Diamond-Being

“Shine bright like a diamond.”  That line is repeated over and over again by Rihanna in her song, “Diamonds.”  Something about the repeated injunction  to perform an act of unbreakable iridescence strikes me as profoundly beautiful and inspired, hinting at some deep source of inspiration that lies dormant in our average and ordinary experiences.  

“We’re beautiful like diamonds in the sky.”  To be is to be an alluring and inviolable substance shining in the firmament of our elemental abode.  Being is diamond-being, and the shine radiates with an injunction to shine: you and I are beautiful like diamonds, so shine accordingly!  Be(come) who you are (becoming).  “So shine bright.”  Shining bright, I am always under the weight of the injunction to shine.  I am always already diamond-being, which means I am continually returning to practice the injunction, repeating the refrain, “Shine bright like a diamond.” 

What’s the source of this enlightened vision?  I had my guesses, then I looked closely at the lyrics and confirmed my hypothesis.  To put it rather allusively, it’s like a cosmic and molecular mode of ecstatic inspiration, an intoxicating and heartwarming  panvitalism (or panallurism).

Palms rise to the universe
As we moonshine and molly
Feel the warmth, we’ll never die
We’re like diamonds in the sky.

You’re a shooting star I see
A vision of ecstasy
When you hold me, I’m alive
We’re like diamonds in the sky

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Misleading Titles: Foxes, Ecstasy, Laundry

“I have been watching Fox News for hours now, and I have not seen one story about foxes.”
–Russell Brand

That’s an astute observation from Russell Brand.  “Fox News” is definitely a misleading name.  What about the foxes themselves? 

Similarly, I was disappointed to read Jack Kornfield’s After the Ecstasy the Laundry.  That book is not about laundry at all, and it’s only about ecstasy in a very limited sense: the ecstasy occasioned by meditative states within the horizon of contemporary spirituality.  It’s a fine book, I was just hoping for something that would describe the wonders of doing laundry after an experience with a psychoactive medicine called “ecstasy” (i.e., MDMA). 

I can imagine something like a narrative of a young man whose empathogenic experience helps him finally learn how to appreciate and execute the complex work of folding his girlfriend’s delicate underwear.  This new knowledge grants the young man opportunities to take up his own responsibilities more authentically, opportunities to grow closer to his girlfriend, and strangest of all, opportunities to fall in love with the weird objects that assemble in the phenomenon of laundry: a washing machine, a dryer, the quarters that operate those machines, the nickels that look like those quarters, a lint trap, some detergent, some fabric softener, a hamper, socks, shirts, towels, pants, shorts, underwear, sweaters, hangers, closets, drawers, stains, stain remover, the inordinately drafty laundry room in the apartment complex, the timer that beeps when the washing and drying cycles are done, the unusually large key to the laundry room, and the alchemical process of becoming clean.