Have you ever explored the radiant bridge of light that forms upon the surfaces of bodies of water as the sun rises or descends? This is no mere reflection; indeed, it is something we have no word for in English. Something so glorious that it should raise a shout of joy in our throats whenever we witness it — but, problematically, our ideas about the nature of this phenomenon all but preclude our capacity to participate directly in the celebration.
This is the ‘marriage band’ (wedding ring) of the two (ur)parents: source(flow), and containment(form). It has many components, but locally, at least 3 are required: the Sun, the Earth, and a child. These ‘parents’ emerge as the roots of gender, both physically and relationally. The wondrous dynamism one experiences participating in this event has nothing to do with mere reflections and is not merely esthetically exquisite — our minds are organized in such a way as to emulate this bridge… and the suitor… and the bride…
It is not a reflection. This ‘luminous path’ is a transit upon which each one of us has traveled extensively. The problem is this: around here, no one can believe such things, and therefore they cannot experience them. To use the bridge, you must remember it personally, and you will discover that it fits no other human concept from any extant subculture. It will only bear those who recognize themselves in the [!]mirror.
Not the [!]mirror of water or light… • …the mirror of awareness.
)-|~ o ~•'o
I remember, as a child, watching the leap-and-pause advance of the wavefronts of water flowing along the gutters near the street. If the gutter is already wet, and the day is dim, there is less to observe. But when it is dry — particularly when it is hot and the sun shines down from its near-noon glory, an astonishing spectacle unfolds which millions of children the world over recognize — and nearly every adult overlooks.
At the tip of the movement there is a luminous liquid tendril, seeking, flowing, sparkling — and it appears to be intelligently guided. My eyes could not get enough of watching its ever-seeking singlefoot as it sometimes divided in the face of an obstacle, becoming many, before its invariably glorious reunions. My youthful mind hungrily traced each new extension of its dynamic advance as if it were somehow my own. Of course, they were.
In my consistent amazement at this ordinary miracle, I would often race the trickle’s progress — magnifying it in my mind to titanic proportions as I alternately ran and paused alongside it. In my imagination I was a dustspeck in the path of its flow, and it was a disaster — a cataclysm, more — and in my enthusiasm to follow and orbit this shining liquid flow, I was sometimes too fascinated to regard my surroundings carefully enough. Eventually the rolling wavefront meets something that removes it from play. A drain, or pool — sometimes something absorbent. On some occasions the rivulet would travel farther than I could safely follow it.
Somehow, the whole arrangement was even then too familiar, and now, so many years later, it seems uncannily so.
There was more. Once I could no longer follow the pseudopod of water’s ongoing extension, a secondary phenomenon emerged: in bright sunlight the surface of the stream would coruscate wildly, producing patterns whose character shivered and warbled in luminous polyrhythms. I cannot describe the feelings that overtake me while participating in this luminous symphony. It is as if delicate bells of light are ringing modulant symphonies along the rippled surface of the living water…
And now I remember my question: was this liquid snake of waterlight — this ceaselessly sliding, surrounding, dividing, unifying, instructing, encompassing wavefront — was this the first snake of all — the ursnake?
And isn’t it remarkable — this incredible depth of resemblance — between the consciousness participating in this wonder and that which it observes?
— t e t a s a o
