Reminds me of a man
I stopped for directions in Paris two years ago across the street from the College de France. I no longer remember if he had replied in French or English—I think it was French—yes it was French...we spoke for only a couple of minutes about these directions...but those directions quickly became irrelevant as another theme, a sub-theme, started enveloping the moment that was opening up...into I know not what, but as he walked away into a tiny slither of a street off the historic Collège, where illustrious names (from Bergson to Barth) had once taught, I caught a glimmer of something epiphanous that contained the kernel of a story about a man who was teaching at the Sorbonne about another man from another time like myself who was the source of another story that holds the great stones and sculptures of the Sorb in perfect repose...for the mind to contemplate...
And this mind,
which is n-ever changing, but houses different inhabitants in every age which come pre-wired with their own language from the their own personal Adam who re-names all the animals for every child at every age and then proceeds to make copies of every stripe of every thing that came before, because it was temporarily forgotten during that nocturnal winter where, but for a short time, we remain like lost children in layers of blackness where never the less black ghosts do howl somewhere in a b(l)ack ground, and whether it be at the fore or in the rear or even in an intermediate space, no weeping child knows, for he is too busy weeping, only now the parents are not near because they also have become weeping children; And in this chamber, which is only one stone way removed from the lineage of the gods but contains the ghost matter of everything that came and went without holding its own lineage, is the place where the men who re-member again go to find their truths in reshaping the world from their childhoods so that it is not so easily forgotten, even though they hold no memories of this chamber after their child births.
Hence, the age of the stones of the Sorbonne and the stories that surround Paris et Rome et Athenes que ca soit dans les musees ou dans la rue et les al(i)entours depuis l'esprit et les icones que mene la vie, (but for a moment) ailleurs— And here Praxiteles never understood if Socrates was the blue print for the marble or the marble for the blue print especially when he took on—with the aid of hemlock—the colors of the vineyards contained at once and both in poisoned veins of gnarled stone...
And if you look closely
at vineyards they too turn to stone making it difficult to enter the space between stones, even though there appears to be space; and making it difficult to imbue and imbibe the colours of the space that colour everything made of stone, even though these colours appear to be inside everything, because there are many layers of inside—it is only in the ante-chamber where these layers dis-appear in the sense that they appear without being there...Because they have something of the nature of dust in them, which the living call soot, and this dust, the great Pretender, first mixes it with Light to give it the nature of an (re-active) element, then mixes it with Fluid to give it the nature of bios — though bios is always there (like the stone and the space and the night), though men now call it protein; then he mixes it again with something that both men and women share to make copies of themselves but nobody sees because it is a phlogiston which dies and disappears upon doing its work...
All of this to produce
"Myeloma" the prototype for Bone which in turn is the prototype for Marble so that Praxiteles was working in the workshop of the great Pretender re-creating life itself from among its remains... the bone of the earth as it were, our mother so that Adam knew well whence he came even though in those days the ante-chamber was a mere little cave and not the grand canyon that it is today...the greater expanse of time was spent inhabiting bone on the dusty earth seeing and being seen by light, the origin of bios. In fact, so great was this expanse of time that it was—like the blackness in the antechamber—only one generation removed from Eternity whose number every Roman soldier had drummed into him even as a little boy.
So Adam was the perfect stoneman or as we say today, caveman. But something went wrong in the stonework. An errant vein in the Marble produced inferior stone difficult to cut and shape, so that subsequent generations were "born" with imperfections in colour, shape, texture and substance in exactly that order of recidivist diagnosis which took time in the other direction of accumulation to dovetail with the accretions of substance added to the bone. So at first, the sediment was on the outside of Adam's body (as he was not yet a fully de-formed person) and only later did it sink in...down, down, down and into the blood from where it now circulates into every nook and cranny to form deposits that turn to cankers and tumors.
One man, named Methuselah, came close to reversing this descent and returning to the earlier life-span but his descendants could not repeat his innovations, try as they did...so with the passing of every generation the blackness of the ante-chamber increased while the whiteness of the sun decreased and Nichte started swallowing up the World. Now as the Great Pretender had created this world from his own body, even though he used an assistant, this became a moral dilemma for the philosophers, theologians and amanuentic mythographers of old, as it is today with our very own scientists who are troubled by the expanse of the universe into black matter which is swallowing us up in an alarming rate leaving only 2 to 3% of the universe in the light.
So alarmed are they
that they have convinced their leaders to spend nine billion dollars to reproduce a copy of the antechamber under the mountains of Switzerland where they replay the creation of the world with the little particles contained in light. They have also created a telescope to get a macroscopic view of the accretion of time alluded to earlier, but this story which falls on another parallel track (about Logos and Jesus) is for another time...
They also spend many more billions to delete the cankers from the sediment in the body so it looks and feels perfect like those statues of Praxiteles from the time of the Greeks when every man and woman looked fine because the world was still in its virgin state and the words that Adam had created had not all been forgotten...colours had not yet faded, food had not yet lost its taste and visions were everywhere because the light had not yet receded to the sun who was to lose his personality and become a furnace in a workshop for scientists with telescopes.
But this story is about Ars
and not Techne, so let us continue with the work of Methuselah which was continued by Praxiteles and the ancients in general whose mission it was to work by subtraction rather than addition—the road of science—by removing layers of stone to get down to the bone-work of the form of the womb-man or wo-man (the name for man is a suffix to the woman and not the other way around).
When working by subtraction it was not so clear where lay the blueprint for the master's piece: was it in the bone or in the "accretion" from the earth which was stripped away: Was it in the mother or in the child? Apollo or Dionysius? In the Womb or in the Light? As the Spirit of God hovered above the waters....Of course we have yet to talk about his voice which is part of Logos and Christos (for another time), even though the two stories are intimately intertwined as much as the two strands of DNA...
The blueprint was in the vein
of the marble and in the "vein" of the "myeloma" of the artist which was a symptom of the voice in the waters of the dust of the light...the phlogiston disappeared and the shared portion between a wo-man and a -man became the afterbirth of the accretions in the dirt below the surface which became the canvas of the early artists—much earlier than Praxiteles since they worked right inside the stone (caves) and were working inside out like the birth of a material man...
They were working in the Nichte of Time which left no physical progeny: its provenance was of the Spirit, since it was in that cave that the mind of the Great Pretender be-came at its "hardest boiled condition" and her voice (because he comes in the womb) at its most crystal clear with no "snow" and "no ice" — 'crystal' and 'psyche' in Greek...of which the life of Jesus was a replay: hence, indeed, his bio-graphy which was a much mytho-graphy did surely come before Moses and Methuselah...which is how he will come again as the outer loop of carnation beginning with the Copernican revolution which flipped the little orbits of the inner planets to a new helio-centric blueprint placing the light at the center the way the menagerie of Jesus's birth was lit in the manger...(but more about this track at another time).
So in the canvas of the cave,
the bull and the gods were united by anima as the animal split from the mind leaving behind a trajectory of falling light from the stars (in the mind) as Mind itself had yet to be blasted into billions of stars from big bangs and black w-holes creating a double stranded falling of these stars and rising of genes depicted so wonderfully by later artists in the images of the serpent and the angels...whose alchemistry sometimes appears in tiny light bulbs in the pupils of the eyes of the snake called a caduceus when it invades the human body originating the myth of extraterrestrial aliens inhabiting humans (as if extraterrestrials would really need to travel on a spaceship to arrive here), when they can simply travel through Memory the mother of Uranus, muse of the stars and the wife of Zeus, god of light (as per his name "daylight")....—not to belittle chariots in the sky.
KANDINSKY DRAWING 1926
And every pre-historic
boy and girl knew where they would arrive on earth when they did come via memory and light...it is only a mystery to us now since the world has fallen away from these old truths; But only a short while ago the world turned back to this old world truth to welcome the birth of another avatar-aviator who left a very small number of disciples so distant in their specialties that it mystifies the world how one man could unite them all and on which plane, visible or invisible?
His great teaching inspired two schools, one a secondary school for children (which will not concern us here) and the other a Bauhaus school of design, which in its early years during the directorship of his disciple the movement from the blueprint in the dust to the blueprint in light was of primary importance enjoining as it did abstraction to analysis and backwards through the media of both mind and matter. The mystery of this was displayed one day in 1926 when the master disciple deigned to illustrate it so deliberately as to nearly reveal the secrets that have inspired this very poem in the style of prose and in the content of metaphysics. I hope you will forgive, dear reader, its transparency.