"The Fine Art of Floor-Gazing" - Connor Stevens

"The Fine Art of Floor-Gazing"

 To counter the wretched are of silent weeping i have stumbled upon the fine art of floor-gazing. While there is great depth to this art, the essential elements can be mapped quite readily.

 To stare towards the center of the floor, for me, to gazing upon the vast and tranquil waters of Lake Erie. But there is little refuge in all that vastness -- and that seems to be the greatest use: losing everything out there, even your self. Such extremeties are not for chronic practice.
 We turn our gaze instead to that place where what we see is a wall -- hardly any ceiling or floow. And now the reverse occurs: a sense of suffocation, as if being trapped in one's own skull, no eyes, internal or otherwise. What i have found here is a profound lesson: with only our own minds to know it by, how can we ever really know our mind?

 The nature of our so-called "three-dimensional" existence inherently possesses three possibilities: we search for this knowing to the side, where the walls meet; we search for this knowing up, where the wall meets the ceiling; or, we search for this meaning down, where the wall meets the floor.

 Where the two walls meet we find a peculiar stasis where, in turns, it may seem we are moving forward to a final point -- Progress embodied -- or at other times we are moving back and away, receeding. We are, of course, doing neither, and therefore we are at a peculiar state of stasis, virtually hallucinating. While there must certainly be lessons in this, i do not care to dwell in this stasis, perhaps the hallmark of the times.
 Where the wall and the ceiling meet, there is a place of great anxiety. This seems to be a place of the wrathful god, hurtling boulders down upon mortals.
 Where the two walls and the ceiling meet -- there dwells Yaldabaoth, or rather, the Great Spider, which uses on it's victims (upon being cocooned) a poison which not only liquifies the innerds but also induces a hellish hallucinatory state, which to the victim seems to last an eternity. For truly Blake was right -- eternity can fit within a grain of sand, or in this case, in the moments between being stung and being ingested.
 Where the wall and the floor meet -- there, at last, seems to be a place of comfort. The impression is that of a toiling laborer, headed down into the place of rest. But, maintaining our gaze, upon slipping into that sleep a world, or more, opens up, unfolding in much the same way as our dream worlds.
 Where the two walls meet the floor, there is the Great Womb, to which so many of us seek repose. And while her comforts are much enjoyed, we needn't be trapped there, as in the Great Spider's web: we are but passing through, forever children.

 But it is better to rid ourselves of all of this, and step outside these four walls.