“We will never know what they thought, what they were trying to achieve.”
But we still have sun sets and sun rises…
Participate in only a few of these and it becomes pretty clear that there is something missing from our world.
And was their world any different in that respect?
We must hazard that religiosity be a product of normality.
Man stands closest to Truth when he is most assured of his eternal destiny.
When he contemplates things in this disinterested way
he finds death ludicrous and absurd.
How can we not suppose that in such moments he sees most clearly?
Can a ‘bad’ man turn ‘good’?
Or the sinner become a saint?
The annals of religious science are littered with such ‘miracles’.
Yet the capacity to fast and feast…
Seek solitude or egregore…
To abstain and fully participate…
Are common to us all.
That we choose to focus our intent upon one or the other
does not alter the fact that in a seasonal cycle
each and all, at one time, or another, are perfectly natural states.
Could the Norse ever let go of Thunder?
Given that quality leads in and quantity leads out…
Can Man relinquish sex as a value system?
Unike those spirited ‘barbarians’ of the extreme northern climes,
primitive faith has never clung to its Gods…
Primitive faith is sacrifice, pure and simple: a heiratic exchange.
Unfortunately, Modern man lacks both the finesse of mind and the depth of humour to apprecite the ‘Gesta Romanorum’ of presenting to the world this idea as a ‘God of the Cross’.
Such fearsome boldness sailed over the heads of the masses whose mentality saw only the gruesome suffering and had no real tongue for the inevitable triumph of light.
But, what might this language of light look and sound like?
Well, it would be painless, certainly…
No rock – no base
But just an all-consuming-Hell
Or – empty space.
This special grace – this Earth
Where every grain of sand
Its special stamp
Its necessary place.
No vacuous hole
But threshold for the eyes,
The pathway to the Soul.
Cling not to people,
people are a prison.
Cling not to nationhood,
all nations are a lie.
Cling not to science,
its discoveries can be delusional.
Cling not to your own detachment,
lest you fly too near the sun.
Cling not to your own virtues,
lest by them you are undone.
Profundity loves a mask.
Mystics of every hue have always known it.
There are acts of such magnitude that were they not concealed behind an acceptable veneer…
The world would split asunder and spew forth not fire and brimstone,
The perpetrators of such acts…
Those Spirits of Profundity sprout masks like water-cress.
Their actions are perpetually interpreted shallow…
As guard against the blinding light.
It is in the nature of things to deceive.
So, if we take ‘space’, ‘time’, ‘form’ and ‘motion’ to be deceptions…
Would it not be justifiable to mistrust our ‘thinking’ also?
To expect consciousness to be honest about the outside world.
Should we not screw up our faces with suspicion
at every judgement proclaimed from this, ‘Court of the Apparent’?
This, ‘Court of the Apparition’?
Ah, but what shades of light and dark co-exist betwixt these two!
Spontaneous Internal Combustion.
You may have heard of the phenomenon?
It can now be regarded as the final death-knell for the Theory of Evolution by Natural Selection.
It is hardly likely that any ‘new species’ would simultaneously errupt on the face of the planet like so many hot flushes.
Yet, once a memory is framed, and accepted, it can be true at all times and all places without ‘compunction’.
It also means, that we are born into a past that never happened,
and pass-on into a future that is real.
If we are allowed to be honest for a moment.
Truth does not need us to defend her!
Why, even her shyest glance is wont to play havoc with our most cherished concepts…
Words, symbols, scratches on wood and stone.
Far preferable, then, to stand aside, and let her get on with it… while we flee, in relief, back to our overblown conceits.
Misunderstanding and fear, you see, suit us much better.
And as the day turns to memory, as all days must…
We can, perhaps, savour together, in our garden of earthly delight,
the tragic Satyr Play of our attempts to woo her veracity.