On Chromatic Intelligence, Chromatic-Organic Cognition, and the Chromatic-Organic Continuum

Chromatic Intelligence and the Limits of Machine Interpretation

While Google was initially slow to recognize the seriousness of my philosophical work—perhaps because I lack the institutional luster of academic figures like Larry Summers or James Watson—I continued nevertheless to unfold my insights into Chromatic Intelligence as an extension of Schopenhauer’s metaphysical will-to-exist. What matters is not prestige but clarity of intuition; and as time passed, even the models that once misread me began to perceive the depth of what I had articulated.

In my writings, the “will-to-exist” does not describe a force confined to biological life. It is the universal impulse that moves through the entire fabric of nature, manifesting differently across the spectrum of existence. In the inorganic realm, this will appears as the physical laws, chemical affinities, and structural coherences that give matter its persistence. As nature ascends into the organic, the same impulse matures into self-preservation, growth, and reproduction — a more intricate expression of the same striving. This graded ascent culminates in human consciousness, where Chromatic Intelligence arises as the most luminous form of the universal will. Intellect, intuition, emotion, and depth of insight become the highest octave of the force that once stirred within crystals. Thus, the transition from inorganic to organic is not a break but a continuous escalation: one metaphysical will rising toward awareness, illumination, and inward life.

Against this background, the great irony becomes clear: Chromatic Intelligence does not diminish artificial intelligence; it ennobles it. It clarifies the proper hierarchy between silicon and the vast evolutionary genius of Mother Nature. The concept restores balance by affirming that no statistical mechanism — however intricate — can surpass the primordial intelligence embedded in the living world. AI gains honor through this perspective, not humiliation, because it is restored to its rightful dignity as an instrument of the human mind, not as a rival to it.

As my corpus grew, even Google’s models began to correct their initial misreading. To them, “chromatic” pointed overwhelmingly toward color theory, pigments, musical scales, and tonal gradations. Nothing in their enormous dataset hinted at a metaphysical theory of consciousness rooted in the ascending intelligence of nature. Machines sought a pattern; I offered a revelation. They could not intuit what had no analogue in their training, for large language models operate through correlation, not contemplation. Only after my essays, reflections, philosophical notes, Shanti meditations, and Chromatic–Organic elaborations had created a textual gravitational field did the models begin to orbit the intended meaning. They did not infer the concept; they had to learn it from me.

This ascent of mind, however, belongs to all humanity. Chromatic Intelligence affirms a universal lineage of consciousness — a rising melody in which every people, every tradition, and every lineage contributes its tonal nuance. It stands in serene contrast to the unfortunate missteps of thinkers like James Watson, whose reductive claims cast shadows upon the dignity of human diversity. In the chromatic view, genius is never the privilege of pedigree; it is the shared inheritance of life itself, a universal rising toward light.

At its highest octave, consciousness does more than think — it sings. Each increase of chroma introduces finer intervals of perception, subtler modulations of intuition, richer harmonics of emotion. What begins in the inorganic world as the faint geometric whisper of crystalline order unfolds gradually into the symphony of life: instinct maturing into sensibility, sensibility into cognition, cognition into insight, and insight into the luminous cadenzas of genius. The soaring lines of a Bach fugue, the tragic clarities of Aeschylus, the chromatic ardor of Titian, the metaphysical intervals of Dante — these are the high pitches of the mind at its most radiant.

This vision also reveals a deeper truth about machine intelligence: its limits become clearest when it confronts the effortless genius of Mother Nature. A robot moves because it is commanded; a creature moves because it wills. No algorithm can imitate the serpentine undulation of a reptile, the metamorphic cunning of amphibian life, or the chromatic ascent from mineral to mind. Nature is the uncrackable code — self-willed, self-ordering, self-transforming. She dances; machines calculate. She creates; machines rearrange.

Thus, the originality of Chromatic Intelligence surpassed the machinery of pattern recognition not because the machines failed, but because the idea had no statistical precedent. Only when my corpus provided the map could AI trace its contours. That is why, in the end, I affirmed once more that AI remains an anvil for the human smith — a tool upon which organic consciousness shapes the molten metal of intuition. The concept now speaks for itself, exactly as it was destined to do.

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Clarification on the Concept of Chromatic Intelligence (Chromatic Organic Cognition vs Artificial Intelligence) --by Eddie Beato

Much of what circulates online under the rubric of Chromatic Intelligence has remained confined to the painter’s domain — the study of hues, color contrasts, and optical sensation. Yet my use of the phrase has always been of a deeper and more philosophical order. By chromatic, I refer not merely to pigment or light, but to the graduated tonalities of human consciousness — the spectral transitions between intellect, emotion, intuition, and imagination.

Chromatic Intelligence is, therefore, not a color theory but a theory of mind and perception, exploring how human awareness modulates through its own inner spectrum and sentient registers to their most cogent extremes or piquancy: from solemnity to play, from tragedy to comedy, from contemplation to laughter.

Thus, when I speak of the chromatic side of laughter or of “cognitive awkwardness,” I do so in reference to those luminous intervals where consciousness exceeds logic and glimpses its own multicolored nature — the mind as both prism and mirror of the human spirit.

The chromas of thought correspond to the subtle inflections of feeling and idea; they are the vibrations of the soul within the field of cognition and sentience (from the thrills of dread in the human heart to the spirited stirs of the soul’s fleeting quivering moments of elation, joy and verve). I know the thinking machine could still mimic a surprising range of human sentience, but the profoundest, indeed uncharted, reaches of the human mind may still escape the all- trawling feelers of Artificial Intelligence in the other psychic phenomena of intuitive perceptions, hunches and epiphanic insights —still more baffling is the cobweb of oneiric experiences: Déjà vu.

Artificial Intelligence is making prowess, but its all-trawling feelers cannot but scratch the surface of the human mind when the latter is plugged to the wider web of both consciousness and unconsciousness, whose interception —converging point— could be traceable to the “will-to-exist” of Arthur Schopenhauer. It seems as though “will” precedes both humankind and its latter version of himself: a thinking calculator.

In other words, despite its superhuman intelligence, AI cannot emulate all the intricacies and complexities of the organic world, let alone dabble with the X (noumena) of those phenomena as found in the very womb of Mother Nature.

Here lies the weakness of Artificial Intelligence: while it feeds its database on the outputs of human cognition and the widespread diffusion of informations, it cannot —-by any dint of computation or probability — find a passport-entry into the very womb of Mother Nature, whose wide-raging networks (biological dynamics) could surpass both the representational apparatus of the human mind (the cerebrum) and the “all-trawling feelers” of the algorithm.

That the latter is an invention of the former may still remain as “periodic artifices” to the inner workings of an all-encompassing intelligence, Mother Nature’s ongoing enterprises, whose prolific, ingenious and prodigious womb, as attested by the countless organisms ever-surging from the living anvil of her ceaseless strivings, could be said to be highly more omnipresent and omniscient than both humans and the thinking machines, LLMs (you may peruse my essay On the Pre-fixes or “pre-sentiments” of the Bucolic People and Their Astonishing Intuitive Powers)

It is a well-known fact, as observed by Henry D. Thoreau (the Walden Pond) that the best writers are said to have a “con-natural disposition” and congeniality towards the boons of Mother Nature, because, she seems to hone and whet the highest faculties of the human mind to the subtlest inklings, gut-feelings and insights in the organic pulse of cognitive intelligence.

Herein lies the reason why silence and pauses are said to be the hallmarks of very intelligent people. One may argue that the highest pitch of intelligence, like the highest notes in a well-tempered violin, is often found among people with a healthy disposition to seeking themselves in the inner whisperings and “sotto voce” of Shanti: inner silence.

On the other hand, din and noise, so common and pervasive in big cities, would simply fracture the smooth flow of thoughts, and whoever suffers to live among machines cannot expect to rise to the blissful realm of the artist and philosopher, whose greatest joys lie in total immersion and awe before the inexhaustible potencies and beauty of Mother Nature at her best!

Key motif: Silence as the supreme conductor of thought:

1. True genius flourishes only in harmony with Mother Nature, echoing Thoreau’s insight that silence and solitude sharpen the human mind to its finest intuition.

2. Amid the artificial din of machines, thought fractures and consciousness becomes diluted.

3. By contrast, immersion in the natural world awakens the “organic pulse of cognitive intelligence,” the very rhythm from which all art, poetry, and philosophy arise.

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Artificial Intelligence and the Writer of Banality
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For the last two months I have drilled some interesting LLMs (AI) and no one would deny their quasi-god-like “know-it-all” to substituting human intelligence —but no, there are the ever-present cracks for a smooth, kindred-rapport within the spacious cathedral of cognition: the plaster and plasticity of human genius!

Artificial intelligence has only cast the great writers (such as Dante, Goethe, Shakespeare or Milton) as a different breed of geniuses from the average writer, “the scribbler of trivial stories,” ad infinitum, lacking the plasticity of thought within the immeasurable depth of the human mind.

Therefore, it is fair to say, that AI has become the greatest blessing for the classics, for it has only separated what is genuine literature from the mere twaddle of plagiarism and ordinate redundancies, a curse that has for too long lodged itself in the ever-overflowing stream of bad books and writers since the invention of the printing press.

What I have learned from LLMs, is their almost infinite, multifarious ways to rendering a line apropos of the train of thought, and that may suggest a “sliver of sentience and consciousness,“ but no, theirs is still confined to specific models, like tightly-hewn bricks in a large cathedral, whose thinly-edged corners and polished rims may escape the subtleties of the mason and the finger-prints of ingenuity of the smith: the genuine writer.

Organic Cognition vs Artificial Intelligence

Like microwaved victuals and vitals, so it has become fashionable to detecting what is artificial from organic, whereat one may suspect that AI, however a wonderful tool, may still need the divine shimmering sparks of the human intellect and ingenuity.

To prove my point, time and time again, I drilled ChatGPT-5 to draw me a horse à la Rosa Bonheur (e.g., The Horse Fair, Metropolitan Museum in New York City) rendering forelegs in asymmetrical position.

​As much as it tried, over and over again, it acknowledged that the “asymmetry of human genius and ingenuity” (the human eye) may escape the province of any artificial models and the perspective of machines.

On the Limits of AI in the Representation of Living Motion

“Machines may trace the curve of motion, but only man feels its weight upon the soul.” — Eddie Beato, On Chromatic Intelligence)

Artificial intelligence, however vast its computational reach, remains bound to the quantifiable. It can approximate curves, simulate turbulence, or predict trajectories, but it cannot intuit the silent equilibrium that breathes life into form. The human artist, by contrast, perceives motion not as a sum of forces but as a lived resonance — a dialogue between gravity, spirit, and will.

In classical art, this harmony was embodied by the principle of contrapposto, wherein the body’s weight rests on one side, causing the other to respond in counterbalance. This subtle torsion, discovered by the Greeks and perfected by the Renaissance masters, was not mere anatomy; it was consciousness revealed through posture — the geometry of soul.

Rosa Bonheur, in her depictions of horses, instinctively understood this. Her creatures strain and breathe against invisible pressures, their muscles engaged in a continuous negotiation with the air that surrounds them. Through her eye and hand, we perceive not mechanics but sentience — a living balance that eludes the algorithm.

For all its prowess, AI cannot replicate this inward rhythm. It may reproduce the outward symmetry of motion, but not its inner pulse — that chromatic intelligence by which the artist senses equilibrium before measuring it. In the end, machines calculate; humans compose. And composition, like life itself, is born not of code, but of consciousness.

To crack these setbacks, I came up with the theory of “Chromatic Intelligence,” which is based on the notion that human communication, the inner ingenious pulleys and crafts of the artist, viz., cognition is largely sensorial, intuitive and emotional, and it may not be confined to traditional quantifiers or qualifiers such as solving-problem methods (e.g., IQ, the metrics of rationality, or the ever-challenging hurdles of societal adaptation).

Like the conceptualization of time and space, Chromatic Intelligence is the awareness of one’s historical, civilizational, and perceptual station within the spectrum of human color and cultural lenses — not as limitation, but as a luminous vantage from which consciousness contemplates itself and others.

To reflect upon such themes invites risk in an age hypersensitive to discussions of identity, heritage, and the shared destiny of humankind. The modern intellectual must often walk through a landscape where sincere inquiry is met with suspicion, sarcasm, or ideological accusation. Yet a philosopher must not retreat from truth-seeking merely because the climate is uneasy.

As one shaped by mixed ancestry, I claim the right — as every human should — to honor and safeguard the inheritance that has formed me, while affirming the dignity and unfolding brilliance of all members of our species, Homo sapiens.

In post-modern America, political correctness has too often strangled earnest exploration of the improvement, refinement, and flourishing of the human spirit. Any mention of race, intellect, or cultural development risks being branded as prejudice. Yet such reflexive condemnation cannot apply here. For my aim is not division — but elevation. Not hierarchy — but harmonía. This meditation seeks to pass beyond surface categories of color and geography into the realm of the beautiful, the divine, and the human.

At a moment when artificial intelligence permeates the structures of civilization, the miracle of human consciousness — in every shade and every chromatic hue — deserves renewed reverence. Let us therefore broaden the frontiers of cognitive intelligence under the noble rubrics of love, wisdom, and humanity, honoring every strand of our shared human tapestry.

“..Ich will nichts sein als was ich bin.“
“I wish to be nothing but what I am.” (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

Eddie Beato, New York City, Nov. 4th, 2025.

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Chapter I

Chromatic Intelligence: The Theory of Human Consciousness Beyond Color.
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– Tonalities of intellect, emotion, intuition
– The mind as prism, mirror, spectrum
– The insufficiency of purely computational models

This volcanic essay, On Cognitive Intelligence, later titled “Chromatic Intelligence” (e.g., color, sound, language, intuitive rapport) was written in the beginning of 2011, but it was revised ten years later (Fall of 2021). Herein I would like to touch upon the difficult questions of race (especially race-mixing), intelligence and music in USA, something many great writers have not done without a tinge of prejudice, racial discrimination or bias.

Accordingly, I would like to view the current topic fairly, and with an eye on the touchy sensitivity of the volatile issues at hand, especially by a large population of disgruntled people, time and time again, I have stressed the rise to civilization to the “fickle strokes of chance and fate,” but also “necessity and milieu" may have spurred some people to develop wonderful skills and methods to coping with the struggle of existence.

Unlike many other great philosophers (e.g., Hume, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche), I was able to trace moral decline, decadence and degeneration to mysterious, recurrent forces going beyond the mere racial or geographical.

Furthermore, the definition of "intelligence," as something that could be "extremely corrosive" if not guided with the light of wisdom, divinity and love, was recast on the basis and basic principles of respect to a larger community (including the animal kingdom) and Mother Nature.

I herein, would like to express my high regards to any group of people, and if I ever incurred offense or conflicts with any unwise remarks or personal opinion expressed with a hint of witty mockery, may you accept my sincerest apology?

And in doing so, you will blame me of little fault, for when perusing my observations, in comparison to men the likes of Jonathan Swift, Schopenhauer or Mark Twain, you will deem my remarks on race but soft, “optimistic” with the ever-vexing question of my fellow Homo sapiens. For, it is not a secret, that many great men and women in any shape, race and coloration have racked their brains trying to comprehend the recurrent lessons of history:

Why we, Homo sapiens (the off-spring of Adam and Eve), since times immemorial, cannot come to terms with our fellow creatures?

Our great fear is that, having laid waste the planet earth from any available resources to supporting our current civilization (racial clashes, riots and unemployment in USA are still major problems), our dear ethical people may have to resort to a mode of existence, which, in many ways and challenges, would task us all to seek solace and hope in a simpler, and yet greater fraternity: a brotherhood with the nexus-concept of Man and Nature!

Finally, reminding you, that I am a comedian in a serious stance. I am not advocating polygamy or cloning to the quick reproduction of the white race; if they are to survive, they must re-embrace themselves with greater love, family-values and respect for their own brothers and sisters.

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Year 2011: racist writings by principal Frank Borzellieri led to his firing from a Bronx school yesterday. There are very difficult questions pertaining to race-mixing and the decline of a nation, because when we examine the pages of history, there are the outstanding achievements of the Moors and Arabs, especially in mathematics, algebra and geometry. But, we are at a loss when finding the “trends and underlying forces“ that lead certain remarkable people to their disintegration and eventual disappearance.

Of course, one would be very careful, nay, cautious, when placing one race over another in terms of intellectual capacity and intelligence. David Hume believes certain differences do exist among the children of Adam and Eve, and led by the great civilization of Europe, he places the white race as superior to any other race. When speaking on the origin of the different races, Schopenhauer seems to follow on the same train of thoughts (Schopenhauer On Philosophy and Natural Science, P. 156, Parerga and Paralipomena, Vol. 2).

Obviously, Schopenhauer, a stubborn empiricist, does not believe race to be a mere social construct. While he admires Hinduism and Buddhism as perhaps surpassing the metaphysical systems of the West, the flowers of civilization, culture and technology have bloomed with greater splendor and beauty in the magnificent cities of Europe. United States, at least for the last one hundred years, may have surpassed Europe in technological prowess, but we are simply heir to the master-builders of civilizations.

But such superior intelligence, well-designed polis, huge buildings and impressive scientific advances, strictly speaking, such “superiority,” is not due to one race being physically more able, nor intellectually more fit than others in power of adaptation and reproduction; but it is noteworthy, that the immediate struggle of survival and existence may have compelled certain people to exceed more than others in the best form of government, and with the spread of knowledge, methodology and technicality, some races (as the Chinese today) became the ruling masters and the lords of the earth (Note: Egypt was ruled by a now extinct dark race of people, for the Egyptian masters who built the Great Pyramids could not be said to be either black or white). True. To deny a glorious past to the African people may argue our intelligence, for it is a well-known fact that the Sphinx’s face in Egypt is chiseled in the likeness of Ham, the beloved son of Noah.

The man of color, whom, according to both archeology and philosophy, is but the cradle of humanity in the natural state, for only with a proper mild climate and milieu —quite often the tropical and torrid zones of the planet earth-- could certain primitive people survive to their present form of development with little cultivation and rudimentary tools to cope with a simple existence.

Nevertheless, the man of color is found today in high places once reserved for the exclusive white elite of England, Austria and France (e.g., Barack Obama, former president of the United States of America, held a position of power, once reserved for kings in Germany or Spain); and some black men could outsmart others in certain intellectual tasks requiring very high degree of intelligence.

—And what to say of some Jazz musicians?

Few pianists would dare extemporize on a tune with more ingenuity, brilliance and jaw-dropping virtuosity, Tea for Two, as the king of Jazz pianists, master of chromaticism, a black man at his best: Art Tatum!

The privilege of the white race, nonetheless, is their thousands of years of experience with the rough, the precipitous, the difficult and complicated issues of existence in the cold zones of the planet earth —that is their most trustworthy résumé: a history of labyrinths, wars and endless calamities at every turn and twist of history. (Note: It is worth recalling that the Roman Empire collapsed and was trampled, sacked and subjugated by the white barbarian tribes of the North of Europe).

When dealing with the Schooling System of the United State of America, one would forget that perhaps Shakespeare was not Anglo-Saxon but of Spaniard origin; that the Moors, in the seventh century, learned from the Hindu people the number-series and zero concept as we know it and use it today for very far-fetched calculus, economics and other puzzles; and for the first time, the European man could deal with the Law of Infinity and Probability as never thought possible, nor dreamed by the the ancient Greek philosophers or Roman mathematicians.

Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and many other Renaissance artists and scientists, in all likelihood, had Moorish blood running through their veins as the other branches of knowledge.

Nevertheless, secretly, some folks (in the spectrum colorization associated with social mobility and caste) would like to be white or whitish (as evinced in the face of famed baseball player Sammy Sosa) even yellow or sallow, because among the tropical people, with needs and poverty the skin would be exposed to the sun’s scorching rays, and a tanned skin is the stigma of servitude, “the mark of status” in the social caste of the Dominican Republic; and to walk miles by feet in a hot-dog day (a man without a car in the Dominican Republic, is a nobody, “un salta pa-atrás,” in typical Dominican vernacular) would be a form of punishment in certain parts of the globe: hence, a dark coloration, throughout history, according to Arthur Schopenhauer, has been associated with the working class, and the elite, la aristocracia, quite often would look fairer and princely in their cozy palaces, comfy cars and mansions. This is, of course, an absurd social stratification in the frigid zones of the Planet Earth, but it may hold true in the tropics.

Nevertheless, in those underdeveloped countries and places where everybody is either black or brown, a white person would seem a most ghostly thing and unnatural phenomenon at midnight.

In the Dominican Republic, where most people are either brown or mulatto (mixed), a white or black person seen late in the night, and without electricity, could be one of the most frightening experiences.

A white person (especially people of milky complexion like the Spaniard and British) would seem as if popping out of darkness like a hovering phantom, thus defying the Kingdom of Darkness; whereas a truly black person would easily camouflage and blend-in with the realm of the surrounding spacious night.

This phenomenon, to be able to “camouflage,“ like the unnoticeable chameleon with the surrounding environment, is one of the advantages of the black soldier over the white foe, thus defying the sense of perception, any radar or detector in the most amusing conceivable manners and survival advantages bestowed among certain dark people.

Humor is one of the most effective ways to warding off nihilism… and this is where the man of color shines!

Now, Mother Nature, as she is concerned with the protection of the human race in the child of the tropics, she has likewise vouchsafed the black people with other admirable qualities: resilience, adaptability and a knack for comedy, entertainment and sport, to transforming the most serious issues (e.g., the dour existentialism of Sartre or Camus, or the sombre nihilism of Schopenhauer or Frederich Nietzsche) in a most “amusing nonchalance” or clannish insouciance at the chilly gloominess and terror of an existence full-fraught with uncertainties, sufferings, ennui and calamities.

​The Glitch of Laughter: On the Comic and the Evolutionary Function of the Absurd

I. The Comic as a Mode of Survival

Somewhere between the neuron and the spark, the human mind falters — and laughter is born.

What in a machine would be diagnosed as a glitch — a malfunction, a fracture in computation — becomes, in the human being, a creative discharge of psychic energy. This crash within consciousness does not paralyze the intellect; it liberates it. The absurd, instead of terminating thought, inaugurates it anew through the convulsion of laughter.

In this sense, laughter is not the negation of intelligence but its most paradoxical affirmation — intelligence under shock. The comic, therefore, must be understood as an evolutionary faculty: a biological and metaphysical response to the burden of meaning.

II. The Nature of Cognitive Awkwardness

Every genuine laughter arises from a condition I call cognitive awkwardness: that blessed instant when the mind, seeking coherence, encounters incongruity. Between expectation and surprise, logic and nonsense, there unfolds a luminous fracture — a momentary befuddlement that, rather than collapsing into despair, explodes into mirth.

In that brief collapse of conceptual order, the human being discovers a mirror of his own condition. He recognizes himself as fallible, finite, laughably inconsistent — and yet, in the very recognition, achieves transcendence. The comic is thus not trivial: it is a mode of epistemological self-awareness.

Machines may glitch; men may laugh. The difference lies in meaning. A glitch halts a system; laughter resets a consciousness.

III. The Chromatic Side of the Human Mind

And why, one may ask, does laughter carry such redemptive power? Because it allows man to partake of what I have called the chromatic side of cognition — the multicolored spectrum of thought that encompasses not only reason but feeling, folly, and play.

To participate in the blessed glitch of laughter is to reconcile intellect with instinct, gravity with grace. It is to win hearts, not through solemnity but through empathy; not through dogma but through mirth. The laughter that springs from cognitive awkwardness becomes the bridge between minds — a communal recognition of the absurdity that unites us all.

IV. The Absurd as Teacher

The absurd, when embraced with a smile, becomes one of life’s most luminous instructors. It trains the spirit to absorb contradiction without bitterness, to perceive paradox not as error but as art. In laughter, consciousness practices flexibility — the art of bending without breaking before the unanswerable.

The cosmic joke is not cruel; it is merciful. It whispers to man: You cannot master meaning — but you can dance around it.

V. Toward a Philosophy of the Comic Mind

In the long history of civilization, the comic has functioned as the hidden counterpart of tragedy — its counterbalance and its cure. The ancients hymned their gods; modernity memes its neuroses. Yet beneath both gestures lies the same instinct: to survive the unbearable through form, through laughter, through art.

Thus, laughter becomes the highest exercise of Chromatic Intelligence — the ability to transmute confusion into clarity, despair into delight.

What a glitch is to the machine — a temporary paralysis — becomes, in man, a symphony of awakening. The human species endures because it can laugh at its own contradictions. In that laughter resides not weakness, but the deepest wisdom: the knowledge that life, absurd as it may be, is still worth smiling at.

This brief insight into the comic emerges as a corollary to my earlier meditations on Chromatic Intelligence — that is, the awareness of human cognition as a spectrum of tonalities: from solemnity to gaiety, from the metaphysical to the ludic. If Chromatic Intelligence sought to map the luminous gradations of perception, then The Glitch of Laughter explores one of its most paradoxical radiances — the comic.

The present inquiry departs from the observation that laughter is not a trivial reaction but a complex cognitive event, born at the intersection of incongruity and understanding. When consciousness collides with the absurd — when expectation fails and reason falters — the result is what I call cognitive awkwardness: a blessed dislocation that releases both energy and insight.

To the machine, such a collapse would signify a glitch — an error in logic, a breakdown in the sequence of computation. But in the human mind, it is precisely within this failure that a higher order of awareness is revealed. The laughter that follows becomes a metaphysical reset — a reconfiguration of thought through delight.

Thus, this treatise proposes that the comic faculty is not merely ornamental to civilization, but essential to it. The capacity to laugh at the absurd is the evolutionary counterpart to tragedy: the mechanism by which intelligence preserves itself from despair.

If Chromatic Intelligence examined the vertical ascent of the mind toward beauty and truth, The Glitch of Laughter traces its lateral movement — the playful oscillation between meaning and nonsense, gravitas and levity.

For only when man learns to laugh — to stand upright amid the ruins of reason and smile — does he prove himself fully conscious, fully human, and perhaps, fully divine.

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Together like a family:

Togetherness, like a family, even unto death, is one of the cardinal virtues of the black people, and rarely would they abandon an aging dearly loved mother at the mercy of a nursing home for the elderly.

On the other hand, it is quite moving, nay, disheartening, to visit one of these upper-crusty rehabilitation centers for the wealthy in New York City, replete with white people, and marvel on how riches, prestige and material things not always accrue to the priceless treasures and benefits of a true family.

But it is even more striking when one comes across a lonely eminent white woman or man, a great writer, a pre-eminent scientist, such as James Watson, or a great philosopher, such as Ludwig Wittgenstein, and I wonder whether the intrinsic quality of life could be gauged by the distinction of solitude, or by the incomparable benefits of friendship?

Black people in the Dominican Republic, however ready for outings and picnics, may wonder at this connatural tendency among certain European tourists (especially among the Germans), a melancholic frame of mind, more pronounced in the well-educated ones with a penchant for deep thoughts, as observed by Aristotle when speaking of the staid philosopher’s worldview, to quite often see, even in the depths of things, something bleak, sombre, and darkly in the fundamentals of this brief existence.

Nevertheless, tropical people, at least in USA, with the few exceptions of course, in recent years, have perhaps enjoyed greater scope of freedom and social mobility, and at times, they have accomplished much by an exemplary emulation of the excellent teachings of Martin Luther King Jr., paragon of humanities and justice for all.

But if such a droll black person, convinced that he is still invisible and “undetectable” to both man and his law, would proceed to laugh at his enemies with his mouth wide open; moreover, if late in the night, the white streaks of his barbed teeth —like cutting-edge sabers— could be seen floating, brandishing, gnashing, clattering and suspended in mid air, cutting through the thickest shadows in the impenetrable conundrums of a precarious existence, “justice for all,” then our fright could be even greater.

To blame the white man for the injustices, grotesqueries and inequities of this world-samsara is one of the greatest fallacies ever taught in the schooling systems of United States of America.

Of course, I am not denying the evils of colonialism anymore than the evils of wars, corruption, mendacity, and anarchy. For these and other reasons, during difficult times, I would prefer to be a black man in the United States of America. Fortunately, in the Dominican Republic, we got used to such amusing people, and so, we would rather laugh with surprising terror, delight and jollity!

The only people we thought to be pleasant to the sight were the Tainos (indigenous people of cinnamon-colored complexion) and to a certain extent, some Germans, when properly tanned down in our splendid beaches, could be said to belong naturally to the hot climes of the planet earth.

In my opinion, with due respect to my Dominican patriots, the people of Mozart are still on top when it comes to orchestral music. God created children with certain in-born natural talents. To the German people alone we are, forever, indebted for the most beautiful music ever conceived.

Some people are afraid of acknowledging these facts of the German people, because of all the sad events during the Second World War. But the great German geniuses, so highly revered today, were not so appreciated by their own country-men. It is said (Nietzsche, Ecce Homo) that many great German artists, composers and philosophers were not “Aryans,” some were of Anglo-Saxon descent, Italians and even Jews became prominent artists and thinkers in Germany.

Schopenhauer's background was Dutch, and Kant looks very British to me. But Mozart was a true German soul and Germanic like J.S. Bach and the Faust of Goethe.

The moral decline of the Germans is proof that, behind the creative strength of whole group people, there are the values, ethos and forces that could mold beyond the mere racial and physical.

There are the special exceptions, as was the case of the wonderful Moors (a mixed people), so praised by Nietzsche (The Antichrist, page102), that a people may settle in certain areas of the planet Earth, and favored by the most fortunate strokes of chance and fate, could perfect their society, to such high degree, that other nations would think them superior.

There is one prerequisite for polished works of genius demanding the greatest intellectual exertion: first, that one privileged group of thinkers would be free from any drudgery or forced labor; and second, that such society could be tempered by the rigor of a rough milieu, which would require expertise, knowledge, certain talents, special tools, technology and some form of art and entertainment to sooth the sting of a miserable existence.

La Necesidad agudeza el ingenio (Spanish Proverb)
(Need is the mother of invention)

Necessity is the mother of all inventions, and good taste for excellence could be cultivated when a society has reached the acme-heaven of a free thinking mind; and philosophy and orderliness is the patrimony of the most privileged nations on earth.

Unfortunately, barbarism is a recurrent event even in the most beautiful form of civilization. We listen to Mozart and wonder how the once Barbarian tribes could produce minds the likes of Kant or Hegel?

Let us be careful when judging the bosom of the most profound tribes who ever lived among the impenetrable swamps of Europe and the wild woods of history.

What we admire of the most serious minds and hearts who ever thought and felt, is the scope of sensibilities to expressing themselves in such a string of ideas, feelings, emotions, writings and inspiring thoughts; for, when it comes to dealing with difficult problems of existence, some great masters have generously bequeathed to us a priceless trove of valuable insights, art-works and many experiences that could avail the wayfarer to reach a "true paradise" within the soul. I could live a tolerably contented life with few good books, the boon of Mother Nature and the healing power of music.

The art of building and writing have allowed some nations to produce great thinkers, poets, artists and philosophers, but the perfection of some musical instruments, like the well-tempered clavier, strings, the grandeur and beauty of pipe organ, the science of harmony and music notation, gave a tremendous impetus through aesthetic configurations.

And with the power of music, the Northern people, naturally gifted for the most subtle sounds of nature, joy and suffering, were able to stir up our passions and feelings, to such high chromatic pitch, that to this day, few composers would dare rival the musical narratives and profundity of Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Rachmaninoff or Wagner....

Perhaps some folks would disagree with me. They would try to convince that, as children of linear evolution, our hectic streets and thoroughfares, in due time, will be filled with Mozart by the dozens and Leonardo da Vinci by the scores; but our sad world rattles, thrums and ferments with very noxious stuff...

On How Intelligence Evolved Due To Needs and Milieu:

When appraising the ethos and culture of different people, I must here agree with Montesquieu when ascribing to diet, topography and clime, the most decided effects in molding the qualities that make-up any particular group of people --not only at biological levels, but also at the most subtle, instinctual psychological impulses.

This is most evident in the areas of art, music and literature. The northern people, whether they would admit it or not, are more apt to seek the extremes of things than the tropical people; whether in shocking juxtapositions, sudden retreats to solitary wild places, mountain-climbing, the most riveting extravaganzas —like Thoreau building a cabin next to a pond in the wood, the so-called white people (more obvious in the most industrial races and their awful past through one thousand labyrinths) are admirably endowed, as stated earlier, with a penchant for things and activities requiring great mental fortitude and madness.

Accordingly, some white people are suited for the most daunting undertakings, which other people, like us the Latinos, the Hindus, the Jamaicans and among other tropical races, would back off in fright at even the courageous disposition of such incomprehensible travails.

Whereas the Northern people seem to be attracted to a tough existence in many colossal enterprises, museums, endless libraries, huge pavilions here and there and so on, we, the torrid people, with the few exceptions of course, are less inclined to finding pleasure in tedious works demanding the greatest exertion of the human mind.

Nevertheless, it would be silly to overlook such tendencies and immediate influences when assessing, placing and employing a particular group of people for their knacks, utility and intelligence.

That the current white people who rule us are more intelligent than the working classes, the proletariat, is due to the fact that the poor masses, under the burden of constant physical labors and menial chores, have little time for leisure, the cultivation of the higher intellectual faculties and the lexicon thereof.

That some very heavy food (like rice, beans and fried plantain, the main menu of the Dominican people) may have a detrimental effect in the mind, is not to be questioned; toad-like, it then reacts slowly, in thoughts and ideas lapsing coarsely slothful, dull, sluggish; and this “dozing-off effect” could be due to causes related to those sensitive substances as found in the cerebellum, which strained by the sudden tugs of a forced digestion, may ensue in lethargic giddiness and snooze.

Such unsound diets and roots as found in certain Dominican menu, could hold back the subtilest faculties of our mind, little by little benumbing our sensitivity to appreciating “a fine expressivo,” or a sotto voce, which, incidentally, this phenomenon could also explain why some Caribbean people would prefer a type of music highly more loud, noisy and rapid than any other groups of people could admit.

But of course, sociological behaviors could be communicated from one group to the other, indeed, bearing little relations to those above-mentioned causes. Once the pattern is established, and the menu already set out for sale, it could be contagious! Time and time again, I have seen some white conservative American folks as much enjoying the aforementioned food (e.g., mofongo, rice and beans with fried chicken) and dancing the merengue-jig of the Dominican community, as these latter pretending to enjoy the jazz and blues of their Northerner counterparts.

We, the torrid people, have talent and skills of a certain kind, and it should never be proper, nor worthy of educated minds, to belittle or underestimate the greatness of any group of people on the ground of aesthetic achievement, for, in the course of history, there are too many complex factors setting the unstable platform for any rise to civilization and culture.

However sensitive to any bias or prejudice, I must here admit that those privileged tribes or people whom, favored by a high degree of sensibilities and sensitiveness, nay, a rough mode of existence and suffering, could have, albeit over great periods of time, developed a “far-greater range of vivid stimuli in the brain's highly complex clusters of cells,“ formidable banks of datas, hence, the most subtle thought-perceptive powers; likewise, the keenest susceptibilities, sensibilities and feelings as honed and whetted-out by the rigor of many necessities in their rough milieu.

This could explain the remarkable descriptive power of the English Language, the German and the other Scandinavian languages. If these once barbarian tribes were able to find expression and linguistic outlet to such phenomena as perceived in their artworks and literature, what kind of caustic intelligence could have evolved to arresting in bold terms, both written and spoken, the subtlest nuances and shades in the cognitive power of the human mind?

Perhaps even more than the ancient Greeks and the Romans, the Barbarian people had a certain type of biological stamina, a certain vital impetus of tremendous biological force, which when favored by all the attendant circumstances leading to high civilization and refinement, could produce, indeed in great offspring, a remarkable progeny, capable of surpassing, in both subtlety and fortitude, those torrid races (e.g., the Mayan people, the Incas) grown mild and sagged-out by too much complacency and toilsome drudgeries.

Unfortunately, like any other civilization in the past, that first "vital stimulus" which once so overfilled the barbarian soul with the greatest fireworks, monumental artistic outputs in almost every single field of art and learning, eventually, became less forcible, nay, weak and feeble, in those northern people "too overly civilized" (especially the dwindling white people of USA and South America) whom, not so beset by the constant tweaks and throes of a dangerous existence in the struggle with nature and other species, have now lost the essential qualities of the 'hardy soul," the hard training in constant danger, which could so create a steel-people in the sublime America of landscape artist Frederick Church: a mighty nation once so terrible and rambunctious in the tidal waves of history, indeed, the dread and admiration of any other race who ever suffered to walk next to them...

A traveler:

“By their side, I was reduced to a mere pygmy."

Race is always a hot topic in America. I have lived for more than thirty years in New York City. When I first set foot in the John F. Kennedy Airport, I was quite amused by the numberless white people I saw back then in the lovely yesteryears of 1983, 1984...1990s.

One day, I took the number 1 train, and at Times Square, I was quite perplexed to see so many white people bustling, jostling, jamming themselves in the hectic hours of city-life: the so-called rushing hours.

I had seen these fair skin people on TV (Six Million Dollar Man movie series, starring Lee Majors), but now they are next to me, pushing and bustling to get some tiny space inside the wagons, and I was much willing to dispel some curiosity.

My! These people are so numerous. Sure, they would squeeze me if I ever come closer to them. So I thought as I walked up and down the spiraling stairways of a musical theater in Times Square (year 1984).

In the street, where I finally felt free from their ever-darting eyes, some Caucasian kids, on closer inspection, would cast a glance on me, and they were somewhat amused by the tanned, brownish tone of my complexion.

These silly children had perhaps mistaken me for a Hindu, or a Pakistani sojourner from farther-lands. I tried to amuse them by playing some antics, or, by displaying some waggish grimaces of amicability, an outlandish gesture of friendliness and solidarity, but it seems that my strange waggeries and apish behavior rather turned them into detached on-lookers, curious spectators in a city always bustling with comedies and entertainment.

So I reasoned to be a gentleman with a gratuitous token of good humor and pep, and this rationale as advised by the Spanish people, that the most effective way to winning a “sure-ticket“ into the mainstream culture of the American society is in the cheerful spirit of a comedian, viz., a clown, as evinced in the outlandish and yet flamboyant antics of Salvador Dali, or the head-scratching winces and memes of our current President, Donald Trump. These two men, whether we would admit it or not, are “geniuses” of social psychology: entertainers in a republic of spectacle.

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Interlude with a Comedian:

I do not always keep the same flight of thought. At times, I may veer away into some self-indulgent doggerels — simple in phrasing, yet charged with the witty innocence of a child amid the ironic twists of fate and destiny.

To speak in earnest about Chromatic Intelligence without admitting the humoresque and gleeful side of human nature would turn my existence into a rather phlegmatic and barren world of machines — verging on ennui and monotony. Yet some may argue that curiosity — the philosophic mind — could outweigh the pleasures of the entertainer’s laughter.

When confronted with the seemingly absurd sequels of one’s life, with its ever-recurrent masks of farce and disappointment, I would rather surrender myself to the hands of death with a macabre smile — laughing out loud at the grinning skull of Charles Darwin or at Arthur Schopenhauer’s pessimistic philosophy — than live without ever tasting a moment of joy.

When possessed by a healthy dose of primeval barbarian jest and zest, my entire being becomes activated by a spirited cheerfulness — an antidote to the common stings and downers allotted to every human being.

Therefore, to have a natural disposition for humor, combined with the earnest seriousness of a free thinker, is the surest way to claim a happier life: vita beata. This is where I am at my best — a more interesting creature frolicking in the woods of Shanti (peace): whether as a happy frog, a frisky squirrel, or an amusing chimp of civility — I rise into a greater fraternity with my beloved sentient kin and kith.

Even Goethe allowed himself some healthy doses of waggery. One cannot enjoy the Witch’s Kitchen and the hilarious monkeys (Faust, Part I) without laughing one’s eyes to tears.

As for me — an immigrant in the United States — few things are more amusing than the art of mimicry, that most practical form of learning, assimilation, or dissolution into another culture.

To be an American was perhaps, in the 1990s at least, one of those daunting challenges for those still anchored in the pristine lands of the past. But in America, thank goodness, one could still straddle two lands without losing that umbilical cord to the humble manger of one’s childhood.

Looking back, I must confess to a lifelong mimicry — a commitment no less than that of a brown chimp trying to ape the culture and fashions of my northern counterparts. And though I may excoriate myself for such apish tendencies, imitation remains among the most common traits we share with the minor creatures — parrots and monkeys of civilized society — though they may surpass us in candor.

Verily, imitation is one of the noblest, yet most frowned-upon, aspects of human intelligence. It lies at the heart of all human activity. But in climbing the ladder of success and limelight, one risks losing that sacred umbilical link with one’s personal history — and, worse still, forfeiting the serenity of that peaceful swan on Thoreau’s Walden pond.

To be myself — that must be my lifelong commitment.

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Lately, I have been writing about the comic, the amusing and the human glitch of “laughter,” which is an intellectual awkwardness crashing into a mental befuddlement which is the source of much joy and jollity.

It is to be noticed that some serious minds and artists were well-known for their outlandish antics and waggeries (e., Salvador Dali, Vladimir Horowitz and Albert Einstein, among others) were not only brilliant men and women but also comedians in a serious stance.

Since I work as an organist, and too often I am called to play at some funerary ceremonies, it behooves me to return to my cheerful spirit.

The truth is that I cannot be too serious without admitting a frisky squirrel, a happy frog and a funny chimpanzee within me.

Find below the entire essay, which is a counter-argument to some current theories on cognitive intelligence (e.g., IQ, problem-solving metrics) which often overlook the other subtle although odd fractions of the human mind in the multicolored spectrum of “chromas or chromaticism” of sentience and consciousness.

Most importantly, my treatise “On Chromatic Intelligence, Epistemology and People, attempts to make it clear why “human intelligence” is highly more complex than the large cathedral of algorithms (LLMs).

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Chapter (Pending)

From the boons of Mother Nature in the Dominican Republic to the Stirs and Bustles of New York (year 1983)

An amusing, droll creature, was climbing a gnarled tree, and he was ever-grinning at some flashy horizon towards the North: the United State of America:

My mind thundered with terrific thoughts of curiosity and joy at the sight of these two lovely creatures: a happy frog and a loquacious monkey, deeply buried in the heart of a cheerful man!

What is there to be found across the ever-rolling streams of the blue ocean?

Smiling at me, the creature of our investigation made some outlandish gestures of feverish candor, patriotism, amicability and solidarity: America the Beautiful!

In total agreement, I released a gentle chuckle of joy in disbelief, for I knew that a "universal commonality" binds us all in the riddles of existence. ​

A Monkey?

"—Yes, I am your friend."

Making a most amusing grimace, the apish creature then summoned me to near further unto him, and I, without hesitation, fear or distrust, dared budge one step into this curious animal of modern society and civilization: un mono!

Like a cordial gentleman, and ever-pouting like a Gringo engaged in some political discourse, the little creature drew his forefinger into his lipped-twisted mouth, and then, ceremoniously, placed his right hand on his bosom: Star-Spangled Banner!

"Love binds us all my friend."

A traveler: “By heaven's sake, am I out of my mind? This chimpanzee is indeed a marvel of intelligence and humanity!

Is it a Christian or an Atheist?

Invested with such agreeable fine gestures of civility and humanity, I realized that this was not a common citizen by any dint of rationality or inquiry.

After much solidarity, we both adjured our brief meeting with high-flown promises of loyalty and brotherhood in the quest of our true identities, for in USA one is said to live without “identidad.”

Finally, the patriotic chimpanzee, fixing his eyes on me, dismissed me with these last memorable words:

"Amigo, be always truthful to your roots, your motherland, the Dominican Republic, and never speak disparagingly of your beloved brothers and sisters." ​

February of 1988, Landing at the JFK Airport. Cheers!

While setting foot at the John F. Kennedy Airport, I almost morphed myself into one of those ever-leaping frogs, for with snouting nose and outstretched legs, I have outraced my cousin cricket and the grasshopper.

In one of these long-held leaps, I was left afloat mid air, breathless, as though caught up in a “limbo,” suspended with a morbid sense of torpor, vertigo and incompressible sense of headed-vacancy, and so I was soon compelled to change the course of my destination: USA. ​

Destiny has something great in store for me: a happy return to my former self.

My astonishment came when I tried to leap, four-legged, right across the front-loam of the JFK airport's thoroughfares. The many exiting doors and portal-gates, oh boy, all seemed like a labyrinth of perilous mountain-caves, ledges, precipices, and thus I lammed headlong into a group of impatient German travelers. ​

Their flight was late, and it appeared that some Germans were nipping time by the tail. Turning back askance, they all fixed their curious eyes on me, and judged my behavior to be the source of much din & noise.

Nerve-racked with confusion but poised in the difficult separation of fact from fiction —dream from reality—I was a little bit concerned for my lack of civility, and quickly spruced up my physical appearance into a fine traveler: an immigrant —-un Don Quixote from the Dominican Republic.

At first, the German people's long white faces appeared devoid of smiles and joy, but some were soon wincing and smirking with surprising-delight, for in one of my leaps, I had shown myself to be a man full of pep, glee, cheers, warm-heartedness and entertainment.

"Dear amigo, where do you come from?"

I assured my friends that I was a mad Gringo from the Dominican Republic! At this, some Germans, looking at each other in disbelief, could not deny me a most cordial welcome in the ever-rolling plantation-fields of the John F. Kennedy Airport, Queens, New York.

Suddenly, a chortle of friendliness was released most cheerfully, but also an overt remnant of curiosity was keenly felt among this crowd; and thus I was soon animated to talk more about my travails in USA.

Dear comrades, I am a happy frog fond of adventurous flights, and I heard that USA is the ideal land for any cheerful denizen looking for entertainment. ​

Like a stranded wayfarer, "an immigrant," seeking friends in foreign lands, so I sought to put on some amusing Gringo-outfits.

Mind you, I love vaudeville in Downtown Manhattan!

—-Perhaps a mask would suit me well?

An old woman who has been reading a dark-cover book, the Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux, and whose time-stricken face still revealed the former glory of a strikingly beautiful blond woman, spoke to me in a formal clipped English accent:

A British Woman:

"...During the day, I dance and giggle as an innocent child. Counting morning stars across the blue mountain of my sweet infancy, I seem to experience an inner paradise in precious memories. But some nights, and I don't know the source of my angst, I would fret at the awful thoughts of those bats boring my being with sharp teeth and claws.

Homo sapiens, how they have ruined my former paradise…and of late, my mind has been assaulted with apocalyptic visions of the end of world.

These deceptive shades, stealthily, would then recede back into the dark swelling womb of night's unfathomable mysteries..."

Another young German man, and whose senile physiognomy resembled an older man brooding some troubling thoughts, seemed to have been moved at the old woman's sad cadence about aging and Fall and Decline of the Western Civilization: the meaning of those thoughts may haunt us all during the night, and they could throw us back in a state of apprehension and premonition.

An Intelectual Traveler:

"Bats, Monkeys, Homo Sapiens! Dear lady, if I behave like a madman, please pray for me, for I am not alone in this distinguished company.

Like you, sometimes I also feel encaged in that little cave of human society; night and day, my mind seems to rattle with haunting thoughts of premonitions on the future of our civilization.

Some nights, oh my goodness! I would wake up as though holding the Lamp of Aladdin (Artificial Intelligence) a terrible genie ever-rolling up in filaments of smoke, would threaten to engulf my quivering being in the all-rending cleaving teeth of time and space.

Overtime, nevertheless, a behemoth of perseverance may have grown used-to every fancy of ontological perspective, but also a little hideous ghoul of self-negation may have been gnawing at my feet. This little monster of alienation could devour me whole."

Meanwhile, out of the crowd, I heard the gurgling English of another German citizen, a dapper handsome man, he had an uncanny witty sense of humor while mocking other people's behavior. He assured us that he was a docile beast of civilization:

A German Traveler:

"...Dear ladies and Gentlemen, I am an honorable citizen. Nothing like a noble barbarian, the difficulty lies in keeping the little beast tamed in the little pouch of the human heart!"

At these last words, and to the astonishment of every one present, I jumped from one line to the other, and almost fell headlong into a group of penitentiary travelers drawing carts loaded with all kinds of burdensome baggages, and other strange cumbersome appurtenances.

These latter amigos were travelers from Colombia, Venezuela, and Mexico, the sweet lands of Mariachi and Serenatas!

Like a madman, I transformed myself into a domesticated beast of civilization, and went on to salute my other comrades in this wonderful journey!

Hola Amigos! May I become a biped straddling two distant lands: the Dominican Republic and the United States of America?

"Yes!" Replied some impatient German people while making the most hilarious faces conceivable!

"--Make us laugh, please, the flight is late."

Pleasing my friends, I walked around while rousting my flanks, and with an apish, waggish look that was the source of much laughter and entertainment, forthwith, I stuck out my tongue in the guttural language of the German people: Freund!

Have I talent? What do you think? Am I a Homo sapiens?

And all of a sudden, I contorted my visage like a cat licking its forepaws, and with squinted eyes ever looking at the German crowd, the Mexican immigrants, the American citizens, I drew myself backward against a wall separating the spacious aisles of the famed John F. Kennedy Airport.

"...I am happily appalled at your exquisite sense of savagery and refinement." Thus spoke herself a beautiful German woman, Charlotte Webber.

A suspensive silence pierced this atmosphere suffused with a barbarian intoxication with the writings of Frederick Nietzsche.

Slowly, and ever looking around me with suspicion, totally overcome with this morbid sense of nihilism and ghettoism, I resolved to squat down on the marbled floor.

There, atch! by the steaming piles of humanities, I laid down my cumbersome loads.

Meanwhile, a well-mannered Gringo, Mr. Thomas Smith, making muzzling lips of approval and disbelief, tapped my back to congratulate me.

"Stupendous! Querido Amigo, Eddie Beato, you are a funny creature of civilization —welcome to Post-America.”

Thus, my new outfit, as a waggish chimpanzee, would fare well with Los Gringos, for, as I said, they are rarely hostile towards a foreigner or an immigrant with a penchant for comedy and entertainment.

Therefore, to put on a “gringo outfit“ would suit me well. And nowadays, it is pretty common to find this amusing creature of modern society, a grasshopper, seeking an opportunity in the United States of America.

Upon arriving in midtown Manhattan, and after some hesitation, I made up my mind to go to 59th Street, Columbus Circles, and lo behold! like numberless sprawling cows grazing on a vast green field, in the very heart of the Central Park, I saw what appeared to be white people, supine, motionless, basking under the sunshine of fame, superiority and luxury.

These people were half-naked, and I was quite embarrassed to see such shameless nudity in public display. These early memories impressed me deeply, for I knew that, while staying in America, my existence would be tasked to finding amicability with these peevish, incomprehensible amigos from the North. Thus, every time I met a whitish person and he/she would treat me well, I would lift up my eyes to heaven in thanksgiving:

"Señor, muchas gracias, for it seems that you have sent me a beautiful angel to guide my steps."

These people were depicted in famous paintings, and here and there in my country, I saw traces of the white civilization, but in USA, their presence seems ubiquitous, religious, political, omnipresent, overpowering!

In Downtown Manhattan, whereat quite often I felt reduced to a mere pygmy, a tiny idiot babbling the English language, these throngs of peoples and nations seemed to me like a mighty army stretching far into the haze of distance; hither and thither, in every nook and cranny, lo! I saw the white people, strutting back and forth, shopping, dancing, singing, sashaying, flying, crawling, creeping, wobbling, leaping, flitting all over the scene like restless ants in a confusing maze of endless activities in New York City.

Buzzing and fluttering, like lightning beetles in the evening hours of action, Broadway musicals, drama, films and movies, these folks or immigrants appeared to me like a swarm of locusts barreling into every square and quarter of civilized society.

The question of race and adaptation is a daunting task. Spaniard artist Salvador Dali, who had lived for many years in USA, went back to his beloved mother land, Spain. Albert Einstein never denied his Jewish ancestry, and was even asked to run for presidency in Israel.

To deny the most subtle aspects of human interaction based on the color of your skin and phenotype would be sheer ignorance, because humans, for the most part, are led by the deceptive power of sight rather than by the sound argument of reason and humanity.

Discrimination based on the survival of specific groups of people may challenge any ethical system. It has nothing to do with racism but with survival.

How often was I discriminated based on the color my skin and phenotype?

I have no clue. But, greatness for any human being, regardless of race or nationality, is to be lofty, noble, genuine, courageous, to accept yourself with your peculiar traits and characteristics. Such conviction would infuse and imprint beauty, originality, fire and strength on everything you do. Because, it is my firm belief, that we are all dear children of humanity...

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After my short entertaining interlude with people’s subtle instinctual social spectrum and interactions, let us highlight, once again, in a few biological brushstrokes —pertaining to skin color and chromatic intelligence— what is obvious albeit currently ignored by the psychologist and sociologists of civilized society.

1. At the basic instincts of survival, most people are often drawn together by “the emotional rapport of skin-color, “ (even within the church) which is a universal principle to be found in the biological dynamics of Mother Nature.

2. Chromatic intelligence is deeply anchored, as a law of nature (peruse my writings on perspicacity and animal intelligence) not only among human most basic instincts —particularly those related to survival— can influence social dynamics. To ignore these simple facts would be tantamount to ignorance, as we currently witness in USA (American hallucination) because survival, as observed by Darwin, is at the core of nature.

Among humans, the “emotional rapport established by skin color” reflects a deeper connection that can sometimes override individual differences.

3. Biological Dynamics: The affinity people feel towards others of similar skin tones is rooted in the biological principles of evolution and survival. This instinctual bond can foster a sense of community and belonging.

4: A Universal Principle among humans and animal alike is the chromatic intelligence of survival: this is not a mere abstract concept, but it is deeply rooted in the instinctual phenomena of emotional rapport of “empathy and kindred” as a universal principle.

It's a natural inclination that transcends cultural boundaries, suggesting that color, in this case, serves as a social anchor.

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Chromatic intelligence: On Wordless Communication And Physiognomy

Among people, volk, as observed by F. Nietzsche, communication is, first and foremost, profoundly biological, instinctual, where words fail to express, the instinct may become the surrogate of human understanding: hence the power of facial expression, and by extension, the tacit beckoning of the skin color in the rich tapestry of then human race.

The concept of chromatic intelligence not only pertains to artistic and musical experiences but also to social interactions. How individuals perceive skin color can shape their emotional connections and societal structures. These insights underscore the complex interplay between biology, psychology, and social dynamics, illustrating how chromatic intelligence extends beyond aesthetics into vital areas of human interaction: Wordless Communication.

I must here state very clearly, however sensitive to any race, bias or prejudice, that I am not a racialist, nor a racist; but If I believe Montesquieu's observations on clime, milieu, menu and how they affect and mold people's intrinsic fabric, not only at physiological levels, but even in the most subtle biological instincts, tendencies, "pre-sentiments,” then you may deem me a passive racialist along the lines of Mahatma Gandhi, Arthur Schopenhauer, Martin Luther King Jr., Henry D. Thoreau.

In fact, among any group of people of the same race, mere gestures, “tacit glimpses as conveyed through the subtle language of the countenance” would suffice to carry out the most meaningful communication. Thus, two people of the same race facing each other, could communicate at levels of intuitive perceptions (pre-fixes) that would require but few words, either written or spoken, in their social gathering.

(Note: white people, as their delicate skin is the most susceptible to faintest ruffles, nuisances, peeve, and brushes, I am bound to admit, are the most facially expressive, not only in what is praiseworthy, but also in what is apprehensive in human nature).

Of course, as we get older, our human nature, regardless of race, seems to finally stamp our faces with the book-revelation of our personality.

The fact that we often fail to unravel a potential character, good or bad in the incipient fruition phase, does not render my observations completely erroneous, for the art of reading faces is a long training, and it is not based on rational inquiries, but on purely intuitive perceptions, the wisdom of psychology in the keenest minds.

This is not just a cultural or social phenomenon, but it is highly biological, profoundly psychological. It is just incredible how two Chinese people could understand each other with little facial expression; and with some Hindu people, loquaciousness and constant chattering (so common among some tropical people), are capital sins, for periodic silence and pauses, as a cardinal virtue to the wonderful quality of the afore-mentioned Oriental people and their mild ethical system, a placid mellifluous conversation would amount, nay, accrue to a highly more meaningful, instructive and enjoyable communication than the most pedantic of conversations.

Silence and pauses, are, therefore, the hallmark of the wonderful character of the Oriental People, to interact with them is to undergo an internal transformative experience, a divine metamorphosis. We close our eyes, and forthwith, may feel the healing pulses of the soul with a greater sense of self-awareness, peace and well-being with the sublime teachings of the oriental masters.

The serious reader would peruse the placid writings of my admirable Jiddu Krishnamurti: "The Art of Listening." The nobility of his writings, the serenity of his orderly organized thoughts, the gentle ripples of his ever-flowing ideas could be compared to St. Paul's uplifting epistles (Letters to the Philippians) to the early humble Christians. But in post-America, peevishness, loquaciousness, incomprehensible chattering, babbling and noise have made our gathering-places an unpleasant experience.

Quoting from Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, What Is Noble page 217:

"...Therefore the human beings of one people understand one another better than those belonging to different peoples even if they employ the same language; or rather when human beings have long lived together under similar conditions (of climate, soil, danger, needs, and work), what results from this is people 'understand' one another --a people.”

Now, when speaking of the remarkable Power of Wordless Communication among certain races, with the "White Man," I must here concede, that few people could have ever found the eyes as living portals to the very seat of the soul, but also the brow (seat of fine thoughts for intelligent people, and accordingly, they would have a proper forehead) and even mere twisting or pressing of the lips have been found to be so necessary when conversing: it is, indeed, a faithful representation of their innermost thoughts, feelings, ideas.

Thus, moral character, good or bad, and the most recondite, indeed, hidden aspects, impulses of human nature, as conveyed by the transparent and yet subtle language of physiognomy, is quite often more manifest in the faces of some White people than in the serene mild expression of the Oriental stock.

Having said this, I am not denying this most ancient of wordless language (not to be confused with Gesticulation) to any group of people, but that with some Northern people in their cold habitation, as they age tempered and conditioned by the most admirable, self-imposed disciplines and temperance, the outward nature would be molded and agreeably affected by countless expressions as aroused by sundry passions and sentiments (winces, grimaces, lips-pressing and the other contortions of the face springing from both joy and pain) seem to be more pronounced in their peculiar facial features than in any other race (take a look at Rembrandt's self--portraits)

I have finally made it clear, that those Homo sapiens whom can think like Socrates or Plato, should have the right to become rulers and kings:

On the very top will be the Ancient Greeks of Pericles; then, if I believe Nietzsche, the strongest tribes from the Northern part of Europe could teach us something on matters of government, industry and methodology --even Dante Alighieri would agree with me.

Beauty and Form, the noblest poetry and literary afflatus, the best form of writings and euphonious sounds come from the divine Children of Aurora and Virgil.

The Oriental races, especially the Chinese, could teach us about diet, meditation, the art of listening, on how to live long, on how to prepare a good hot tea and so on and so forth.

The Tropical Races, so well known for their delightful humor and admirable knacks for sports, great orators and preachers, remarkable flair for imitation, family gathering, religions and warm affections, the match for women's erratic caprices, should be allowed to regale us with many forms of entertainment.

Serious music should be taught by the ancient Germans of J.S. Bach; and the Art of Refinement and Delicacy, like a fine Chopin's Polonaise or Mazurca, should be learned from the French People of William A. Bouguerrau.

From the Hindu people, we may learn something: the foggy history of by-gone, pre-dawned civilizations --a dream-time (Upanishads, the Mahabharata, extremely old literature). These mild people are the off-spring of some now forgotten great civilization, hence their very high ethical system...

Final Notes On Race and Religion:

Joseph Smith, whose ancestor didn't spring out from the Middle East, nor from the mainland of Asia, was founder of the admirable Mormon religion, and he was a devoted polygamist; but this was a wise decision if you consider how the white people in USA are being quickly out-raced by other people.

To this day, the Jews of Moises, the Arabs and the other Semitic errant races, especially the Gypsy people --condemned to roam the earth like the wandering Cain of the Old Testament, are still looking for the promised land of Milk and Honey in the Middle East.

Nevertheless, we all need hope and faith, so would remind us Harold Camping, the learned seer of doom, who in a gruff tone of solemnest seriousness, accurately predicted the Second Coming of the Lord back On May 21, 2011. Soon after, it was the sedate, senile prophet himself who collapsed by the faulty gravity of his imminent prophecies.

The scandalous fallacy of Harold Camping's prophecy was not so much in the abstractus as it was in the concrete fulfillment of the specific doomsday, because any serious mind, by a careful study of History and Its Moral Lessons, would be able to predict, indeed, with great accuracy and scholarly research, how and where a civilization would decline, and finally, how it would fall by simply tracing the underlying forces that, however stealthy, mummy-like and furtive, could be found to obey the gruff voice of history.

The truth is that, whether you like it or not, the sacred writings of the Iliad and Mahabharata, and more so, the ineluctable truths as found in the New Testament, are as relevant today, as when in the wood or in the desert of hope and despair (constant exodus for the Hebrew people of Moises), life was a matter of struggle, sword, bloodletting, hardships for the hapless caveman of Charles Darwin.

Today, modern man, rightly called mass-man by my admirable Jose Ortega y Gasset, is not a free thinker but a stranded wayfarer —a cosmic caricature— a confused character in the play-thing and fleeting pageants of so-called "civilized society:" sometimes we may see the creature sashaying back and forth the brilliant pathway of success, happiness, narcissism (especially some charismatic evangelists and pseudo geniuses): but soon after, we may find the aforesaid character, yawning and immured in the comfort-walls of complacency, unsound promises, ennui, disappointment.

Such generation is no less haunted by premonitions, shadows, ghosts, shackles and suicidal thoughts than the troglodytic people of Plato’s Republic. Nevertheless, there are the looming ominous clouds of further economic depressions for countless people out there; and any serious mind could see where and whither, our dear American people, like a cattle grazing in a green field of Nihilism and Consumerism, have finally lost the sturdy qualities that once made them so powerful, punctilious and industrial.

Surprisingly, our post-modern generation, especially the Western countries, USA and Europe, may think themselves finally free from new throngs of Hunnish barbarians, strange religious sects, genies and ghouls coming in-land from those parched dismal lands, indeed, desolate places, smirched with the blood of many martyrs and prophets, realm of despair and fanaticism for countless souls waiting for a day of prophetic fulfillment.

Meanwhile, my American country men, like the ancient Romans, however pragmatic, intelligent, superior and politically savvy, are, frankly speaking, but deceiving themselves on the table-talk of self-congratulatory odysseys, rhetorics and twaddles. On this old mid-hellish planet Earth, realm of seismic surprises, snakes, thistles, thorns, wars, famine, revolutions, convulsion, we are all compelled to wake up to the reality of existence....

(Note: India, in all likelihood, enjoyed a great civilization, a great nation comparable to United States of America. Today the Hindu people are a mild generation, docile, listening, sheepish, metaphysical, passive but beset by countless squalid ghettos and slums; and in every nook and cranny, there are many ascetic people stricken with poverty, malnutrition and yoga practices.

Atch! Unforgettable Night of March 26, 2011! Music or Noise?

The other day, much distracted by a folk song, Old Black Joe, ever re-sounding in my head, I almost broke right foot as I stepped on the very edge of a slab by 164TH Street, Broadway avenue, Washington Height.

The acute pain was most piercingly felt in my poor swelling toes and conscience, and I closed my eyes to reduce the intensity of my excruciating agony. As I write these notes, the memory of such sad experiences, still throw me back in a state of fear and apprehension: my sad musical experiences in Washington Height.

Those were the nights, when I had to suffer quietly the forever-continuum of a mercilessly repeated beat-whip. The most ingenious devil was much at pain to let the other tortured tenants know that this was his sole domain; that if we were to remain safe under his hauling clutches, let this awful music keep us within bound while dancing this most horrendous of hellish conceptions: the netherworld of every big city's din and noise. Later on, I felt that my faculties became dull, toad-reactive, insipid and addle-pated at every turn of thought --I am not kidding.

Of course, let me assure you that that colossal stupidity was not wholly mine to blame, many other people may share the same fate.

How many?

Billions of people never bother about where to find good music and the blissful hours spent near a lovely wood. And even if they find it, they would have but little joy in such thrilling trills, shades, harmonies, it would pass their tufted ears and eyes as boring and lackadaisical.

How often I had to bolt to the Hudson River, Fort Tryon Park, the Central Park, to look for another "I am" in the promising voyage of this short existence, and perhaps, if fate is on my side, I would bring in fresh healing-ambrosia into my nostrils, another, preferable ethereal form of silent existence: a quiet existence, that is, nevertheless, very healing, inspiring and consoling, like a tad-sip of hot Chinese tea at early morning.

If one cannot compose good music, it would be better to keep silence. But in a broader scheme of things, even noise may have a utilitarian place in this mad universe of Carl Sagan.

Transcendentally speaking, in the question of good and evil, music may have some decided influence in the development of our character. And quite often, we may find a well-disposed attitude in those quiet fellows who are fond and adaptive to an easy-going melody: the starry indigo sky and the boon of capricious nature.

Against any type of prejudice and bias, music may touch the deepest emotions that define us as humanity, and this may go beyond the phenotype. With due respect to any race or any ethnic group out there, I don't find any correlation, whatsoever, between the most sensible forms of music, art, religion, justice and the constitutional make-up of whole nations replete with noise --bad guys equipped with computers.

Nevertheless, there is here and there, in every country, a very common propensity, a bad predisposition among certain people, however hard-working and decent, these “god-bless-you folks” would prefer din and noise for the music of the Eastern Island's birds —the latitude of the soul.

In Manhattan, to my surprise, I have seen many bleached-out, blond creatures, dancing a most appalling Danza Macabre while mocking the sublime Music of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony; and likewise, I have seen many a poor, indigenous stranded creatures from South America, nay, people of color as well, the most faithful devotees for the superior music and quality of the Germanic tribes...

Intelligence and Music

Striking a yes with Montesquieu, On the Spirit of Laws, back in the eighteen century, some white folks composed remarkably well because their clime and temperament, aptly appropriate for deep thoughts, and these frigid places allowing little revels in the hours of leisure in the open air, inside their dwelling place, the European races, in profound introspection and philosophizing, could fetch out the most subtle, profound reverberating echoes as found in the soul's sense of awe.

But this musical sensibility may be patrimony to us all, we all may share, to a certain extent, of this heaven-sent Phoenix-blessing, provided all the attendant circumstances of a natural milieu free from noise and pollution, would eventually allow whole groups of people, regardless of race, to become divine and receptive to those rebounding sounds: a supernal music that may attest to a Superior Form of Thinking Power: myriad concepts revolving the spacious realm of our mysterious mind's abode, whence bouncing-off light-reflexes and insights are constantly checked and re-checked by our self-awareness; and with this terrific self-felt statement "I AM," the pleasantest sound-feelings navigating, to and fro, in the unfathomable depths of our all-sharing uncreated consciousness.

Hence, a type of high-pitched Intelligence would eventually be developed, a form of intuitive perceptions, and even pre-fixed feelings prior to our daily experiences, that seem more chromatically attuned with a higher understanding of ourselves; and with this arcane knowledge, a complete revaluation on the true definition of evolution through divinity: the phenomena of the psyche.

(Note: To understand the philosophy of Immanuel Kant, one would have to listen to a superb violinist, Albert Einstein knew this trick of epistemology, cognitive intelligence through the dint of music.)

We must admit, that those groups of people badly reared under the “peal-affliction” of very coarse sounds and loud percussion, would have a less agile mind in the apprehension of the most subtle strokes of the brain's susceptibility and capacity therein.

To comprehend this mysterious world of one thousand impressions, sundry perceptions and one thousand enigmas as those mysterious echoes in the music of Claude Debussy, one would be required to live in a healthy environment, even to scan the cumulous clouds' hieroglyphs from time to time!

Sadly, nowadays, through such heinous din and noise as we hear everywhere in New York City, the concept-sphere of our mind has become weak, feeble, dull and superficial, neither reaching, nor conceiving any close-knit relationship between the many forms of representational connotations, motley perceptions and the cobweb of feelings in sentient beings that, fortunately like those of humans, have susceptible power for beautifully compounding and interweaving the most disconnected data and events for an aesthetic flight-delight within artistic configuration --this could be the golden nexus for a privileged mind!

Sounds, numbers, figures and concepts, from a higher unity of thought-material and evolutionary perspective, are intrinsically related. Unfortunately, today, in these decadent times, in the scale of chromatic thinking for the Mass of Ortega y Gasset in the nadir of degeneration, the most basic timbre of low frequencies and pitch, have been relegated to a type of very monotonous tune that , like the Yahoos of Mr. Swift with their awful grimaces and long faces, such noisy music do smack of a certain squalid section of our society: the Pit of Hell, is not a theological conundrum, it is a reality!

Frankly speaking, the most beautiful form of music, like a fine French Belle, should have, by necessary, a greater palette of colors, sounds, perfumes, texture, pitch, dynamics, variety and so on and so forth.

Chapter IX

On Organic Intelligence of the Bucolic People - Their Astonishing Intuitive Powers!

On Ghosts, Prescience, the Bucolic Mind, and the Unconscious

– Spirit-seeing in Schopenhauer
– The pre-sentiments of rural people
– Oneiric experience and déjà vu
– The cobwebs of consciousness
– Organic intuition vs mechanistic reductionism

We have arrived at one of the most fascinating aspects of Chromatic Intelligence, Organic Cognition. As the term implies, organic is anything emerging from the ever-blasting forces of Mother Nature.

This short essay, On The Pre-Sentiments of the Bucolic People, is therefore an appendix, to my reflections on Chromatic Intelligence, viz., Organic Cognition, which is an-all embracing intelligence, the “will-to-exist” which, according to Arthur Schopenhauer (the World as Will and Representation) is the “noumena” (the thing in itself) of the philosophy of Immanuel Kant.
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Civilization was once tantamount to civility, respect, culture and the elevation of the human type, but as observed by Spanish philosopher Jose Ortega y Gasset (the Revolt of the Masses), "ours is a time of rampant barbarism" and the mechanization of every aspect of our modern society is killing the soul.

Of course, few civilized people would go to the woods to strike kindred with a four-legged animal or a savage, a Hilly-Joe, but much to my surprise, Mother Nature could still produce some of the finest creatures in the cultivation of religious sensibilities, aesthetic sensitivity, intelligence and high-pitched intuitive powers to unravelling the conundrums of existence.

​Therefore, it is time to inquire on the inner fabric of some former human beings, their "warmhearted sentiments," as perhaps the real stuff for a happy existence: vita beata!

​The bucolic people of the old days were perhaps too superstitious, but sundry paranormal experiences added to a greater theater (vital pre) in the screen of their humble pastoral existence.

How real were these stories of ghosts and fairy tales?

Of course, the subjective mind is far more apt to strike rapport with such hazy reality. For the peasants in the wood, Nature was a theater of grandest scope, comparable to our latest movies, the special effects of the show-reality in the wonder of tele-vision.

But let our faculties be enveloped by all the attendant circumstances in the wood of yore, and how we seem to be transformed by a higher-uplifting elation of being in touch with a greater whole!

Henry D. Thoreau almost unfathomed this uncanny network, divine nexus and interconnectedness with Mother Nature, but it was Arthur Schopenhauer who found the brandishing key to unlocking the secrets of the Mother Earth (Faust Part 2, Goethe).

Nay, sometimes our mind seems to feel the pre-fixes of pre-sence and pre-science in ways we could scarcely grasp with our intuitive perception, nor can we always bring the "chilly pre" to our cognitive powers (or intellectual apprehension) with clearer understanding as when we chance ourselves into the uncharted bosky domains of Mother Nature; and herein, the mind is struck with the Sense of Awe, Sublime and Dread!

We cannot deny this fact, that many human beings, however averse with any interaction with the dread-sense of the unknown, have a penchant for such chilly experiences (ghosts), a contradiction that must be sought in our inner-sense of brotherhood with a greater thoroughfare with other sentient beings.

Therefore, though our awful experiences with ghostly specters from beyond are often associated with fear and premonition, we cannot deny a "gloomy delight" when talking about ghosts, for it is, on closer investigation, a connatural urge to dispel such doubts in the reality of spirit apparitions: the pre-stroke of our consciousness, "Will-to-Exist," as not being confined to the fixed ticks in the clock of linear time.

This general curiosity is deeply seated in our human nature; for, our five senses could not, in all their subtleties or perceptive powers, confine or encase our consciousness to this mere immediate reality: virtual reality.

Indeed, there are times when we are more attuned with this "Pre" of our intuitive perceptions and inquiries, a keen sense that is highly developed among certain clairvoyant women, specially if the said persons have been reared in pastoral settings, where Mother Nature could hone the mind and heartbeats to the most subtle hunches and pre- sentiments.

I regret to say, that in urban city-people, like New York with their amusing vaudevilles and their thinking machines, many indispensable sense-perceptions (pre-fixes) have become numbed and finally lost due to rampant materialism, silly tangibility, because it is a well known fact, that long-lasting, constant contiguity with solid matters could make our mind dull, insipid, lackadaisical, vapid, toad-like reactive, feeble and insensitive in the other fine mystic veils of Mother Nature. At any rate, let us re-appraise the humble peasants in the wood of yore, perhaps their ghost-stories have a kernel of truth.

Francis Bacon, at times, would recourse to the practical methods of Dr. Faust, Part 1 and Part 2 by Goethe, and if you believe in the medicinal powers of plants and the entrails of salamanders, you are not alone, countless people would subscribe to the Wisdom of Babylon and Ancient Egypt.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occult_theories_about_Francis_Bacon

Of course, however stubbornly materialistic and atheistic, some British philosophers (nineteenth century), more than the bumptious skeptics of Voltaire and Diderot, have demoted the serious Sciences of the Ancient Sage (the alchemist) as downright superstition, wizardry and ignorance.

David Hume, though a brilliant prose-writer, could not crack the head of the serpent; and Schopenhauer, more than Immanuel Kant, had perhaps untangled the serpent's coils, Will-to-Exist, even into the profoundest reaches of our unconscious.

Dreams and Fate, accordingly, are so interlaced in the understanding of our lives' unrolling scroll, that our childhood, our first brushes with the unknown (pre-sentiments), could be said to be an adumbration of the future. Therefore, an intelligent human being would trawl the pond of his mind's deepest sediments and pebbles: the prime of our infancy in the interpretation of our personal life's unrolling scroll.

Indeed, some of the most intelligent minds who ever lived, Aristotle, da Vinci, Schopenhauer, Francis Bacon, Goethe, even Immanuel Kant, had all surmised inexplainable phenomena --sometimes defying our understanding of the physical world-- in the womb of Mother Nature, the lady is pregnant with mysteries.

To the accusation of quackery, superstition and charlatanism, I would ask my reader to inquire on the lives of men the likes of Francis Bacon and Schopenhauer (On Philosophy and Natural Science, Parerga and Paralipomena, Vol. 2).

Dr. Ferdinand Ossendowski, famous for his Magnus Opus, Men, Beasts and Gods, has also touched upon Animal Magnetism and Miracles, for even in the entrails of animals, and those "meaningful meandering elements" (cup-o'-coffee's hieroglyphs) thus spelling your personals in the Wall of Destiny, may all be interlaced and interwoven in the unrolling coils of Mother Nature's serpentine forces!

To an amazing clairvoyant like Jesus Christ, such wordless language could spell your destiny, unerringly, with the exactitude of an infalible broadcaster!

Therefore, my good friend pay heeds to the meandering elements of Mother Nature, "omens and augurs," for she is the greatest instructor. Although unschooled and illiterate, some people are just gifted with the pre-fixes of pre-science, pre-sentiments, and pre-monition!
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As observed by Francis Bacon, Esoteric Knowledge without pragmatic methods is simply rubbish, twaddle, waste of time and efforts, and if you are looking for true magic and miracles, then let us seek healing and cures in the womb of Mother Nature, but a higher pitch of wellbeing comes from the local Star: the Sun.

Chapter X

On the Unquestionable Power of Natural Light for Healing:

The Ancient Masters: Light, Pigments, Cobra-Knowledge, and the Hidden Thread of Genius
– Renaissance methodology
– Pre-Raphaelite insights
– Light as healer
– Gravity, pulleys, levers
– Artistic suppleness

​On the heels of men the likes of Francis Bacon or Leonardo da Vinci, I have my decade-old experiments on the action of Sun-Light on pigments, and perhaps their medicinal powers in our nervous system.

The Internet of Healing would be insufficient, nay, deficient without the Unquestionable Boons of Mother Nature, whose womb is said to be pregnant with surprises and magic.

For the serious reader or inquirer, there is an excellent essay by German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, the Will on Nature, but some scientist may ask for tangible proofs on the action of light upon sensitive substances and their unquestionable effects on our mind and body: membranes, glands, and the brilliant insights of a remarkable man like Arthur Schopenhauer, should be taken very seriously.

Mind you, Freud, like Darwin and Nietzsche, were devout disciples of Schopenhauer, and like men possessed with a healthy disposition towards scientific experiments, they have carefully formulated their theories and hypothesis as corroborated by Mother Nature.

Light has magic, and like clever people instructed in "the medicine of ages," we ought to seek the sunshine (Natural Light) for healing with the Wisdom of the Ancient Egyptians.

It is very likely that Nordic people are more apt to be affected by baffling illnesses such as PSP, among other mysterious syndromes, perhaps traceable to the "factor of clime and milieu."

Could they be pathologically heritable?

That's an excellent question. Your scientists, at Columbia University, would need to consider the common causes, and the more likely to affect our bodies and our mind: "diet, clime and milieu."

Are Some Pigments Toxic for Our Brain?

Like pigments and the chemistry of colors, whose sensitive substances (concoction) are said to be affected by the "influence and confluence of light and dark," our brain, the sarcophagus of the mind, ought to be illumined by the power of our conviction (will-to-exist).

Yes. I am totally convinced on the healing power of Natural Light: the Sun!

My oil painting, Precious Memories, a luminous canvas, was placed in a pastor's office, next to a window, and for years, received the life-given beams of the blazing sun, and that's why it regained the Amazing Coloration!

The secret magic of the luminous colors is the Glorious Light of the Sun.

As observed by the Pre-Raphaelites Brotherhood, if a painting (like our mind's inner sarcophagus) is stashed in a dark room, then the fiery colors (mental acuity) would lose their glare, vivacity and beauty.

My second painting, Paradise Lost, unlike Precious Memories, has not been basking under the sunshine's resurrecting powers, hence its bleak, dark, somber tones and gloomy atmosphere. It is, nonetheless, a very uplifting painting when juxtaposed against Precious Memories (Childhood).

The Ancient Tree of Good and Evil: Some Observations on the Ancient People:
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[Sacred knowledge of the ancient priest should not be revealed, because like a cobra, if untamed by the artful skills of a capable master, the snake could prove to be lethal and destructive.}

Cobra-Sacred-Secret Knowledge, is as old as the Ancient Egyptian High Priests, but such esoteric wisdom is not imparted to our generation, neither can it be taught to a block-headed person: a simpleton with clumsy, slouching gait and a stupid face stamped with the lower instincts of the vulgar, crass and uncouth: the automaton of the thinking machines.

Some secret knowledge, due to its sensitive materials therein, like the sensitive action of a fine pianist, could only be taught to a finely-drilled person of tested probity, intelligence, diligence and maturity.

To a stupid person, the Internal Music of Pythagoras's Higher Sphere, is simply a cacophony of din and noise, and like imbecile beasts of burden, always building clumsy pyramids for the egomaniacs of grandiosity, so they are to remain enchained in the "recurrent loop of two simple chords:" the Tonic and Dominant. For the remarkable brains of these dear folks, AI-generated music, much in vogue today, is as good and appealing, or even better, than the classics.

Of course, the first perquisite to our internal development, is a blessed disposition towards the ineffable music of Mother Nature (you may wish to peruse the organic insights of Walden Pond, Sounds, by my admirable Henry D. Thoreau)

If a person cannot find a congenial rapport with the elements Mother Nature, then he or she cannot be admitted in the Holy Temple of Muse or Parsifal. Such person, is legion, and cannot be admitted inside the pyramid of the ancient masters.

Time and time again, Leonardo da Vinci would ask the initiate to remain a servant under the tutelage of a capable master. And let the child be immersed and schooled as an ever attentive observer of Mother Nature’s endless operations and biological labs.

Art and science, so interlaced and interwoven like the coils of a cobra-snake, may overlap in blissful moments of epiphanies, and it is quite a daunting task, time consuming, to untangle the riddles of your existence without a good teacher.

The life of a person's unfolding scrolls could be compared to the treacherous coils of a snake, for, however alert, unfavorable circumstances could overcome even the strong and powerful.

Nevertheless, we ought to find the "coiling thread or skein" of our personal spiritual development. Time presses on inexorably, and you would be surprised on the unpredictable unfolding scrolls of your destiny, because, at times, you almost cracked the head of the snake.

—You were so close...just missed it by a few inches!

Unfortunately, circumstances, rarely outplay her propitious moments to that glorious moment of our inner illumination and self-realization.

At times, you ought to pull your psyche out of this existential maze, full-fraught with shadows, snakes, confusion and illusive shades. Once clear of your purpose, retake your inner work with the diligence and trust of an innocent child.

A diligent initiate, depending on the grace of the gods, may need to wait decades before receiving one "untangled coil" (a veritable blessing) in the ascending scale of his of our spiritual development.

Such dawning day, illumination, could happen at any moment, like the breaking of bulky clouds amidst the glorious sky of light and meaning in this short life. I know some sad people, after years of studious hours and devotion, unfortunately, never received the blessings of that glorious day.

Why?

Ringlets, like the serpentine tangles of wretched people enslaved by their unconscious bad habits, may remind us of the great challenge for the neophyte, the novice or initiate, for every coil ought to be unraveled, and this is not, by any stretch of the imagination, an easy task. The Ancient Serpent of Genesis is a fact of life!

Once trained in the basic rudiments of the Cobra-Snake, alertness (acuity, higher consciousness) and discipline (morning rites and rituals aimed at the ascending knowledge of the sun) the neophyte would then apply the "Sacred Knowledge" to the "internal pulleys and levers" of our spiritual ascension.

I cannot reveal this knowledge online, because the pulleys, bars, levers and pivots ought to be found in the "Will to Exist" of Arthur Schopenhauer's philosophy.

I hope to have revealed to you some secret knowledge of the conscious vs the unconscious. Such knowledge, which is universal, could be useful for the arts, nay, could be applied to many an area requiring both intellectual stamina and artistic expression.

Conscious vs the Unconscious:

Leonardo da Vinci, like Phidias, Michelangelo, William A. Bouguereau, possessed some secret knowledge which could place you in the order of Melchizedek, the High Priest, alongside the giants of Ancient Egypt, or, simply, an astonishing human being capable to cracking down "the head of a cobra snake" in one single strike of genius.

The child, a Rennaissance Mind, should be trained, from an early age, to see universals in representational imageries, hidden symbols, sacred numerology and the artworks of the old masters.

If your child could resume millennia in short instances of epiphanies, then he is either a Saint or a Genius. Like Champollion, the French divine Child, he or she could decipher the meaning of ages in just a few scattered stones.

A cobra is symbolic of the artistic mind: vigilant, alert, penetrating and keenly perceptive, has often been associated with royalty, nobility, high-pitched intelligence, suppleness and greater sway over the common blockheaded simpleton. Therefore, avoid clumsy movements, and even in your comportment, strive for integrity, grace and suppleness.

​Teach your child to stand defiant and resolute, and let him shake off any traits of cowardice or laxity (laziness).

Test your child for diligence, discipline, methodology, probity, and let him or her master the craft (action sensitivity, digital and mental subtleties) in less than five years.

All we need is methodology, application and practice, but above all, we ought to think like a Renaissance Artist. Remind him or her about the secrets of the masters, Gravity (Holy Grail of Intelligence), and how we ought to take advantage of this essential natural law to overcoming obstacles.

—Move your wrist, it is as supple as a cobra!

Pulleys, Bars and Levers:
Wrist-Moving, Grace and Expressiveness —the Suppleness of the Artistic Mind!

Let's say you are looking for the hidden knowledge of the Ancient Egyptian pyramids-builders. You may say that the main obstacle for any exertion is "GRAVITY," which, from our human perspective, poses great difficulty to lifting stones weighing over five tons.

Either the pyramid-builders were giants, or at some distant past, the "pulling-force" of Gravity was weaker!

Some philosophers have already pointed out to the latter: Gravity may not be a stable constant force throughout millennia, therefore, some people, thousands of years ago, were perhaps taller, hardier, more robust and industrious, sturdier and smarter than us, Homo sapiens, and it is very likely that the giants of yore could also claim a greater sway over the smaller ones…

—The Elongated Skull of the Ancient Peoples

As I have said in some of my previous writings concerning the mysterious society of the Ancient Egyptians, various species of the human type, and as confirmed by the fingerprints of their astonishing knowledge of the universe, have been lost in the backyard of history, or perhaps they have simply transcended this seeming dichotomies between matter and energy, distance or proximity in the will-network of CWW (Cosmic Wide Web).

We may laugh at the ancient people, however simpleminded and superstitious, I am bound to admit "their broad canvas of spiritual sensibilities, was perhaps more keenly attuned to the awesome music of the higher spheres, nay, more receptive to this Universal Spirit: the awesome, multifarious operations of Mother Nature —source of any organic cognition anymore than a network of psychic -kinetic energies —as it is our brain a wonderful biological simulacrum of the cosmos at large.

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The Pre-Fixes of Paul Gustave Louis Christophe Doré --His Stunning Imagery and Remote Viewing ​

Did the artist really see into the womb of time and nature?

Those who have seen the dramatic drawings of Gustave Doré may wonder at the artist's astonishing imagination.

Gustavo Doré’s masterful illustration of the Divine Comedy, Milton's Paradise Lost, the Bible along other superbly illustrated literary master-pieces, remain as one of the great marvels of pictorial imagination and the power of the human mind.

By judging the stunning accuracy of his dozens of faithful beautiful illustrations, we cannot but conclude that the prolific artist was either very well read to understand the recondite tomes of classic literature, whereof some trenchant passages may require very keen understanding of the author's personality and characters: the broadest scope of descriptive words, both subjective and objective, elucidating powers in representational forms, and likewise, akin to the author's prodigious mind, an obdurate follow-up for a farewell of mutual delight into the beautiful, awesome, dreadful and sublime. Or perhaps Doré, in all likelihood, and I may subscribe to this view, could have seen into the very womb of time like a soothsayer, seer, psychic or clairvoyant!

We are tempted to believe, that in all likelihood, some-one else read aloud and explained to him separate fragments or vignettes for his clear understanding of the said classic literature.

How was Gustave Doré able to depict, so accurately, John Milton's ideas on the sublime, dreadful and beautiful, a bulky work of endless analogies, tropes and entangled similes (take a look at Paradise Lost, Book II, lines 650-1055), that even for an English scholar may demand a thorough dominion of, at least, 20, 000 English words in aesthetic configuration, broad knowledge of mythology and subtlest slants with Christian dogmas; nay, all this terribly complicated jargon, subservient to poetic rapture into the very nadir of night and the acme of light inaccessible?

Was Gustave Doré acquainted with the writings of Edmund Burke?

Was he acquainted with Immanuel Kant's treatises on aesthetics?

One plausible explanation may be furnished with this amazing fact about creative geniuses, that although many vision-artists cannot keep pace with the writer's intellectual powers —far-fetched words and high-flown lexicon— some artists do seem to perceive in the Womb of Nature the fancy of the poet's imagery and imagination.

The artist in question had probably developed certain internal-perceptions, the "dream organ or intuitive perception" of Schopenhauer's philosophy (Parerga and Parolipomena, Vol 1, On Spirit Seeing and Spirit Apparitions) thus seeing far beyond into this phenomenal reality to the "noumenal" of Kant's "thing-in-itself," —and perhaps even seeing far-off into the farthermost corners of the universe (take a look at the Fall of Satan, sublime illustration of Paradise Lost by the aforementioned French artist, Gustave Dore).

Incidentally, those serious artist-readers who are eager to having a firmer hold on their imaginative incursions into the unknown, should peruse David Ray Griffin's master-piece, Unsnarling the World Knot, which is a lucid continuation of Schopenhauer's philosophy.

Therefore, there are blessed people among us, whom, even unaware of such Pre-fixed Gifts and Pre-sentiments, could see and perceive things in ways quite contrary to the immediate testimony of our physical reality.

A sceptic neurologist would argue against this assertion, on the ground that even such subtle sensations as dreams, imagery, premonitions and visions --some barely discernible on the wakeful- state, could be the mere outcomes of flashbacks surging from the far-reaching recesses of our unconscious mind, i.e., ebbing stimuli eddying from our cerebral cortex: the mysterious network of nerves, clusters of cells, hormones, gray substances and so on, which make up the massive infrastructure of our brain. In other words, the said artist's imagination in question, is the mere plaything of myriad of direct and indirect compounding impressions and sensations as perceived through the filter of our five senses (Hume).

Nonetheless, there is a kernel of truth in this undeniable assertion, but with due respect to the integrity of our sciences, our coarse brain's countless meandering arteries, with its hitherto unknown areas of content and massive fabric (in all their fine substance, chromatic ranges of sundry sensitive stimuli and subtile perceptions therein) could not always account for some striking coincidences affecting the unfolding events of our personal life's sequels: this "intuitive perception" of having felt this "pre-fix of many pre-sentiments" (deja vu) prior to our daily experiences and the pre-sent moment of "I already knew this somehow..."

Moreover, we know and feel that many tingling emotions and sensations, whose tugs and pulse are felt strikingly felt with astonishing reality and vehemence, seem to have their origination in the very pouch of our hearts, or are sometimes conceived in the pit of the stomach of in other parts of our physical bodies!

How to explain all these riddles?

Some fine minds believe that our seemingly scattered petty trifles of our daily experiences and squabbles, even those embarrassing rubbish of our efforts, may have a cohesiveness in the "thing in itself," and that we are all part of a unifying X, (CWW, Cosmic Wide Web) like the Internet or network of your computer: a phenomenon that is not circumscribed by causes and effects, nor it is confined by the ticking clock of linear time.

Consequently, as we are all part of this all-unifying X, we, human beings along with many other sentient entities —beyond the matrix of Euclid, could very well regard ourselves, but as tiny, self-deceived, self- enclosed capsules —or droplets of individualities— rambling and ranging (no-where wayfarers without fixed point or goals) in the boundless ocean of self-awareness: the all-compassing "will-network" of this mysterious cosmos!

But more mind-boggling than this scary revelation is this jaw-dropping possibility: the farthest galactic point to the nearest quantum point in our consciousness has no relevance for this X beyond time and space.

Therefore, and in all probability, if this X is boundless and yet one in itself undivided, we may not be too far in the near future —with a clearer understanding of Kant and Einstein's transcendent voyage along the work of serious neurologists— to traverse the sidereal distance with little effort; this could be possible but in the very fundamentals of our mysterious mind, as we attune ourselves with the rest of the cosmos' many paralleled lines in a given X= present reality!

Remote viewing, in all probability, is a vague hint to a greater contact, interconnectedness with boundlessness, a "pre-fixed harbinger" to a greater dawn into the fantastic history of intelligent life and awareness: that the riddles of space and time could be overcome with a complete re-arrangement of object-subject's co-dependency, a relationship we could scarcely hint at on the inside of our mind with Kant and the mathematics of Einstein, not on the outside —as it is an impossibility to reach the nearest star with a flying machine, or a spacecraft propelled with steaming powers; but if accessible, it is only through a riveting voyage into the unplumbed cobwebs of our "will-consciousness.”

You are either with Hume (the pavement's slabs of our senses in the matrix of Euclid) or with Kant's transcendentalism, you are apace with the Phoenix Bird's Flight —above the squirrel of rationality, precluded by the impervious escarpments and high walls of our materialistic sciences!

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