There is a name for the experience that befalls me now. I am assured by all synaptic firing that if I had known it I most certainly do not know it now. And this knowledge, this perfect flawless knowledge is correct. If I could adequately express the emotion of laughter, that laughter that pervades all things and expresses all things I would. But my language skills are lacking. formal education does not prepare one for Samadhic experience of daily living.
Why today, why now? Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps exorcise and drink combined with a sense that I do good in the world on a daily basis (or at the very least try). I am vibrating now with the experience of my child running through the house. Not just aware of it, but experiencing it. I would almost expect to have these types of revelations should I be taking acid or otherwise be under the influence of ecstasy or some other illuminatory enhancing drug. But I am not.
Interesting that my first compulsion while experiencing this was to write, to become a vessel for transcription. Such is my lot I suppose.
I write now from a spontaneous moment of real life gnosis. No chemical induction, no ritually enhanced state of mind. just me, my experience of my family and the sublime experience of perfection. “I need my blue car” my son sais, reminding me of Jim Morrison's “blue bus”
Ahh, these things we are. and I with no new reading, no new methods, no new magickal revelation to bring to the table. Yet, I stumble into this brilliant light I call the illumination of my own personal existence, without the history, mythology, or myriad mystical kabalistic correlations.
I experience, play, laugh, tickle, am tickled, express awe at a vision I have had a thousand times, repeat repeat repeat, then vegetate on some show specifically designed to numb the thought process, and it does. and I ease into hypnotic sleep. Less dreamless that is has been.