A surreal tale...
Take a walk with me. Let us visit an imaginary universe of astonishing richness and diversity. Let us voyage to places that symbolize the undefined in dream-like escapes, where in our urgent desire for perfection, we create a home for our uncertainty, a place where the impossible does not clash with its surroundings but instead sits pronouncedly upright, satisfying our insatiable desire to rise above the lumbering of our fellow travelers.
Take a walk with me. Let us visit an imaginary universe of astonishing richness and diversity. Let us voyage to places that symbolize the undefined in dream-like escapes, where in our urgent desire for perfection, we create a home for our uncertainty, a place where the impossible does not clash with its surroundings but instead sits pronouncedly upright, satisfying our insatiable desire to rise above the lumbering of our fellow travelers.
Allegory
of the Genius of Alexander I. Prince Heinrich Lubomirski
Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun (1755 - 1842)
In this excursion, let us draw a
map for the younglings, for those who, bound by their energetic resonance, search
wildly for their rightful habitat. So that they might avoid getting lost in the
labyrinth of imprisoning realms, let us call upon those authorities that have ventured
there and back again.
Porträt der Graham-Kinder (The Graham Children) 1742
William Hogarth (1697 - 1764)
From
the ruins of a walled city
The
southeast echoes songs by night
The
songs of a past time are carried by an secret dynasty
In
the light of the moon, you can see their flight…
Follow
with me down into the cave
Wearing
two golden helmets of Geniian lineage
Stones
tremble as they try to conceal the silent gateway…
We
realize that the path of the past is endless
As we
stand upon a distant ridge
We continue searching for the wide valley
Where
we heard the sounds of younglings play…
The
gateway is ruled by an unconscious planet
Entangled
veins disclose hidden clues within their twists
Who
is welcome to cross the waters whose streams are filled with granite?
On
the bank of the river
The
answers follow the bird that rises from the mist…
Legend
has it that geniuses are descended from and named after Genii, an offspring of the guiding spirit or tutelary deity of this
land. The Ancients spoke of how its divine
nature manifests in extraordinary proclivities: seeking harmony, the
pleasantness of a place, the strength found in upholding an oath and the natural
inclination propelling it forever onward.
The
decendents of genii, those whom we refer to as geniuses, cannot flourish amid the
shackles of conformity unless they find a refuge to house their intellectual
throne. Imprisoned by incipit tragoedia, ruled
by a people with whom the genii have no common language, genii tend to wander
ceaselessly, roaming along the coast of life, barely peeking out from their
blanket of amnesia; all the while, unable to communicate with the local
inhabitants, and more importantly, with themselves.
Memories that cannot remember having been…
For
those who wish to embark upon the quest of freeing their young genius of their
amnesiac chains, know that it is possible to deliver them to another realm
where contradictions are not seen as impediments, but rather delightful,
fabricated niceties that arise from intellectual independence in a landscape
that permits multitudes of coexisting possibilities without the fear associated
with losing one’s mind: the annihilation of coherency.
Far, far away from the tyrannical and unwilling nature of the Highlands, a genius might again find faith in the vastness of their mind, encouragement for their dreamy maunderings and fantastical,
seemingly irreconcilable imaginings that challenge others to expand their own
mindset rather than limit it to what others deem are acceptable limits of one’s
imagination. A place where genius might transform their guests into kings or butterflies
or believers of all and nothing simultaneously just to explore the notion
without the biased opinion that these transmutations are impossible.
The
realm of which I speak is strangely beautiful, with shimmering torrents of
mercury, blazing lakes of fire and swift rivers of rose-colored liquid flowing
across golden sand beneath mountains of sulfur and bitumen.
Along
the Stream of Universal Remedy, a golden liquid flows, curing all ills and
wounds. Here, genius discovers that it can heal itself of the pain it suffers
above ground in the Highlands. No longer imprisoned for intellectual
misconduct, the genius tears itself free of the iron shackles associated with
faulty reasoning, and in a single gesture, with a point of the finger,
dissolves the metal into a tiny needle and thread with which it can mend its own
wounded spirit ~ should it be torn.
Oh
look! There is a youngling cleansing themselves of the negativity associated
with free thought. She notices a welcoming leaf on a tree, which she then presses
upon her face. The royal imprint of the genii appears, dissolves, and then
fuels the natural energie of this land.
This
world is fueled by the energie associated with imagining and guarded by
defenders of The Deep Wonderment.
Caverns of thought are filled with fantastic gems and veins of precious ores,
and their fluted and twisted pillars of white, saffron and pink that support
the roofs are mirrored in the still pools surrounding its many forests.
History
has it that the Genii settled here at the end of the Great Greek Awakening. In this realm, the Genii developed their
inquisitive skills. Among other services to humankind, they adopted a mindset, which
later became law and was inscribed on monuments and temples across the land:
Free thyself from the chains of belief
According to those travelers who have ventured
into the Caves of Genii, the kingdom is rich and flourishing. It is place where
all younglings recognize a powerful essence dwelling within. An essence that
instantly resonates from a synchronicity they experience with their
surroundings.
Taking a moment to breathe in
vastness of this moment, another youngling notices that the trees are surprisingly
tall, with broad tapering leaves. The fruit of which is the size of a melon and
so light that it bounces when dropped. He plucks one and bites into its skin,
its transparent juice is intoxicating, its flesh tastes like sweet bread.
Memory is the theater of the spirit
I am the shadow my word’s cast
The moment scatters
I write not knowing the outcome of what I
write
A
vast forest surrounds these fruit trees. The ground to the north rises to a
mountain with three peaks. The two outer peaks are densely wooded but upon the
middle one, the highest, proudly stand orthostats, their presence quietly beckons
those who curiously traverse the mountain onward toward a vista on the east
side of the river where a polygon of trilithons make up one of the largest
sanctuaries in the land.
There
is an airy freedom here; one that welcomes the boundless nature of the mind to
gaze upon the triad before taking flight into the majesty of existence. No
longer plagued by cultural philistinism of the Highlands, the genius’ mind
flows effortlessly to the point that it can identify with the sun, with the
energies that form into matter, and even with the background information upon
which this celestial dance takes place.
Golden whirlwinds insubstantial as my own
thoughts
In a ghostly theater of reflection
A single monotonous intensity
Do I believe in man or in the stars?
It
is here where deities are born… where the genius witnesses his own becoming…
where the ground rises up to meet him and the sky bows down to curtsy at his
feet… where the birds swoon from the fragrance of fauna… where boundaries are
forgotten… where from quietude emerges a symphony of natural harmonies that awaken
an essence that was hitherto enclosed in the mortal trappings of life.
Championing
their ideals, the Genii considered intellectual freedom one of the cardinal
virtues. They sought, not out of an insatiable desire for possession, but for
the undisputed right to explore without conforming to a festival of ignorance
that limits such exploration.
A
moment passes and the genius sits in deep thought. Taking in the color of his
surroundings, he thinks about how in the Highlands he felt like an imposter. How
despite his best efforts he could not align his insatiable propensity for
further exploration with the deeply held beliefs of others. How was it that he
could understand and appreciate their perspectives and yet find himself so utterly
misunderstood in the process? If he was born in the Highlands, shouldn’t he be
a Highlander? Could it be that biological origin and energetic origin are
different? Could an individual be born into a specific configuration and
simultaneously belong to or coexist in another form?
There is another life within this life
Another you that recognizes you
Another you, you do not know…
Look between the lines
Open yourself to the invisible
Your thoughts are still en guarde
“Is this a sky-god presiding over the three peaks of this realm offering me a gift of supremacy, a fount of the auspices upon which the relationship of genius rests with the gods? Perhaps it is nothing other than bird tired of its Oak tree, curious about its shadow. Curious? How curious! How is that a bird could be curious? Why would it not be so? Am I limiting my mind out of habit or fear of reproach?”
In
this moment, the genius realized that he had habituated himself to follow the
Highlanders’ customs, that he was accustomed to limiting his thoughts to please
the gods of conformity. Indulging in
only a few eccentricities, which he readily labeled as “eccentric” to appease
Highland officials, observing an ancient punctilious regard for rules and
comparing those rules to those other rules held by other Highlanders, he lamented.
Perhaps
neither the genius nor the Highlander recognizes that what was once bizarre had
become usual, that what seemed normal was now an oddity, and that virtues and
faults had lost merit or honor in a different code of virtues and faults.
The
Highlanders approach to knowing is called science, and yet all their scientific
accounts are aimed at creating a solid and compact image of a world they cannot
see from outside themselves. The Highlands is a place where diversity, the type
of thinking that might be inferred from a different subjective opinion, has
less substance than the structures that house it. Highlanders speak of what is
needed to exist, but exist on less than what can be spoken.
If through us the universe speaks with itself,
why do we try to silence it?
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