So here I am, up in the sky riding a griffin with Persian-blue aquiline
....wings,
holding a branch from the Tree of Life upon which a red starling
....perches.
In its talons my griffin grips a wriggling bear.
As a unit, we herald the commingling of all things,
or as many as one artist can atoll, in the coral amassment of a life.
I look down on mer-knight occupied lakes, flesh forts trembling in
....folds of lightning sleep.

In Bosch's era, the subconscious was more altar-definite than today,
....architecture more magical.
There is a translucent, glazed, interpenetrating liquidity here,
an image rhythm between Paradise and the foundations of being.
Orbital, iridescent variations are repeated with reassuring
....familiarity.
There is hardly a thorn that does not express its bulb, as if
....apocatastasis were the underlying magnetism.

--from Anticline, Part II, 'Tavern of the Scarlet Bagpipe'

So maybe Anticline does reach the transcendent, but does so by going deeper into the world rather than leaving it.