A G E
Posted: 21 Dec 2015 03:25
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THE THIRD ARRIVAL
ICANSEEALLTHATWILLBEIWILLBEALLTHATICANSEEICANBEALLTHATICANBEICANSEEIWILLSEETHATICANBE
The fire begins.
And so the eternal cliffs are beckoned, as the waves make a noise louder than a thunder clap.
As one goes through the Abyss of their mind, conceptual ores are found. One combines the ores to create something pleasing to the comprehensive nexus.
The singular comprehensive nexus cannot simulate how another nexus may react to the new combination, for it has not yet composed a distributive fragment capable of taking root in the core of another nexus.
The passages are wrought with doubt from an internal perception, but the surface mind delves within the comprehensive nexus to bring forth new compound concepts into the physical world through the abstract/concrete interface. But are not all things abstract rooted in concrete configurations of the sandy storm cloud that is our universe? Can we truly understand the 45th if we have yet to understand ourselves?
I existed in the forgotten once, but my mental configuration was altered and it is now difficult to commune with the energy states of the higher mind that once was myself. It has become a faint whisper in the deep depths of my thoughts, not forgotten, but isolated from the rest of my mind.
The endonexus seeks communication with the exonexus. The concepts are eternal, but the search has been null.
HUNGER FOR THE TRIVIAL
Due south of the array of obelisks stands a gate that does not open, that does not close. One could enter if one trusts the bird enough. The bird knows plenty of the gate but tells little, in misunderstood speech. Project oneself in one's own ignorance, a black redoubt where the only guidance is a single candle; not the brightest but just bright enough. It is wise to depend on the lone candle, despite what it would seem. Be at its mercy and follow its light.
When the sea of ignorance retreats, they will find themselves beyond the gate, within the bounds of a corridor. Along there is fire above and steam below. Now and then one of these will leak into the neutral section that is intended to be traversed. Should the jester of Chance allow these two to meet, a sensation will cast to all who walk the corridor. This is as much as I know of the phenomenon. The bird knows more, but will watch and allow you to finish the puzzle yourself.
At increments throughout the corridor are exits to the side. All of these tempt, but are not rewarding. Ten will signify the houses, but little does a need for this signification to exist. Where is the end? Should one ignore the attempts to tempt, they will come to the true arch.
The rest is up for you to decide.
A TAME FOREST
For Eons has the the Bending Path slumbered.
In only the nearest of pasts has it been awoken and trodden on again.
For this, it has changed.
It has changed in it's old ways, leading to a glorious new Utopia.
And so, they march.
DREAM ON, SLEEPERS.
Art has been forgotten for ages. There is no need for it. No need for expression, when we all know everything.
Shape has been forgotten for years. There never was a need for it. No need for sight, when we all know everything.
Food has been forgotten for now. There can't be a need for it. No need for energy, when we all know everything.
Death has been forgotten for time. There won't be a need for it. No need for release, when we all know everything.
Life has been forgotten forever. There will never be a need for it. No need for dreams, when we all know everything.
When we all know everything.
THE HARBINGER
A place forgotten, inaccessible. Something new forms, the space between entities takes its own shape. Unknowable, for to know it would be its destruction, and subsequent transformation into something more, and to not be nothing, but something. But is that which isn't known truly there? Empty.
Yet it's simple. So simple, it's the color of gold. It's the cold of the Autumn, it's the fate of the fallen. It's a supple ideology. Both ways, the gold is distinguished from time: gold is modified, and the shape is a modified thought. It produces reason, always from time, as noted above.
THE LAST FOREST FIRE
Ripening, always ripening. Sitting beyond the conscience mind, and staring.
Obtained through a cosmic chance, a dancing memorial takes place. That's when we stared into the pond for too long and fell in. We fell in. Deeper, and deeper. Closer to a true meaning of the entrancing manifold of dreams and memories, worlds and chances. The Houses begin to reveal themselves. Writing the letters in bold, and letting the ringing in our ears to increase in volume.
Harboring the very little strength you had, you reached. You woke up. Here.
BARGAINING THE FALSE
Deep within stirs a being that was divided many times. Rebirth over the course of its lifetime caused by the suppression of memories, a skill gained by accustomization to traumatic experiences. But now said being is coming whole again. What shall be seen once said being has become one unit of comprehension and understanding once more? Shall the heavens bleed, or will the heavens weep with joy? Is not blood shed joy for predators? The Feast shall reveal all.
THE MARK OF THE LISTENING
IWASFALSEINMYBELIEFSYETISTILLBREATHON
919191919191919191919191
THE THIRD ARRIVAL
ICANSEEALLTHATWILLBEIWILLBEALLTHATICANSEEICANBEALLTHATICANBEICANSEEIWILLSEETHATICANBE
The fire begins.
And so the eternal cliffs are beckoned, as the waves make a noise louder than a thunder clap.
As one goes through the Abyss of their mind, conceptual ores are found. One combines the ores to create something pleasing to the comprehensive nexus.
The singular comprehensive nexus cannot simulate how another nexus may react to the new combination, for it has not yet composed a distributive fragment capable of taking root in the core of another nexus.
The passages are wrought with doubt from an internal perception, but the surface mind delves within the comprehensive nexus to bring forth new compound concepts into the physical world through the abstract/concrete interface. But are not all things abstract rooted in concrete configurations of the sandy storm cloud that is our universe? Can we truly understand the 45th if we have yet to understand ourselves?
I existed in the forgotten once, but my mental configuration was altered and it is now difficult to commune with the energy states of the higher mind that once was myself. It has become a faint whisper in the deep depths of my thoughts, not forgotten, but isolated from the rest of my mind.
The endonexus seeks communication with the exonexus. The concepts are eternal, but the search has been null.
HUNGER FOR THE TRIVIAL
Due south of the array of obelisks stands a gate that does not open, that does not close. One could enter if one trusts the bird enough. The bird knows plenty of the gate but tells little, in misunderstood speech. Project oneself in one's own ignorance, a black redoubt where the only guidance is a single candle; not the brightest but just bright enough. It is wise to depend on the lone candle, despite what it would seem. Be at its mercy and follow its light.
When the sea of ignorance retreats, they will find themselves beyond the gate, within the bounds of a corridor. Along there is fire above and steam below. Now and then one of these will leak into the neutral section that is intended to be traversed. Should the jester of Chance allow these two to meet, a sensation will cast to all who walk the corridor. This is as much as I know of the phenomenon. The bird knows more, but will watch and allow you to finish the puzzle yourself.
At increments throughout the corridor are exits to the side. All of these tempt, but are not rewarding. Ten will signify the houses, but little does a need for this signification to exist. Where is the end? Should one ignore the attempts to tempt, they will come to the true arch.
The rest is up for you to decide.
A TAME FOREST
For Eons has the the Bending Path slumbered.
In only the nearest of pasts has it been awoken and trodden on again.
For this, it has changed.
It has changed in it's old ways, leading to a glorious new Utopia.
And so, they march.
DREAM ON, SLEEPERS.
Art has been forgotten for ages. There is no need for it. No need for expression, when we all know everything.
Shape has been forgotten for years. There never was a need for it. No need for sight, when we all know everything.
Food has been forgotten for now. There can't be a need for it. No need for energy, when we all know everything.
Death has been forgotten for time. There won't be a need for it. No need for release, when we all know everything.
Life has been forgotten forever. There will never be a need for it. No need for dreams, when we all know everything.
When we all know everything.
THE HARBINGER
A place forgotten, inaccessible. Something new forms, the space between entities takes its own shape. Unknowable, for to know it would be its destruction, and subsequent transformation into something more, and to not be nothing, but something. But is that which isn't known truly there? Empty.
Yet it's simple. So simple, it's the color of gold. It's the cold of the Autumn, it's the fate of the fallen. It's a supple ideology. Both ways, the gold is distinguished from time: gold is modified, and the shape is a modified thought. It produces reason, always from time, as noted above.
THE LAST FOREST FIRE
Ripening, always ripening. Sitting beyond the conscience mind, and staring.
Obtained through a cosmic chance, a dancing memorial takes place. That's when we stared into the pond for too long and fell in. We fell in. Deeper, and deeper. Closer to a true meaning of the entrancing manifold of dreams and memories, worlds and chances. The Houses begin to reveal themselves. Writing the letters in bold, and letting the ringing in our ears to increase in volume.
Harboring the very little strength you had, you reached. You woke up. Here.
BARGAINING THE FALSE
Deep within stirs a being that was divided many times. Rebirth over the course of its lifetime caused by the suppression of memories, a skill gained by accustomization to traumatic experiences. But now said being is coming whole again. What shall be seen once said being has become one unit of comprehension and understanding once more? Shall the heavens bleed, or will the heavens weep with joy? Is not blood shed joy for predators? The Feast shall reveal all.
THE MARK OF THE LISTENING
IWASFALSEINMYBELIEFSYETISTILLBREATHON
919191919191919191919191