It must have been a couple years ago that I dreamt I was sitting in a waiting room, along with a woman, when a man with an eccentric tweed-suit and a twirly mustache came in. His sole trade was with intricately-worked bookmarks, true masterpieces in their own right. The ones he showed me were based … Continue reading The Bookmarks of Edgar Allan Poe
"The Earth shall appear once more as the primeval ocean, as the flood of waters that was in the beginning. I am that which shall remain, after I have changed myself into a serpent, which no man knoweth, which no God seeth."
"You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars"!
The process whereby form is impressed on matter is an issue which is alive and kicking, and the closer we get to “real things” the better the model that there is a process of information with the real world as an outcome looks.
Sometimes something hits you so quickly it takes a moment to realize what happened. Life is so fleeting, it is over before you know it. It’s as if we are already dead, and it takes our whole life to realize it.
Man becomes aware of the sacred because it manifests itself, shows itself, as something wholly different from the profane. In each case we are confronted by the same mysterious act, the manifestation of something of a wholly different order, a reality that does not belong to our world, in objects that are an integral part of our natural "profane" world.
It is inconceivable that so immense a body of literature in so many languages over so long a period should be no more than an infinitely complicated rebus or cryptogram for a relatively simple discipline of the nervous system which can be revealed in a sentence and explained in a few pages.
The scientist is the modern-day priest speaking technical gibberish, enshrouded in cinematic smoke and mirrors, baffling you with bullshit and throwing dust in your eyes so that you don’t see the emperor wears no clothes. All of our gadgets are crutches, and with respect to knowledge, we are cripples. We may know more and more, but about less and less.
"There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.”
Thus did the devil present to the soul the Vulcan in the Mercury, the power that is in the fiery root of the creature, that is, the fiery wheel of essence or substance, in the form of a serpent. Upon which The Soul said: Behold, this is the power which can do all things — What must I do to get it?