-frame of Idaho.

Running with time, time asked the logocentric partners of a question-less identity, questions that are rough and blank,  through the mask of a painter not Stephen Dedalus but Lautréamont in the impossible barycentric heliograph of the zebra nails of spring; who else is going with you to the origin of origins if not Toulouse-Lautrec and the mannequin of the yellow Christ of Paul Gauguin? Alone with the letters in the Vitruvian cornices, the lines of poetry here are the defragmentation of a self of Artificial Intelligence: all without you and me, the life is a history of the shells in the cells and without the shells there is nothing much more to add on. Turn the wind into the energy of the sun and give waters back their lakes that you so much destroyed.

– Joy Roy Choudhury