“How do you know but ev’ry bird that cuts the airy way, is an immense world of delight, closed by your senses five?”
A semi-tripleness, made up of multiple eyes, noses, mouths, might allow a deity to perceive such a world; to peer through and beyond Blake’s sensory boundaries, unblinkingly.
But non-deities must take advantage of occasions like the full moon. What can happen, if enough care is taken, is porosity, the chance to pass through the walls that separate rule from misrule, mortality from deity, all while the moon reaches fullness, i.e., full opacity, and full transparency.
Conversely again, while one lounges below the moon in one’s sublunary California backyard, settling down into lazy godhead, eyes getting used to having extra eyes, one populates the sky with birds (such as, look, that drab pigeon that flaps from wire to wire) — and then, one watches, unblinkingly, as that pigeon becomes an Aleph, a world of contained immensities, such as an encyclopedia, a harp, all the mirrors on the planet*, a telescope, youtube, epic poetry, a tawdry carnival, the coils and springs of love and the alterations of death*, an island utopia, and so on.
But then the moon wanes just a stitch, most of the power is lost, and the only thing visible inside the bird is the delicate skeleton — until the next waxing.
*quoted from “The Aleph,” by J.L. Borges
Lunar Ulna 