I remember a trip to West Virginia in 1988 (Canaan Valley) with strong images of fall colors. It was just Mom, Dad, and myself. I listened to Timbuk 3 singing about the '84 elections and thinking of how it was now the next set of elections. Then I heard the song again in '92 and likely '96, as it still evokes a strong memory.

Now it is the year 2000 and the elections have occurred - albeit I and the recent of the nation have no idea who the winner is. I am sitting beneath some incredible views, but this time of the Bavarian Alps. 

In my half sleep, I have a flurry of "metaphors" flowing through me. They are visual, but not crisp enough to flow to paper other than through the nebulosity of words. Once concentrated on too much with the conscious analytical brain, they dissipate and unravel by a manner which in and of itself is metaphorical.

For instance, in my mind I saw a granite outcropping, dark, unpolished - natural. There was a large cylinder hole in it - like the ones left over from blasting when drilling with dynamite sticks. Stuffed inside this were some old papers wrapped cylindrically, 1-3 sheets of paper. They were a message of sorts, because the image kept wanting to transform into an arrow with the message attached. The image didn't transform, though - the papers were not so romantic, so desperate as to be flown through the air at random. The papers moved left to right before me, as if I were walking by them. 

The thought occurred to me: why don't I just reach out and read them? This is not possible - it has several false assumptions with the metaphor. First, it assumes I am there, in front of, or even part of the metaphor. I am not. Secondly, even if I were to take a more 3rd person semi-omniscient perspective, it assumes the metaphor is dynamic. Sure, the viewpoint changes, and yes, the papers even seem to move, but to have them move in any other way breaks down the metaphor. Lastly, I could take the approach of just "knowing" what the papers say. But this fails too - the mystery is part of the metaphor. They are just blank papers if my mind pushes too hard. 

When I push this hard, the metaphor unravels. For instance, the granite rock face turns into the side of a cave, and then my eyes are drawn to the brightness of the cave's opening, and my point of view flows to that opening, leaving the granite behind in darkness. The cave is not part of the original metaphor, but appears when consciousness enters, and I need to exit the world of metaphor. Even the exiting is done by metaphor. 

These images are constantly floating if I shield my eyes from consciousness' overwhelming light, just enough to let my eyes see what is behind the brightness of the physical, corporeal world of tangibility. 

Of late, I am often flooded with the most amazing of metaphors. They roll off my tongue in a dream-induced trance. I wish I had more opportunity to record and explore these images. They require a level of a'loftness and freedom and intimacy I just do not have any more. 

(c) Geoffrey Peters, intangibility.com, 2002. For more information regarding this web page, please contact
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