Pondering Chinese Taoist and Arab/Persian Sufi ideas of individuality and immortality.

have some tea

“Tao is forever and he that possesses it, though his body ceases, is not destroyed.”

Before straying too far into this, pondering these ideas does not imply that I necessarily subscribe to, or believe in, the symbolic or literally stated import of all of these ideas. I do, however, find them highly interesting on a philosophical level.

There exists remarkable concordance between aspects of the Chinese esoteric tradition – in particular Taoist streams – and aspects of esoteric Islam, in particular Sufism.

Both schools of thought are concerned with the unification of opposites, mainly on a higher plane of “ascent”, as well as in daily human affairs, be they commercial, sexual, familial, or social. Both also see a general ‘fall” of mankind not so much as in a negative light, but more as a necessary and inevitable process that can be reversed.

Both are interesting systems of thought that see polarity and opposites as being important, but constantly looks for harmony, unification, and the complementarities of such opposites. Both cultivate the realization that every set of opposing things resolves itself on a different level, while seeing the importance of such opposites in their own light.

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Post midnight ramblings, Clifton by Moonlight

the avenue03:00, and most of Cincinnati sleeps. Even Ludlow avenue slumbers, except the Skyline chili parlor. An attractive, young, though gently used, waitress stands outside its doors, catches my gaze, smiles, and takes a long slow draw on her cigarette. I incline my head, return her smile, and cross the street.
Naught concerns me now except sleep, certainly not pleasure.

The street; Amber and Sepia tinted, the asphalt stretch of Clifton avenue gleams under the early morning moonlight. Gaslight glows, the occasional car’s headlights reflect off the stretch of black and gray tarmac sheets. Burnett woods lies dark, and forbidding, on my left. Light posts placed along its meandering wood paths shine forth from between the trees, promising both danger and giddy experiences.

Clifton is a nexus, between Cincinnati’s dreams, both pleasant and disturbing, its ideals, and its aged, tradition choked, realities. The day’s sensibilities melts across the night’s liminal, silken, sheets.
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