As promised, the diagram of the enneagram, showing dependent octaves. Unfortunately this diagram does not display so wonderfully well on the web- the really itty bitty octaves are just blobs-, but you get the idea.
There is a very great deal I could say about this diagram, but let's try to keep it limited for now.
As it happens, the understandings here are hardly new. However, other pieces of art I have seen depict the relationships incorrectly, most often by failing to properly show that every note is the "Do" of a completed octave beneath it. Seeing this helps us to understand levels and their lawful relationships, in that every level is a fractal version of the levels both above and below it. The levels are dependent on each other. ...This might remind you of the idea that God actually needs our work, and if it does, you're on the right track.
Also, take a look at the nature of the enneagrams that fall in the locations of the shocks. Interesting.
This morning I was considering the idea of receiving an impression with all of my parts. What might that mean?
One of the first true things I ever understood with more than just my mind was that we are vessels into which the world flows. We are designed as receiving apparatuses- nerve cells in the body of God, so to speak.
I rather think all of organic life fulfills this function: every organism is designed to take in impressions of this planet at the level it lives on. (Pause here and take another look at the enneagram and its dependent octaves.) When one considers the fact that at every moment there are countless trillions upon trillions of trillions of microorganisms exploring every nook, crevice, and cranny of this planet from the inside out, one realizes that the planet is equipped with a very fine sensory apparatus indeed. The sheer number of impressions of reality being experienced during every nanosecond on earth is so huge as to defy comprehension.
This is an incredibly satisfying realization from the point of view of biology alone: but poetically speaking, that's God, exploring His creation. We're lucky enough to be part of that grand experiment: think of us, perhaps, as the lead members of a huge spelunking expedition from the astral level. A party who has forgotten who we are, where we came from, and why we are here.
With flashlights that have batteries of a strictly limited life span.
For the individual, this extraordinary collective enterprise narrows itself down into a fine point called consciousness. Consciousness is here to perceive. Each time, in this moment.
Think about that. Consciousness is not here to make money, or build buildings, or drive cars, or even to have sex or eat. First and foremost and above all, it is here to perceive all of those things. Animals aren't encumbered with equipment to interfere; however, in the case of man, that simple fact has been buried under an avalanche of assumptions.
How to return to something a bit more basic?
When I sense an impression more fully, the following processes arise in me:
Sensation. A moving center response.
Perception (comprehension). An intellectual center response.
Gratitude. The emotional center response.
Of the three, gratitude is the one that most informs me that a more three-centered experience is under way. I speak here of an organic, intelligent, and autonomous gratitude that arises within the body and all of its parts. It can, under more favorable conditions, produce a spontaneous call to prayer. In extreme cases it produces religious ecstasy, which is an equal blend of sheer joy and absolute anguish.
Those are more special conditions, granted, but they help indicate just how truncated our ordinary state is.
Gratitude of this kind plays a special role in religion. There are countless prayers praising and extolling the virtues of God. Nonetheless, to experience them organically as a natural response to the ordinary conditions of life is, perhaps, a bit unusual. That's because I am not properly connected inside. If I were, this would strike me as a far more routine event.
My, this is a long blog. How I do go on. I think I'll pack it in for tonight.
Tomorrow: if there is time: a photograph of a rather special rug, with some interesting observations about its design.