The Philosophy of the Cat: Mythology of The Body

Note: I experienced this conscious delirium in the final month of 2009 — during what I call my Le Gray Bastion Period — when I was drowning in the dreadful documents of philosophy. Those texts were not scriptures; they were the remnants of dreams inscribed upon the marrow of mankind. On every page, I encountered a strange, unknown version of myself — one that terrified me, pulling me down into the womb of darkness. At that time, I was audially immersed in the marvelous world of intoxication — not merely the chemical kind, but the intoxication of consciousness itself, a mirage woven of words and sensations. The world appeared tilted, as if some invisible hand had rewritten the definition of gravity. I saw myself walking, yet the walking body was not mine. As William S. Burroughs once said, I no longer remembered when I wrote what I wrote. Time had forgotten me — or perhaps I had forgotten time. My eyes were no longer mine; they belonged to some other being whose gaze drained my soul through the walls of existence. My body was not my own; it had become a vessel in which some unknown force performed its private play. Sometimes, in the stillness of night, when I tried to listen to the voice of my own existence, I heard a faint, obscure sound — as though somewhere deep inside the machinery of creation, a mechanism had gone wrong. That sound was my soul. That broken rhythm was my prayer. I had become a document myself — neither of philosophy nor of literature, but of forgotten consciousnesses. Thus, this is a journey — of awareness, of body, of the cosmos. And we come to realize that reality is neither solid nor stable; it is a fluid dream, where the inside and the outside of a Möbius loop mirror each other in the same eternal glass. Someday, I will translate this into English — a version that speaks in all universal tongues.  

मैले यो चेतनात्मक बिभ्रमलाई सन् २००१ को अन्तिम महिना — मेरो Le Gray Bastion Period — मा भोगेको थिएँ, जब म दर्शनका भयानक दस्तावेजहरूमा डुबिरहेको थिएँ। ती ग्रन्थहरू शास्त्र थिएनन्, ती मानवीय हड्डीमा लेखिएका स्वप्नहरूको अवशेष थिए। हरेक पृष्ठमा म आफ्नो कुनै अज्ञात रूपलाई भेट्थें, जसले मलाई तर्साउँथ्यो र तानेर अन्धकारको गर्भतिर पुर्याउँथ्यो। त्यतिखेर म आडियली नशाको अद्भुत दुनियामा डुबेको थिएँ — त्यो नशा केवल रासायनिक थिएन, त्यो चेतनाको नशा थियो, शब्द र अनुभूतिको मृगतृष्णा थियो। संसार तिरछो देखिन्थ्यो, मानौं कुनै अदृश्य हातले गुरुत्वाकर्षणलाई परिभाषा बदलेको थियो। म आफूलाई हिँडिरहेको देख्थें, तर हिँड्ने शरीर म थिएन। विलियम एस. बराउले भनेझैं, मलाई यो कहिले लेखें भन्ने सम्झना छैन। समयले मलाई बिर्सिएको थियो — वा म समयलाई। मेरो आँखा मेरो थिएन; त्यो कुनै अर्को प्राणीको दृष्टि थियो, जसले मेरो आत्मालाई भित्ताबाट निचोर्दै थियो। मेरो शरीर मेरो थिएन; त्यो एउटा पात्र थियो, जसमा कुनै अज्ञात शक्तिले आफ्नो नाटक खेल्दै थियो। कहिलेकाहीँ रातको शान्तिमा, जब म आफ्नो अस्तित्वको आवाज सुन्ने प्रयास गर्थें, एउटा अस्पष्ट ध्वनि सुनिन्थ्यो — मानौं सृष्टिको भित्र कतै एउटा यन्त्र बिग्रिएको छ। त्यो ध्वनि नै मेरो आत्मा थियो। त्यो बिग्रिएको ताल नै मेरो प्रार्थना थियो। म आफैं एक दस्तावेज बनेको थिएँ — न दर्शनको, न साहित्यको, तर बिर्सिएका चेतनाहरूको। त्यसैले, यो एक यात्रा हो—चेतनाको, शरीरको, र ब्रह्माण्डको। हामी पाउँछौं कि वास्तविकता न त ठोस छ, न त स्थिर। यो एक तरल सपना हो, जहाँ Möbius loop को भित्र र बाहिर एउटै एना हुन्छन्। 

This is a journey through consciousness, body, and cosmos. Through the cat's gaze, we discover that reality is neither solid nor static—it is a liquid dream where the inside and outside of a Möbius loop are one.