Is there an objective context of moral judgment for our actions? Beyond the unassailable crimes, which don’t appoint some special reference in order to register their existential jeopardy, there is a plethora of violations inducting us. Although the heavy forensic perpetrations are objectively indictable, the “misdemeanors” which offend the “normative” should not be censurable. But the mind remains always in guilt as it cannot argue with the exceeding appropriation of the objective context of ethical judgment. The consolidation of the normalized standards of action to a range, that optimally should be wholly a possession of our improvisation, turns the thinking mind into a slumbing system that is lessen to stiring up some predetermined data. Instead of elaborating our experiential options with our own independent criteria of integrity, we languidly abandon ourselves under the authority of some moral commandments that crystallize this elaboration from its very roots into some rigid arrangements, some shipping crates full of immobilized thought, which are traded through the network of an obtuse society.
It shouldn’t be like this. Not, at least for the brave eagles of the high mountains and the swift leopards of the savannah. To be consciously awake means incipiently to clean your hands and extricate yourself from such a slave trade. It means to cease outbidding the movement of this ossified noetic matter so as to be able to sabotage, from the most elementary level, the traffic of the most deadly currency: the Signifier of an imaginary self which imposes the principle of a vicious “moral integrity”. You must find the courage to question how much you desire to follow the currents of desire which pose as some perfidious showcase of the “morally accepted”. You might be attracted, in the beginning, by the efficiency of this current, the ease by which it will lure you and assimilate you to the give-and-take of truisms, in a geometrical fashion simple enough without the stereometrical repercussions that the concession of Devil would have. But if that were to happen you would only hastily release the potential productivity of a polyhedral opus to a faded, banal mural to the jaded parade of the “free citizens”.
This parade is obsolete, it is but an avalanche of manipulated masses of a learned helplessness right on the zero point of icy solidification –cold masses, polar currents that are off by the bore of a deep lost sigh, far off from the boiling point traced when the personal exploration is implemented as a singularity, as an arch that with all its magnificence unravels the nightmare of the crated souls.
So let us elaborate alone the data of becoming; the how and why the stimuli will come upon this thirsty receiver of knowledge; in what way he or she will interpret and what exactly wisdom will be fermented. The mind should recover from the ruminated food, the pulp of these desperately digestible definitions of existence; the math for the fools who immure us to a perennial finitude where nobody questions “one plus one equals two”. The mind is thirsty for complex redistributions of meaning and for the quest for transverse structures on the otherwise flat surfaces. The mind by definition demands the deep microanalysis of everything that it is obliged to encase unexamined within, so as to divide with political fierceness the axiom of the “moral acclaim”, revealing the multiple handles of the rapine that traffics this beatific commerce.
Start it off in the manner of an experiment. Cast yourself away from the nexus of the code of conduct that defines you from the cradle to the grave. Dare to stand naked by ancestral mantles and religious guarantees. Become ontologically unknown, an alien, something as still to be defined on the outskirts of Man. Subhuman or Superhuman, it doesn’t matter, just stand naked! In other words, break down the symbolic order which, firstly, encloses and fragments our thinking to the standards of some plot that funds, by the loss of the Soul, the congregative edifice of the Ego and which, subsequently, mines every spontaneous tendency for a communal co-existence that would at last allow you to indulge on the feast of infinite metamorphoses –Oedipus who has survived from guilt so as to take pride on offspring free from the oppression of the barrier of blood-relations.
When the mind makes the informational flux its own property and when it stirs up the polyhedral aspects without the least submission to institutional criteria that compose the unidimensional elaboration of experience, then that horrific magma is gushing up; the magma which melts the rocks and the metals, and which at last reformulates and makes a lifting to the geological landscape of the faciality that is stigmatized by the wounds of want. The lava is gushing up like the anathema of the wild who has not yet met the sociopolitical bars of the prison, corroding those crates which smarten us into the predictable little squares of a suffocating chessboard: you shall grow up, you shall become a worthy human being, you shall marry and procreate, become a great careerist, idol of the prestige –the assailable King of the poor range of mutability.
Our right to the politics of the radical rapacity is our only lighthouse of hope that gives some perspective to this stockyard. Our right to the communal companionship and the polyamorous convolution shall raise us above the devious triangle of oedipal nepotism. We outbid the infinite extension of our interconnective patterns and the illogical ambiguity of their synapses. Superposition of the A and B and hence parallel realities in whose oscillation we discern and we experience the delightsome absurdities of our utopian imagery.
In the delirium of the pleasurable mosaic one can see the mature grapes of the Viticulturist and the sweet carousals portended by the serpentine branches of the Vine.
As a response to the demise of the Father, the guilt of the Son and the generalization of the Widow…