Conversation Between the Phoenix Bird and Parsifal (the Frisk Squirrel: Highlands of Transylvania (448 AD).
The two philosophers, while tempered by the drafty winds of this chilly wood, replete with soul-whacking puzzles and rustles, the wee-hours for humanity, are now bound to touch upon the daunting question on the origin of evil, and whether it is objetive or subjective.
The Phoenix Bird:
"...The moon has not yet resigned her pensive journey, and with cloud-clad countenance, the demure lady has poured out her silvery light through periodic twinkles of nostalgic adieu and sighs; for, the ponderous clouds have been gathering around her cheeks, as if yearning for more odes to the human soul, yet in the sweet beams and tears of gentile Selena; and in stately steps, the receding lady walks her path-way slowly, through this downy train of laciniated forms and broken files. And yet, the dark clouds ever crowding may finally veil the crown queen's diadem, Selena, sometimes ushering in awful penumbras below, sometimes casting the whole realm of this short life in thick shadows --a grand pall, hardly endurable.
And now, let us listen to the squirrel Parsifal's own story, his impression of this Shanti-wood, and let us ask human sapience to aid the baffled mind, to help us in such moving moments along the path of Eve, to listen the wordless story, a forested world that could hardly be apprehended but through force of sensible feelings, imagination and forgiveness..."
Parsifal: "A wild lynx and an asp compelled me to consider the prospect of my night-walks in the wood, in search for safety and rest, I swiftly climbed a gnarled tree's utmost crest; but even there I was much accosted and taunted by every crawling and creeping beast; for, much in pain were they that a mere squirrel would dare wear a shining necklace --let alone presume of princely stature.
Alas, little they knew that I was simply in charge of a promise-gift to a man in the future, a most noble mission entrusted to me, that I was meant to vouchsafe the great prince with the love of an adorable woman in the past.
The night being gentle, and inviting for high thoughts poetic, I pondered within my heart, whether love and inspiration should be solely confined to human beings, and thus I made up my mind to further descry the landscape of that dear child. And thus for a riveting jaunt, a capricious fate pursued me with these other woeful shadows and premonitions: the gloom of many a sad tryst in the wood of misunderstanding and malice. Little I knew that a lynx has a short tail, nor I knew that the snake was cursed for craving immortality in a forbidden fruit. And from the tree's utmost crest, I decided to look down, and in deep sombre thoughts I scanned the Valley of Shadow..."
The Phoenix to Parsifal:
"... Dear friend and poet, tell me this: what forms or shades could haunt that night-wood?
Which feelings could have moved you downcast, and thence thus pensive beholding the highlands and valley of shadows, in thoughts less frisky meditating: and if in that sombre attitude the forest could still proffer any delightful gloom, or any other disheartening spot untouched, perhaps a nearby spinney of sweet memories, a some-where-going down the road, whereat the soul may search in vain for herself?
What late-shades thereat may hover fugitive amidst the bowers, swamps, and those groves so fraught with unknown human emotions?
Could they be amiable or hostile to the heart, or were they unfriendly to such moonlight's odes, the solace of receding days in patience --the tender twinkles of Shanti left behind?
And what could have stirred melancholy a great wayfarer like you?
Is the soul the seat of sighs and joys not yet felt in you or any other human bosom?
And the Squirrel:
"This highland is deformis, dismal beyond description, a world ever receding and rolling in endless woods, a forest that seems the habitation of spirits not yet imagined, and if monstrously conceived, here, they could find their match in grotesque groves, the fancy of many a distorted form; yet deeply sedate, they appear like sentinels, the sentries of mysteries, the futile vigils of hope, waiting for an answer, a response that always comes tardy, the to-morrow of numberless efforts in fruition and languishing expectations --Indeed, they seem serious beyond comprehension.
And when I consider the prospect of visible things, this expanse seems to stretch far into the unknown bourne: a world whose uttermost extension, although abutting with dark yonder spots here and there, the destiny or path is badly fringed with that enormous pall of night --a night pressing with many questions and enigmas; and soon it touches contiguity with a mind perplexed in ever-rolling infinity --overwhelmed with a promised distance, a promised-land not yet reached; and if any marked-point be accessible whether by hill-top, valley, fey, fen or high mountain, it only paves new path-less ways, entangled thickets, zig-zag routes athwart, tobogganing headlong ways, the brink of endless precipices and labyrinths in despair; the purposes and goals perhaps possible, but only in an ensuing death at the mercy of some cruel thing or animal.
A leap of faith may carry me on, through many efforts, standing on my feet, I am, poised awry to any snug emotion, my difficult endeavors to be pursued, but with a beast behind my back!
And where the flight of sight could no longer reach and endure any longer, it is soon shrouded in penumbras of doubts and paroxysm of scruples:
Am I a trick of chance or fate?
For, here I am alone in this Shanti-Forest, lost in cruel oblivion, lost by reasons alien and hostile to my being to blame, and my awakening is but through a "Twilight of Being." And then, I wonder, whether I am but a dream, perhaps a shadow, a fantasy in this mysterious existence, moving amidst these my only witnesses --aloof onlookers of dread and death.
A disquiet prescience assaults me, that per-chance or per-haps, not everything exists to welcome the very reason for mine being..."
Phoenix Bird:
"...Certainly, those feelings seem to haunt us all, we are all in the same wood. But with due deference to my priceless friend, I am so amazed that you, a minor cousin, could share so much of human nature, feelings and pathos! I always thought that Homo sapiens are the only sensitive beings, the only ethical species roving this hoary planet, the only circumspect bipeds endowed with that shimmering spark of intelligence, the only divine creatures vouchsafed with poetic impetus and afflatus lofty.
May you share being with our high ethics and sacred religions?
Squirrel: ”O friend! For too long we have lived next to each other, and yet, we don't know our-selves.
We are still strangers in the night. I can assure thee that the meaning of life is not just confined to ye alone.
We brisk squirrels have neither Heaven nor Hell to regret but this wood; and yet, we are quite pleased and grateful to thy Mysterious Scribe, that God of thine theological speculations and inquiries.
For my part, I deeply thank that unknown Excellent Artist, the Gentle Spirit, the Good-Willing-Breath whom thus kindly gave me no other purpose but to roam, back and forth, the fascination of my supple being --always climbing these trees!
My reason for being is just this zest-way of the wood; and my goals and marks are simply the many yes-path-ways that may allow me and my kith any possible existence. Nevertheless, I delightfully saunter next to thee my friend, next to them my dear Homo sapiens...and next to other fleeting brood.”
Phoenix Bird:
"We Christians, even though we are currently divided in many ever-heaving sects, schism, strange doctrines, tribal groups, mysterious cults, atheistic cliques, scandalous ideologies and one thousand other isms, we hold as basic premise of high civilization these principles: that to forgive and love your neighbors is the greatest good, the only testimony and evidence of high intelligence, self-awareness and survival.
Can you practice such loving-kindness and ethics with your kin.
What is evil in your sight? Or, if you have any ethical system at all?
Answer me, my dear friend.”
The Squirrel:
"What worst evil could be this, to leave such beautiful Shanti-soul behind, a pretty face receding with the demure moon, a most sensitive bucolic being, weeping through those fugitive winds, and every year, gathering autumnal leaves in her innocent lap. The poor soul wanes in hope futuristic.
O my dear soul! every creature knows her wound and tears --her personal story and prison-cell-- I know mine too, and very well.
O my goodness! How often I pondered in my heart, whether we all could live in peace.
Perhaps, evil would be that insensitivity, to see every leaf and string of the soul afore-mentioned destroyed, shorn off, shattered under the cruel scythe of time, every beam of light extinguished, a day benighted, amidst the advancing kingdom of King Nihilo and Darkness.”
Phoenix Bird: “Wow...What you say really moves me to sigh and reflect...”
Squirrel:
“Life is, indeed, a restless, challenging voyage, a terrible struggle. No sooner we reach the hill-top of our pilgrimages and high-marked aspirations, when yonder in view, lo and behold! the poor soul is overwhelmed by other as yet untrodden paths: perhaps, new valleys, new fens, unknown swamps, or perhaps the haze of distance perplexes us all. It may blur into an idyllic world, a fantastic world that the soul intuitively, somehow, infers should be her due-gift, her grand destiny.
And where the placid ocean and the pure welkin may enclasp each other, thereat we are reminded of past ages and glorious temples, the time when men like Phidias and Pericles could dream of things too divine to our religious narrow-mindedness.
A mortal being incapable of apprehending the divine in Mother Nature’s unceasing operations and holy shrines, should be regarded a miserable chirping cricket, or a swine wallowing in mud, or a wretched worm squirming in materialistic ranting, ennui and post-modern anxieties.
My consolation is to see my being unfolding, wafting in the ever-swelling, never-ending wellsprings of joy, beauty: a meaningful yes with this train of events.
Eternity be mine today! Deep in my soul, I know this hope, that one day, I will claim my right to wear this Shanti’s glistening necklace.
And then Inspiration and Perseverance will be mine too. And my Princess will rejoice, whence in the web of time, we may embrace each other, the Promised...the heavenly gifts for critters like me!
Phoenix Bird:
" ...Dear friend! We are now ranging the Web of Time and Space! Let us take a quick survey into the history of time and space in this wild wood.
Is time leading us some-where?
Parsifal:
"What shocking disappointments and troubles may heave, heap and pile up in the realm of this sad existence for Homo Sapiens?
Let us descry the upper-crust of your mad odysseys in this world, this hoary abode of failed utopias, those badly hatched systems always going to wreck and wrack.
What shocking surprises are always simmering in the womb of whimsical history and those terribly bungled experiments?
Could they impregnate that unstable hag ((history) with more horrid surprises?
Let us reflect on all those bloody, horrifying chronicles of Mankind's mad wanderings and desolation in the waste lands of history, their amazing travails for the last two thousand years, long before the Great Master was nailed on the woody stick of suffering and his disheartening outcry:
'Eli Eli lema Sabachthani?'
(My God, why have you forsaken me?)
The mystery of suffering seems to be imbedded in the core of human nature.
Think of all those ridiculous wars fought for the sake of Helen's rosy cheeks (the Iliad of Homer), or perhaps the head-scratching bickering and skirmishes and feuds among brothers and sisters for the little plot of clod cast upon their graveyard.
Consider all the plunders, untold carnages, conquests and bloodbaths to pleasing Alexander's self-aggrandizement and covetous ego.
Nay, ponder in your heart, the grim cruelty of Attila and the Huns, their all-destructive raids into the heart the Roman Empire: their dismal unimaginable pool of innocent bloodsheds, their unmerciful slaughters in this ever-recurring tragedies for the human race.
These are the grimmest beasts that are forever creeping from the entrails of history. Devils in human form, those Niezschean over-men, those masters who seem to trudge and straddle the gloomy horizon of our receding utopias and languishing hopes —always at the price of our scrawny trusting hands.
Let us remember Napoleon Bonaparte, his appalling enterprises, vile ratting deeds and atrocities, ensuing in ghastly debacles and monstrous maelstrom of consternation in the latter days of Europe: the Second World War. Human history, cruelties and destruction hardly achieved by men who did not have the cannons and the artillery...
But how about that fantastic Promised Ideology of Togetherness?
Indeed, we stand united, always waiting in the to-morrow of our men's fabulous utopias and chimeras.
Consider the high toll of casualties due to the erratic passions of your brilliant political thinkers, their unintelligible chattering, nonsensical twaddles, their clumsy-halting political treatises and conspiracy theories –especially those who are so fond of the Ancient Greeks and the progress of knowledge as always paving the path for civilized society.
How are we going to chew their cud in our full mouth?
All these books and philosophers have amounted to naught. Their utopias are but grandiose projects quickly crumbling down by their own cumbersome weight and colossal fallacies.
Indeed, these men are wrong concerning the ever-linear progress of our civilized society, a world beset with challenges and dangers ever greater by the day.
And yet, read their skirmishes in the daily news of fame and success, their most trivial disagreement, petty trifles, squabbles, squalling, flinching and feigning bipartisan gatherings at the table-talk of kindred souls.
You may add to this list, our constant debauchery, gluttony, avarice, arrogance, petulance, sexual scandals, hubris and sordid behavior among certain high-ranking oligarchs.
But I would not mention a devil like Adolf Hitler, or, a monster-conception like Stalin, or the other creepy ogres in the backyard of History, for, they would make us gnash and grind our teeth in a fit of epileptic attacks.
Which creature would dare call this world-morgue a pleasant sojourn, a riveting jaunt, a pleasant wood?
My friend, we don't wrestle against flesh and blood (Ephesians Chapter 06: 11) but against spiritual powers in high places.
Where is Shanti?
Peace be with you.
Parsifal (the Squirrel):
“My great friend, we finally agree on certain points:
Who is to blame for all these raids threatening my virgin wood?
That the current type of Homo sapiens we have today ruling our beloved planet is indeed a puzzle cannot be overstated. These destructive species should be feared alongside the roaring lion and the venomous snake mamba, or the other frightful beasts: the all-swallowing dragon Komodo or their distant sire the dinosaur.
We may find these dear gentlemen pondering and marveling upon the mystery of their own existence --and one may wonder on the reason of their being.
Why would Mother Nature allow a type of beast, human beings, which endowed with the shimmering sparks of reason, and the pangs of conscience, shall pose such great a threat to the other peaceful kin and kith: the other innocent brothers and sisters frolicking in the wood of Shanti?
Enough has been said on the incurable tendency of Homo sapiens, who do not obey the Law, but only through fear, duress, intimidation and punishment.
For what is the state of man without the state machine, the steel-machine to protect him from his fellow creatures, the savvy devils whom no sooner would assault him and deprive his existence of any sense of dignity and respect?
For it is a well known fact, that the future of Homo sapiens cannot be other than the fixed resolutions of their past crimes, wars, forays, slaughters, incursions, and those gruesome deeds exceeding those of the rapacious hyena, cannier than the loner tiger, a serial killer, worse than a ravenous wolf set loose on the surface of the Earth (Homo Homini Lupus).
These are, by any stretch of the imagination, humans or devils, frightening evil deeds of darkness, aborti of natura, begotten, committed or perpetuated by the same instinctual impulses which spur the other beasts for survival. Nevertheless, few animals would derive pleasures from inflicting pains upon others.
---Don't ye think so?"
Phoenix Bird: At this point, we both held silence, for the mysteries of iniquities, by any stretch of the imagination, defy our comprehension.
Nevertheless, I was so curious concerning the mysteries of iniquities, the origin of evil, and I felt compelled to asking my illustrious master what are his thoughts on the origin of evil, and why did the apostle John, as we peruse the Holy Writ, compare Satan to an ancient serpent?
‘The huge dragon, the ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, who deceived the whole world, was thrown down to earth, and its angels were thrown down with it. and the authority of his Anointed.’ (Revelation, Chapter 12:09)
My master, while fixed in cogitation deep, continued his take on the mysteries of iniquities, and I held reverencial silence for such an amazing lecture.
More On Suffering, the Meaning of Life and the Origin of Evil
Parsifal: “Having admitted suffering as a universal condition for sentient beings, we should not be surprised to find shocking traces of resentment and, in the most intelligent animals, i.e humans, dogs and cats, et al., underlying many a unforgiving heart, there are to be found unknown awful precipices and palpitations of retaliation, revenge, destruction --the sad discords of malice and depravity!
When brooding on the starless realm of Hades and Death, I dare not enter into such Dantesque representations of the grotesque: a type of human degeneration which could only awake in our bosom a sense of foulest disgusts: biological brush-strokes finally ensuing in scummy decomposition, meaningless putrefaction in this purposeless aim-of-life for every organic brush-stroke in the biological dynamics of existence.
I cannot believe that I will finally be evicted from this physical body like an execrable rat.
It is, nonetheless, a very obscure fact of life, and yet, a reality for every organic matter with no other purpose to exist but for recurring death.
Suffering and Death may lead us all to wonder whether there is to be found in certain living entities such boldness and resolution:
A) To declare war on the fundamentals of life:
B) A total hatred for the essential principles of life as we know it.
Among some serial killers, there is to found a type of self-negation, not through the courageous act of suicide, but through the path of vindication and maximized destruction for others.
Accordingly, we may infer this awful fact of life, on the throes of unspeakable suffering, and over great periods of time in the slimy lab of Mother Nature, many scary entities could have assumed their current monstrous physical forms that so horrify us beyond rationality (e.g. the crafty snake in the Garden of Eden).
Crawling the scorched lands of the Planet Earth, some snakes are said to have diabolical horns sticking out of their warty heads.
Such creepy entities, however goaded to move on by the smart beats and whip of constant pains and suffering, may have rather resolved to exist for evil sake alone.
And so they exist, solely, for the sake of inflicting on others a con-natural propensity for malice, depravity and hatred. This is (…) the arsenal of their unquenchable wrath and revenge.
Sentience, at times, can become the Pit of Hell. If these scary entities suspect the other heart feeling and thinking, then there is enough anger so as to adding more suffering and destruction on the surface of the Earth.
To a certain extent, the Judea-Christian religion may have a grain of truth in ascribing the Genealogy of Objectified Evil as something that could be alien to human consciousness (1 Peter 5: 08).
Can evil exist independently of the human mind?
Take heed, there are, however deeply seated in the abysmal, bottomlessness of every one's mind and heart, daunting psychological crevices, delicate rifts concerning the subjectivity and transiency of our erratic passions.
The stuff of the human heart is as explosive as any niter or dynamite. The higher the sensitivity, the more painfully acute the twinges of the soul. Intelligence not always accrue to wellbeing and benevolence.
It is believed that, upon our coming into this world, the bitter seeds of remorse and pains may be deeply seated in every one's psyche, but some, whether by predestination or damnation, may simply lose the redeeming pricks of conscience. These devils in human form are said to be bereft of pangs, qualms and scruples.
But more surprising than bitterness and frustration, there is to be found, even among the finest human beings, a certain odious sostenuto in potential, a certain universal grudge that seems to touch deeply the entire family of sentient beings.
When the rabble is provoked into insurgency and anarchy, then let us all flee to the wilderness.
But more perplexing than the question of Human Nature it is this awful fact of life: there are certain convictions that could unleash tremendous amount of unchecked forces, hysteria and bigotry; these are terrible impulses that could precipitate the noblest of human beings into veritable monsters of fanaticism.
The history of evil as conceived by the ancient bards could not be imagined without sentient beings.
Pandemonium and Hell are bad enough, but let us place some sensible souls there. Let us place some romantic creatures never inured by the sting of sundry passions, and how quick they are for pains, bitterness and agony.
Perhaps the genealogy of evil without a human psyche would be a meaningless futile task (in relative stands and positions, a pointless pursuit) it is only meaningful but in direct reference to the high-pitched feelings and sensitivity of our consciousness.
At any rate, the cosmology of evil and rebellion in heaven could not be understood without references to the forcible passions of pride, envy, jealousy, betrayal, deceit, malevolence, covetousness and so on.
At any event, we must also admit the intrinsic goodness of other beautiful critters on this planet Earth.
Life is an inevitable outcome on this planet of happy coincidences, obeying the imperative command of that Mysterious Artist; and yet many complex events seem willing to greet every recurrence of life and many other fabulous wights by the wood of possibility...at least to our kindred species.
Of course, as we observe the destructive scientific prowess of mankind, we are the more skeptical that Mother Nature would survive the grimmest onslaught, for, by now, countless innocent species are already extinct.
Will they come back?
Who would build the Ark for them?
Do we need another Noah?
Fortunately, Nature is too wise for silly conjectures and human inquiries; this multi-layered universe as conceived by Albert Einstein, Kant and Schopenhauer, is too manifold in willing-possibilities: a new dawn for creation.
Perhaps somewhere, somehow, there might be timeless, numberless Platonic Prototypes and Archetypes waiting for a new Break-Day on the surface of the Earth.
Phoenix Bird: “When?”
Parsifal: “I don't know. Indeed, the Wood of Time and Space is too manifold and multifarious for just one linear trajectory here.
We live and move in the Deceptive Wizardry of Lilith --the realm of our slumberous senses: one narrow, myopic, living zone in the ticking clock of Homo sapiens’ linear time, and their constant conjectures, speculations and hypothesis, which are, indeed, faulty, erroneous, and, as it has been averred by your pre-eminent historian, Edward Gibbon (The Fall and Decline of the Roman Empire), the history of humanity is indeed a madhouse of cognitive dissonance, follies and colossal stupidity in the grandest scale.
Now when we say that human beings can escape this awful tyranny, the madhouse of civilized society, what do we mean by redemption, aesthetics, philosophy, music, art, Mother Nature?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the possibility that, perhaps, some men and women are born without divinity, and whether divinity is confined to Homo sapiens alone.
And whether some species are on the evolutionary scale so as to justify their reason for being. Moreover, is "man" a principle of goodness and high-pitched intelligence, sensibility, sentience and consciousness.
And what sound argument there is so as to place mankind above the apes, above the squirrel, above the chimpanzee, above the hyena, above the tiger and above other brutes?
Phoenix Bird:
“I don't think we are all sordid beasts of survival. Some souls are children of light, the progeny of an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God (peruse Ephesians Chapter 1).
This global mess will have a resolution at some point in the future. We may become a better species at a latter point. This is my hope. We need to turn to God my friend.”
Squirrel:
"..Man without God, Man without Divinity, this is the millennial question that has tormented philosophers, scientists, writers, and the silence of some of the most gifted theologians throughout history.
Is man a principle of matter, energy or spirit?
Is this bipedal rover of destruction a mere fleeting, passing phenomenon on the surface of the earth?
At any rate, the question of man as an ideal is alike confusing and misleading –-and perhaps an ambiguous one as well.
Man as a goal to be pursued, or, man as having by "natural law" the same alienable right to change, the essential substance to becoming the other “he”, or, the other “she." This assessment and silly conclusion, may seem the most widely plausible, and it is the most generally accepted view on the current condition of the human race.
But pay heed, some differences among thee do persist even till this day. To me, Homo sapiens, don't all look alike, they don't even talk or walk alike, whether in their haughty pace, or in their slouching gait, they indeed differ in existential attitudes and goals; nay, some men are extremely tribal and sectarian, whereas others not even take time to thank the moon, nor would come to the wood in poetic inspiration, let alone to thank thy Almighty God Creator.
Surprisingly, for the Ancient Greeks, this privilege to share with the gods some divine qualities, was bestowed upon relatively very few individuals (peruse the Odyssey of Homer, Book XVII, 274-75, or, in the New Testament, Angels may put on the semblance of human beings, Hebrews Chapter 13:02)
‘Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.’
Are these stories fairy tales?
Whether for Greeks, Jews or early Christians, the possibility for whole group of people to degenerate into vile beasts was out of the question.
For even Jesus, and the apostle Paul were very judicious so as to delve into this mystery: X = Men are beasts in potential --watch out! which, frankly speaking, is as an argument against the intrinsic goodness of mankind.
Aristotle and Socrates knew this fact very well, when they, very prudently, in their noble assessment of men, the sedate sages have to place Divinity beyond the likeness and resemblance of thy physical constitution.
Man is, then, an internal principle in potential. He is, either a mammal, or a human, an angel, or a beast, or, in the true context of thy sacred religion, mankind, he is a destructive demon in the unpalatable pages of history...”
Phoenix Bird:
"I can assure you that I am not an execrable rat or an ape, nor a chimpanzee roaming this planet without a sense of dignity and respect.
I have purpose, meanings and goals, divine possibilities that my soul infers in the ineffable music of silence -- my communion with God and Nature.”
Squirrel:”How about me?
In thy eyes, I am a mere brute, a fleeting shade, a capricious trick of Nature, a ninny of endless reveries, a rodent with no other purpose than to climb this tree.”
Phoenix Bird:
”No, my friend! If my eyes don't deceive me, and I could still understand your wordless speech, you must be an angel, a prince, yes...in the form of a squirrel!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On Intelligent Awareness beyond thoughts, concepts, symbols, numbers and human representation, and whether Intuitive Perceptions and affections among certain current quiet creatures, could point-up to certain forms of highly developed existence capable of substituting Homo sapien.
On the yes-morrow of one thousand possibilities:"Goodness and Life!" Nietzsche and Schopenhauer finally reconciled in unknown entities, Will-O'-The-Wisp-creatures dawning beyond our primitive concepts of organic life, defying our physics, leading religious systems and ethics...
Squirrel:
"...Good man! Believe me, there are so many unexplained phenomena in the womb of nature. I am sent in a most noble mission unto the future year 2010.
My path-way is beyond thy conventional ideas of time and space, cause and effects. I can claim my blissful existence where thy conceptualization and limited cognitive powers could not dare reach.
Concepts, thoughts, numbers and representational ideas may not attest to other forms of intelligent awareness in this vast universe --this is where thou err my dear Homo sapiens.
The equation of life and intelligence is beyond the simple unit-cell or any other organic concoction. Thousands of feelings and emotions may strike beyond any human intellectual apprehension or awe!
There are, however wonderful to comprehend, other forms of communication exceeding the limited keyboard of thy uncouth expressive impetus and afflatus, other expressive forms of intuitive perception, where thy dull poetic words, symbols and scribbles, could be considered, as vulgar as thy crass ancestors' unintelligible foot-prints and their rudimentary tools.
Many a sea creature, at this very moment, are enjoying a blissful existence, free from any rationalistic philosophy, undisturbed by thy lamentable political squabbles, religious short-sightedness of unbelief and rampant sectarianism...”
Phoenix Bird:
”I do believe Divinity is not confined to mankind alone, and I am also inclined to admit this, that perhaps, “man” is a principle of goodness, purpose, spirituality and sensibility in high pitched feelings --beyond the current form of Homo sapiens. But to admit other sentient creatures or any other thinking-entities next to men, would be a ludicrous assertion, and it would contradict all my conventional ideas of perfection, rationality, beauty and excellence.
I recognize in most men a propensity to lie, presume, betray and deceive, but there are the exceptional cases of goodness, men of whom the world is not worthy.
Not all men-women are contemptible or unworthy of existence, and there are fine cases of gratitude, humility and obedience.”
Squirrel:
”There is no doubt that “man” is an enigma, compare the works of my incomparable sculptor Phidias with those of Picasso's or Van Gogh, and yet, thou may find philosophical grounds to question the relative truths of those forms, ideas and principles thereof.
Today Homo sapiens cannot hold or cling to any lasting truth, for everything is relative to subjective considerations, subject to constant change, trends, flux, fleeting fashions and sudden alterations.
I cannot understand how a privileged creature like thee, that is granted, at most, one hundred years of life span, could hold in contempt the venerable ancient Greeks; this is the more lamentable, when one considers how tediously long it took for those archaic masters to achieve such cumbersome perfection, a passing perfection that was accomplished but in the appreciation of changeless nature and platonic models.
But pay heed, the birds in the field still shrill the same old song of creation; the lively fishes still caper in their flamboyant, limpid garments incorruptible, and the wild wood in wanton brakes and pearly streams, may announce a perennial yes-truth beyond human transiency, goodness and fashions; for, in all frankness, true artistic creation is a work of long ages, the outcome of a slow, arduous process, in constant development and painstaking endeavors, the sundry experiments carried out by that Unknown Scribe, An Excellent Artist who seems very busy with some serious projects, some fixed plans and purposes in the dawn of to-morrow.
Nevertheless, I cannot admit current Homo sapiens as the last finest brush-stroke by these gods of Post-modernism, ‘mankind’ the fine-tuning of this grand canvas, a masterpiece or a biological experiment not yet conformed to the basic principle of unity, harmony, utilitarianism and cohesiveness in all its constituent parts with the whole.
Countless birds far exceed men in goodness, peace, con-natural tendencies to seeking the beautiful spacious skies, blissful feelings ever surging galore, to reaching the loftiest heights of the blessed spirit, and thus they enjoy a continuous sense of soaring-awareness with their own kind.
In terms of feelings, love, empathy and the most moving motherly nursing emotions, the female ‘sea-otter’ (now an extinct creature) stories abound, that when her baby is killed, the caring mother would refuse to leave the spot, would whimper in deep sorrows transfixed, and would not eat for several days. (Animals at Bay p. 19, by Adrien Stoutenburg).”
A World Fraught With Malice
Phoenix Bird:
"My dear readers may accept my apology, for long I wanted to continue conversing with that ancient entity of time; and I could not find a sound excuse, nor a sound argument to extenuating or condoning Homo sapiens' well known reputation for disregarding their minor kith and kin as inferior.
That in the last resort, we will not destroy the goodly creation of that unknown Excellent Artist, for much in pains was I to convince the squirrel, that many great men and women are endowed with lofty well-meant feelings, great souls like the poor lass, the sea-otter mother left behind, the far-heard outcry of natura amidst those fugitive, wailing winds of old –and how they ruffle our emotions, impelling us to question the scope of divinity within us and other quiet beings: our narrow concept of anthropomorphism as exclusive to humans' prerogative and narrow hovels of religious feelings and gatherings; that eventually we will prevail against the forces of materialism, greed, noise, malice, presumption, despotism, sectarianism, fanaticism, that general hatred for any stable model as prescribed by that unknown scribe of orderliness and purpose; our constant watch against the illusion of modernism in passing, fleeting nihilistic idols, those prototypes degenerate and decadent, these false simulacrum of truth in that spattered, besmirched canvas of deconstructionism, despair and chaos; those vaunted caricatures of avant garde after the ranting of Sartre and the other tail-less philosophers, those spruced-up, seditious rascals whom, a gusto, may corrupt our decided mind to every yes-ways to our cheerful mornings: those devils in human form, those ghouls who flippantly sneer at the fundamentals of life, beauty and meaning as expressed in the sublime music of Pythagoras's timeless reflections.
Therefore, we stand against this constant flux and trends so obnoxious to the essential fabric of the soul healthy; that eventually we will understand and accept ourselves as constituent parts with the whole of creation.
And above all, our urgent need to stand together against this electronic-god of the flashy stage-effects, that sham spectacle of bombastic jargon of nonsense, silly quackery and easy stardom of success, those lightning goblins who constantly allure our senses and attention, thus making us forgetful of the eternal works of that Supreme Artist --the only provider of genuine joy!
And as we stretched our vision northward, southward, westward, eastward, downward, we looked at each other in swooning disbelief and dismay, knowing that life is, in the last analysis, for the strong soul to be courageous and let him-her climb that gnarled tree --if perhaps reachable but with many painstaking efforts and toils; henceforth, we only thought about of that great man or woman whom, like Mozart or Dante Alighieri, has to taste the sour chalice of betrayal and poverty, whose memories may be carried away by the drifting river of oblivion.
And many other ineffable things would have been thought-out very carefully, had not our conversation been interrupted by the constant threats, snickering, bantering, and chortling coming from the other side of the wood.
Meanwhile, the other brutes have been sorely piqued by the squirrel's glistening necklace, and his ridiculous presumption, that he is not a beast of prey or a common predator, nor without lofty feelings and poetic inspirations, thus implying that he may claim a blissful existence high above the utmost tree's crest –-to the moon's rosy cheeks and twinkles of joy-- whereat the majority of seven billion bipeds may not dare reach.
But the wild lynx was the most at pains to putting this crazy squirrel-fellow in his proper place. Oh my wits! How that long tail provoked the couched cat out of all equanimity…for such little waving tail, as you will learn, was the main cause for much woes and trepidation in the wood.
Thank goodness mankind is today without a wagging tail, for who knows what biological link there is to be found between the spinal cord and the Mark of the Beast?
In this manner, much ill-sore was the Lynx’s miserable soul, quietly brooding and lamenting deep in his rankling heart, how he may avenge the glowing golden fellow, a little squirrel girded in a necklace of gold.
‘What a mad romantic of fine platonic ideas.’ Thus said the Lynx, ever cursing that barbarian woman Shanti, whose silly amorous limerence, has led her to crown a great philosopher a mere squirrel.
It seems that my master’s lectures on the inherit inequality among the animal kingdom, has caught the itching ear of the Lynx, and he was brooding vengeance in his heart.
Thus, on the base ground of survival and struggle, Mother Nature has denied the Lynx a bushy tail.
O heart unforgiving!
How many a civil cat would not run wild back into the wilderness of resentment and lamentations, those nocturnal remorseful beings, expiating their guilt without any hope or consolation in caring hands propitious, unable to change their innate propensity to stupidity, malice, envy, deceit, these loners may become the shock-and-awe of this forest.
The Lynx! Animal of subtlest instincts, always flinching and squatting in shameful acts of folly and mischief, is now hellbent on attacking the innocent squirrel of inspiration and perseverance.
Mind you, those felines, however domesticable, are said to be spiteful, treacherous, very savvy indeed, whose visage while fixed in counterfeits of innocence, their hearts, nonetheless, may simmer and fizzle with the incendiary blood of seething vengeance. Inflamed in unquenchable fury, these wild cats may move on to charge their sharp claws and fangs on their poor victims.
O miserable gibs and aborti of natura! And how they mew and hiss in dolorous jealousy timorous...”
Will The Squirrel Survive?
Meanwhile, the birds, whose attentive ears, can catch the subtlest of rustles, are still discussing the marvel of a squirrel flaunting a golden bling.
Phoenix Bird:
"After much debate, chattering, mockery and procrastination, the death of the Squirrel Parsifal is finally sentenced amidst some minor disagreements and reservation; and whether it would be more honorable to die with poetic pecks, flowers and moving dirges of wounds, failures and numberless disappointments in this cruel life.
In this manner, let the inspiring poet renders his lithe body to the craving appetite of lofty birds of prey. May capricious Fate grant the Poor Creature a destiny more honorable than just being putrefying carcass, the expired meat for boring worms and the sad Pathetique Sonata of buzzing flies; may Sweet Heaven allow his great odysseys be remembered to posterity, the ineffable requiem in wailing winds..."
Falcon: (suddenly interrupting the Machiavellian conversation): “Excuse me! Gentlemen, allow this servant to put forth some plum-expedients to your melodious satisfaction!
What are the chances of his downfall and destruction? Do you think He could have saved his life had not his waving rump provoked the consternation of the wood?
Raven:(from a roost adjacent to the starling bird)
“Had he kept his proper bond, he would have lived longer and happier. But the mad poet is not content to being a mere squirrel, but in trespassing the unmeasurable expanses of heaven, the ninny has lost his sound mind.
Why not live content according to the limits of his paws and volatile head?"
Falcon:(tumbling slightly on another higher branch) “I think every one should be happy in his proper place. It is not enough to have the talent, a magical ring, but also the permission to use it.
Do you think the Squirrel can claim nobility and rank with us?"
Raven:“By Gosh and Moloch's sacrifices! That's absurd. We should do not ascribe talents beyond the proper utility of productivity.
The creature has just mastered a few simple tricks. That's all. Can he see things clearly amidst the fog of survival and existence?"
Falcon: “I agree with you. To this day, we have out-lived many sordid beasts; and it is very likely that, in the latter days of time and possibility, some birds will claim dominion on every tree, hill and cloud."
Raven:”Poor devil! Tomorrow the Shining Squirrel will be a dead creature. What a sad ending for an inspiring poet!
Can you write a moving panegyric for him in rhyme? Please, write like J.S Bach, Air On The G strings, with disheartening flecks of passion and suffering.
Where is the nightingale?”
Falcon:“Amazing! Sooo! You want a fine funeral and a memorial service too?
Let's wait until tomorrow when we will find some carcasses strewing the floor of humiliation and putrefaction; and then we will pen down some moving elegies on his sensible hind and pelts.”
Raven:”With blood the better the weal and the gash. Do you think the Savvy Cat will leave some edible vitals for us to gnaw?"
Falcon: ”Only Fate will determine his memory. I think it would be a desirable end, that birds should have the right to finally rack and tear apart a great bard decaying --the poet is out of fashion.
Why worms first?
Why not destroy or bore the execrable creature with due pauses and silent tributes?"
Raven: “Excellent! No tulips flowers for him?
Let's swoop thither swiftly and deftly, and in the the rosy dawn of bantering and disparaging, please do not allow the ravenous wolf, nor Homo sapiens or the dogs, nor the tiger or the rapacious hyena to take away our due and trophy.”
Falcon:”O do! The philosophy of life has been resumed tonight very successfully! I admire a savvy chap whom can find his expired carrion propitious --fresh in New York City alone!
For, learn this mystery of mysteries, the lynx and I are kindred souls from afar!"
(Footnotes: Can malice be as refined?
Hobbes would say "Homo Homini Lupus:" (Man Is Wolf To Man). --It is the bureaucracy of man, society and his human nature. You don't believe me. Mozart died as a martyr...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Is The Tail An Extension of the Spinal Cord?
A convincing evidence to placing mankind above other mammals!
The Phoenix Bird: .
"The great assembly was about to be closed when from another branch, a Snipe Bird brings forth other plum-expediency and hitherto unresolved puzzles: on whether a tail is an extension of the brain, and hence, another form of sensory perception and communication; or whether it is, merely, an outward symbol of rank, aristocracy and status; or, if it is a sad reminder of a forgotten era of great suffering in the distant past of evolution and struggle.
Most importantly, why current Homo sapiens do not have tails today, or if they ever had?"
A Snipe:(suddenly twittering from another branch while showing his sharp bill).
”…Most respected gentlemen elegantly gathered here tonight, you call yourselves learned sages, and yet, lack the concise methodology to hit the target with great precision unerring.
Are we not called illustrious birds of practicality and efficiency?
And it seems you have rather become romantic poets in endless twaddles and futile speculation, thus letting precious time and those lower beasts unperturbed.
Why not tweak the brutes to come into each other sooner?"
Starling:”Hmmm --How?”
Snipe:”By prodding the devil to wave his bushy tail!”
Falcon: "I beg you pardon. What is so special about having a bushy tail? And by God's sake to what use?"
Snipe:(Preening his right flank as if implying his target and status).
Do you think Nature has placed one's limbs superfluously?
A tail may have played a very important role in the sundry designs and projects of Mother Nature. It seems that there is a sense of pride and dignity in having a decent tail.
Unfortunately, Mother Nature has not bestowed the Lynx with such privileges and inalienable rights.”
Raven:(Deigning to take a careful look to the Snipe's short tail):
“And for a little tail, Nature has thus compensated you with such big a pointed beak! I understand the utilitarian role of your cutting-edge mandibles, but to what use a bushy tail on the squirrel?
Do you think it represents a common origin and ancestor, a linking cord for most mammals and quadrupeds?
--Do you think the Squirrel and Lynx are distant cousins?
Falcon ”Probably, and incredible as it may seem, there is no doubt, that in the distant past, a flexible tail may have played an important function in the development of clutching limbs and other dexterous parts.
But why do you think Homo sapiens have no tail today?
Is not a tail a prolongation of the spinal cord and perhaps another wonderful extension of the nervous system?
Would this tail-spinal-cord relation entail a greater degree of intelligence, susceptibility, perception, sensitivity and perhaps an enhancing mode of pleasure and suffering?"
Snipe: “It is definitely an extension of the nervous system; and we should not be surprised to find certain long-tailed animals being drawn toward Homo sapiens' milieu. But why the latter have no tail today, it is, certainly, an unsolved enigma.”
Raven: "Do you think Mankind might have had a tail in the remote past?"
Falcon: "We may induce such possibility from the striking similarities, reciprocity, resemblance, affinity, revolting physical characteristics and uncouth habits among certain simian species.
Mankind have no tail today, but the crass brutes, in the dawn of history, could have struck a common biological interval with the short-tailed Lynx; and in these latter days, the wild cat may have been losing his cherished organ, little by little dwindling, in his couched rump sprawling.
This is the missing link between Humankinf and the Wild Lynx. Through-out time, a series of complex events may have finally set free both beasts from their tail-stemming relationship and common ancestry.
This was, however necessary, a ground-breaking, pivotal event on the question of survival, sensitivity and suffering. But more striking than a missing tail is this irrefutable fact: both beasts are dammed to ramble the earth fugitive, destructive and meaningless.”
Raven: “With due respect to your far-fetched conjectures, I don't think there is any relationship, whatsoever, between the question of sensitivity, intelligence and the intrinsic purpose of a bushy tail.”
Snipe “Are you calling Mother Nature superfluous?”
Starling: ”Gentlemen, enough with your philosophical chattering. Let us be practical.
To-morrow the Squirrel must die. His death is decreed not on the basis for having a bushy tail, nor for having rapt poetic reveries, but for his obstinacy in scrutinizing the high heavens of contemplation; and in the last resort, for extinguishing the only source of light to all our inquiries and questions: the Moon.”
Snipe: ”Thank you. I would like to jolt him on the head, or, in either flanks thrashing and thrashing, let me pinch him off equanimity. Please, in consideration to your cordial civility and ethics, allow this humble servant to jerk the squirrel's bushy tail waving, thus inciting the wrath of the Wild Lynx on him devouring.”
Raven: ”By heaven's sake! You must be out of your mind. The unpredictable animal will transfix you with a most shocking swatting flame. Keep in mind, that the devil is dangerous beyond description; he may char your pinions to charcoal and ashes.
Do you want to become a rasher?”
Falcon: "My admirable friends, time is running out. The devil cannot be left there undisturbed, and thus motionless defying the entire wood timorous. Let us grant the Snipe his right to carry out his Machiavellian plan successful.”
Starling: “I agree with you, if we don't stop this Bush-Tailed Prodigy, who knows if in due time he will set the entire wood on fire.”
Snipe: “I must admit this, nevertheless to your melodious delight, that the great challenge at hand is not an easy undertaking. My main task is to incite his tail waving; in doing so, let the Lynx climb up here, and if Fate is propitious with us, let the ninny be plunged down there, headlong to his own destruction.”
The Falcon, Starling and Raven:(in squeaking dissonant triad):
“Let the mad poet meet his downfall from the top of a gnarled tree, and then he will learn not to compete with birds.”
A Silly Bird: “…Amazing! I always thought that a coiling tail was a mere decoration, to warding off flies or fleas. So, John Milton was right, suffering has a direct relationship with the spinal cord, and in the distant past, a goodly tail was another branching tendril off the brain's nervous system...Homo Homini Lupus par excellence!"
Raven Bird and a Starling Bird
A raven: "What is light?
It is quite a wonder that we cannot explain the Squirrel's luminosity, a daunting phenomenon, however impressive, a golden glow that could be inferred but in direct relation either to uncreated night or the moon-light's source.
Does he have the source-light on his own being?
A Starling: "What is darkness?
Your answer to this question, may shed some light into the other and vice versa, but I cannot attribute a dull silly Squirrel with such lightning powers.
Look up! For heaven's sake, I have never seen a squirrel with such flaring a flame!
A raven: “I agree with you. This is the more striking as no moon-light is seen gleaming in heaven's vault, but dark clouds imperial reign at this Solemn Hour. Do you surmise he might have extinguished the moon-light's torch?
A Starling:(with a sarcastic grin and looking up to heaven)
“That is a plausible possibility. The portentous animal, if left to himself, could shake and tear to pieces the very axle of heaven's circumference, and trust me --it would brake loose.”
A raven: “Amazing! That's a ludicrous exaggeration.”
Starling: “What is he doing up there?
Half-opened mouth, the poised creature seems willing to sip the ever rolling path of the firmament.”
A Raven: ”He may be thirsting Eternity's Inexhaustible Streams of Life. I heard him saying: 'Eternity Be Mine Tonight.' Thus implying he can also out-space the birds.”
Starling: “Ha, ha, ha! Not only does he glow pretentious and unreachable, a lightning Squirrel with purpose and meaning may out-soar the eagle's flight, and then he will build castles above the aeries of ravens, starlings, plovers, falcons, albatrosses, hawks, kites, larks, snipes and all the illustrious birds that day and night wheel this ivory tower of creation.
Are we not placed high above every crawling and creeping creature?
We are, by nature's aristocratic caste and ranking privileges, the lords of this narrow existence.
We are meant to instruct humanities from the endless errors of aeronautics, landing, ascending, descending and all the tactics of aerial pursuits. We have seen many a civilization going to wrack.
Above all, avoid a too linear flight, and occasionally, shave the air sometimes circling, sometimes aslant, sometimes wobbling up and down but with fixed focus of sight remote and yet near.”
A Raven: “ Indeed, we fly at the speed of sight, but we cannot glow like that squirrel. We must deem this wonder-squirrel an imminent threat to our high kingdom on the hills and the clouds of existence.
Therefore, he must die, for in due time he will conspire not only against the lynx and the snake and the lion, but against the ravens and the starlings.”
Starling: ”Let the wrath on the squirrel, the asp's fang on him the venom. And then he will learn not to compete with birds.”
A Raven: Yes. “I cast my lot on the asp-snake.”
Two Owls At The Threshold of Time
A Sullen Owl Hooting: (Perched on a shooting roost, and opposite to the Squirrel's)
Hey Ye Night-walker!
Thou keep thy tread in less hasty pace.
Unravel the meaning on this gloomy gaze.
May ye hear this sad grunting my guests nightly shades.
Don't leave this my forest without sorry hooting.
The shadows hold sway in grave clouds distant looming.
And how I keep watch in late hours
brooding.
Those sorrows bring echoes far in gales restless roaring.
And how they make sour, my soul ever scourging.
Ay! The blast really hurt!
Can thou hear their groaning?
No love for my being, an owl is thus forsaken.
Errant winds howling doleful, the wretched soul is thus shaken.
Where is the lamp flickering flame?
Its light has been snuffed.
Who is to blame guilty?
The moon is left in shame.
Another Owl: "Enough of mawkish poesy. Let the wrath on the Squirrel, the lynx's claws for him devouring.
Can you read the high omen?”
Phoenix Bird: “Meanwhile, dark clouds meet their consorts grave, and ominous signs decree here vengeance, at war their essences intermix hazy and lurid, their powers in swirling commotions, the grand vault is shaken, and lightning bolts threaten the question of silence and meaning.
The millennial expectation is interrupted, while down here on Earth, the fiery elements wrest their nature in friction terrible.
Whizzing, squeezing, roaring, wailing, cursing, bustling, in needs oppress many a-burying. And then, we trudge these valleys like zombies amok, ghouls and ogres, goblins and witches, so stinky, all-for-all, a-farting, horrendous beasts of preys we are, a Walpurgis night in this forest”
The Sullen Owl “O gash! Destruction only good! No worse than pain in hopeless sufferance, let it be his due sacrifice, the victim or the innocent, and thus in evil intention prove his conduct a malicious Squirrel.
The grievous gash for him alone, let him resolve the reason for being a beast malign, an arrogant ninny, a vile animal forlorn, without hope or Shanti.
Bitter is revenge, at night consumes the vitals. The hungry maw has her fill of joy, sweetly tasted inly, the sour gulp of revenge brings gladness to the sore heart, and the soul gasps, munching and licking her penance in silent relapses.”
Another Owl: ”On the Lynx catch the lot.
—-Where is thy hope?
Can these winds snuff your candles?
My dear, let thy wrath on the Squirrel be resolved..."
(Footnotes: How does Fate tie and interweave all our unrelated moments meaningful! What is sequence in your life)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
An Angel To The Soul
An Angel: “But not so invincible is the kingdom of darkness nigh advancing, that no-one could withstand them timorous, and not so united the dark enemies victorious, that some glorious light may not shine them dispersing.
Selena displays her sweet beams, amidst exhalations, she is perplexed but not yet overcome; the promised one, gently retreats thither hidden, coyly weeping in these dewy drizzles, leading gentle steps trackless, tucked away to a place unseeable, unspoiled, surrendering by coercion untouched, submitting pressure hostile, by such forces not debauched.
Surely, contrary stands a holy maid, little yielding to annihilation or trepidation.
And where is the propitious dwelling?
Where she the answer expressing clearly?
Seal not she the silence wholly hermetic and yet meaningful?
For, in like eyes far-gazing nostalgic, and in murmuring lips ever-begging, some One came caring, healing, adoring, the good redeemer's prescient inklings, His radiant face aloft scarcely displaying, yet shrouded in darkness transitory.
Don't be deceived in despair, for these foes lurid, lying under the Master's stool, vainly fight restive. Tonight, let her face dearly limns her Christ's diadem, declaring rightly, her true possessor returning; and if valleys and mountains hold secret meeting dangerous and precipitous, and the good soul is lost in crook ways astray; even there, sweet moonlight glints her heavenly lamps consoling, elsewhere, the broken heart she nurses in Him, the Sustainer, the good Doctor; and He will heal the grievous wounds bleeding, and will wipe every teary eye understanding.
Please, let the night her course pursue uninterrupted, let this wood a place of ghosts and gloom.
Could ye read the augury erewhile in heaven seen?
To lead the Glowing Creature protected, to a yonder place a woody hill, the future-path, whereat the Prince remains waiting; and under His shadows guide his steps, shedding dim reflections on yonder hills solitary.
The silvered austerity of courage and obedience not yet tried; and if tried, let the Squirrel-Soul prove himself a spirit victorious, unyielding to death ignominious, per-chance or per-Fate not so easy a prey squalling, nor a coward so vincible dishonored; for, it is appointed to thee, to let the soul her journey end with sword in hand, unsubdued by shadow, or, by terror that at night-walk rambles stealthily this forest....
Tonight be courageous!
Stand up on thy feet, trudge those valleys ever-rolling, seek farther spots, temples and footpaths, not yet walked or profaned.
Do ye see that yon woody hill?
The Fort Tryon Park, a jutting peak barely glimmering, thereat thou will find a den cozy, snug with true love, unanimous hugs of companionship; at the hillside steppes, scrabble yourself up, climb up those passages not yet so steep or rough, if perhaps erroneous and stony, they may suggest of goals and dreams attainable: some upland unknown to be found, yet displaying other views splendid!
If thee persevere farther, to the end a tireless seeker walking, a lighthouse will welcome thine steps noble, knightly received on the portico of wisdom; thence, thou will enter the threshold of magnanimity, a glorious temple, deftly built for souls like thee, a citadel flanked by goodliest trees, portentous, juicy, of loveliest shades, profusely, redolent of mighty groves not yet cut since the day of creation.
But if you prove thyself greater, high on the hill-top, on mystic days, a bluff road may pave thy destination to the utmost ways of existence, rosy, florid, a paradise unfolding, unveiling a cerulean blue, the welkin of zest and infinity; and if thy search has not yet found the philosopher' stone or the X of Kant, further up, thou will encounter a chamber of diamond-bricked structure, therein, a room marvelously shining, marvelous to behold, what precious things lie there hidden!
But thou must prove thyself worthier than these earthly things, and thy place shall be with Mel-chis'-e-dec, King of Salem, the great lord, whose temple is perched on the uttermost cloud's loins and peaks: the majestic vault abode, a grand gift unmeasurable!
On the topmost of Mount Olympus, there are ever stretching fields, pellucid lakes for fine thoughts gay feelings, most kindly enlivening, clearly studding the meaning of this blessed existence, an existence not so scanting in meandering rills melodious, but glens galore to thee, to find thyself sequestered, to greet the simmering bubbles meaningful, a music supernal, gushing forth streams of love, gladly slaking the thirsty soul inspiring.
Now go quickly, prepare the altar, the hut, the cabin enshrined in the wood of trials and suffering. Light the candles hopeful, and how mildly they flicker in these lately hours –surely, the Squirrel will ward off destruction and non-existence.
And let the nooks and fields pour forth their songs of Hope and Patience. Let the heart endureth with Him alone and steadfast, discovering new ways possible, allowing the great wayfarer's odysseys triumphant to heaven, to proceed forgiving his stories, beyond this dire forest of malice, misunderstanding and confusion.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the Outcry of Mother Nature and the Meaning of Pains and Silence...
The Phoenix Bird:
”...In the mean time, far in receding distance, a multitude of dark clouds have been arraying mutinous, pressing round the demure moon's cheek.
Sad Selene blameless, as though ashamed, tarred half-face, is stifled in ethereal confusion, in her crescent phase abstruse, scarcely visible, dimly lights the welkin obscure, fronts defacement, pending melancholy.
The promised lady struggles hard, partially veiled, she sighs Fate's recalcitrant children, brood of rape and adultery: bravely resist them, importune shadows, army vaporous errant, patches blasphemous dire, grim enemies of beauty, bastards of darkness dolorous, file of gloom and woes.
High above, prophet Jeremiah had read the omen undecipherable. But down here, in the hard walks and scuffles of life, the prophet Ezequiel had interpreted the ominous signs of hopelessness, famine, destruction and death.
O homeless crowd destitute! O abortis of natura!
Among the many complaints to heaven daily issued, tonight a wild lynx brags woeful, blasphemous, boasting dangerously, eyes flashing terror and vengeance.
Nevertheless, the anticipation of potential death touches deeply, beyond conscious thinking, the sharp hunches every soul impresses subtile, beyond the upper layer of thought or concept; the dreadful intuition embraces every sentient being (an irrefutable proof of feeling beyond intellectual perception).
In this existence of baffling possibilities, fear for the unknown is not just confined to human beings alone, and many a brave wight would resign a nightly journey in dread overcome.
Reeked of struggles and perspiration, the quailing animal would avoid a shadow hovering nearby, a spirit that obstructs the path, the thoroughfare of our shared existence with other entities –beyond immediate perception or sounds: a common awareness and testimony that life and intelligence may exist independently of organic matter, conceptualization, free of time and space, defying cause and effect, a world incomprehensible amidst sounds and pauses.
But is not silence another aspect of listening, another mode of inferring, another discipline of thinking in wordless communication?
Certainly, silence may be pregnant with meanings and interpretations in the parenthesis of existence and struggle —a disrupted continuity (...), an unfinished nay in endless pauses, yeas, periods.
And yet, a complete silence may not be possible in this wanton forest, the constant rustles may eloquently warn us of a life not just lived in rest or peace (Shanti).
And at certain hours and moments, every living being may shudder, chillingly disturbed, the unknown tingling sensation shakes every creature off composure.
Thus in this Darwinian forest, on the upper-crust of life and struggle, however unpredictable, long silence, may sometimes warn of imminent danger and disaster, of wars and forays –this is the philosophy of reality.
And in the late hours of survival, the soul would not dare break loose his joints and limbs unready; nor budge a silly steps unpremeditated, nor trespass his boundary careless, let alone, relapse complacent or idled, thus leaving the adversary to strike him off guard. Therefore. let the soul be vigilant!
This is the valley of tears, always meandering river of sorrows and pains, a world of errors and deception; certainly, it is a real place tangible, a realm that if felt or seen from his perspective, it is a terrible sojourn, nor least filled with other awful premonitions or puzzles --being in penumbras suspended and forsaken-- one is touched with doubts ever-pressing: to live but –perhaps, for dead ideals in bygone bloody revolutions, goals buried in caves and dens oblivion, whereof moldy scrolls lie besmirched, undecipherable, stained with the blood of forgotten martyrs and saints: perhaps the high promise that should have been obtained in ages past and remote.
But if there is any route to follow, unfettered desert or roadmap available, or, any immediate marked-way ahead of sight or time, verily, it would be to escape the enemy of existence. Let us henceforth make pathways, where the Squirrel-Soul may, if fortunate, ward off the final blow of that hunting predator: the sharp claws and fangs of that grim butcher."
Continue Chapter III:
www.eddiebeato.com/shanti---chapter-iii---bedlam-on-the-tree-of-wisdom-demons--the-mark-of-the-beast.html
The two philosophers, while tempered by the drafty winds of this chilly wood, replete with soul-whacking puzzles and rustles, the wee-hours for humanity, are now bound to touch upon the daunting question on the origin of evil, and whether it is objetive or subjective.
The Phoenix Bird:
"...The moon has not yet resigned her pensive journey, and with cloud-clad countenance, the demure lady has poured out her silvery light through periodic twinkles of nostalgic adieu and sighs; for, the ponderous clouds have been gathering around her cheeks, as if yearning for more odes to the human soul, yet in the sweet beams and tears of gentile Selena; and in stately steps, the receding lady walks her path-way slowly, through this downy train of laciniated forms and broken files. And yet, the dark clouds ever crowding may finally veil the crown queen's diadem, Selena, sometimes ushering in awful penumbras below, sometimes casting the whole realm of this short life in thick shadows --a grand pall, hardly endurable.
And now, let us listen to the squirrel Parsifal's own story, his impression of this Shanti-wood, and let us ask human sapience to aid the baffled mind, to help us in such moving moments along the path of Eve, to listen the wordless story, a forested world that could hardly be apprehended but through force of sensible feelings, imagination and forgiveness..."
Parsifal: "A wild lynx and an asp compelled me to consider the prospect of my night-walks in the wood, in search for safety and rest, I swiftly climbed a gnarled tree's utmost crest; but even there I was much accosted and taunted by every crawling and creeping beast; for, much in pain were they that a mere squirrel would dare wear a shining necklace --let alone presume of princely stature.
Alas, little they knew that I was simply in charge of a promise-gift to a man in the future, a most noble mission entrusted to me, that I was meant to vouchsafe the great prince with the love of an adorable woman in the past.
The night being gentle, and inviting for high thoughts poetic, I pondered within my heart, whether love and inspiration should be solely confined to human beings, and thus I made up my mind to further descry the landscape of that dear child. And thus for a riveting jaunt, a capricious fate pursued me with these other woeful shadows and premonitions: the gloom of many a sad tryst in the wood of misunderstanding and malice. Little I knew that a lynx has a short tail, nor I knew that the snake was cursed for craving immortality in a forbidden fruit. And from the tree's utmost crest, I decided to look down, and in deep sombre thoughts I scanned the Valley of Shadow..."
The Phoenix to Parsifal:
"... Dear friend and poet, tell me this: what forms or shades could haunt that night-wood?
Which feelings could have moved you downcast, and thence thus pensive beholding the highlands and valley of shadows, in thoughts less frisky meditating: and if in that sombre attitude the forest could still proffer any delightful gloom, or any other disheartening spot untouched, perhaps a nearby spinney of sweet memories, a some-where-going down the road, whereat the soul may search in vain for herself?
What late-shades thereat may hover fugitive amidst the bowers, swamps, and those groves so fraught with unknown human emotions?
Could they be amiable or hostile to the heart, or were they unfriendly to such moonlight's odes, the solace of receding days in patience --the tender twinkles of Shanti left behind?
And what could have stirred melancholy a great wayfarer like you?
Is the soul the seat of sighs and joys not yet felt in you or any other human bosom?
And the Squirrel:
"This highland is deformis, dismal beyond description, a world ever receding and rolling in endless woods, a forest that seems the habitation of spirits not yet imagined, and if monstrously conceived, here, they could find their match in grotesque groves, the fancy of many a distorted form; yet deeply sedate, they appear like sentinels, the sentries of mysteries, the futile vigils of hope, waiting for an answer, a response that always comes tardy, the to-morrow of numberless efforts in fruition and languishing expectations --Indeed, they seem serious beyond comprehension.
And when I consider the prospect of visible things, this expanse seems to stretch far into the unknown bourne: a world whose uttermost extension, although abutting with dark yonder spots here and there, the destiny or path is badly fringed with that enormous pall of night --a night pressing with many questions and enigmas; and soon it touches contiguity with a mind perplexed in ever-rolling infinity --overwhelmed with a promised distance, a promised-land not yet reached; and if any marked-point be accessible whether by hill-top, valley, fey, fen or high mountain, it only paves new path-less ways, entangled thickets, zig-zag routes athwart, tobogganing headlong ways, the brink of endless precipices and labyrinths in despair; the purposes and goals perhaps possible, but only in an ensuing death at the mercy of some cruel thing or animal.
A leap of faith may carry me on, through many efforts, standing on my feet, I am, poised awry to any snug emotion, my difficult endeavors to be pursued, but with a beast behind my back!
And where the flight of sight could no longer reach and endure any longer, it is soon shrouded in penumbras of doubts and paroxysm of scruples:
Am I a trick of chance or fate?
For, here I am alone in this Shanti-Forest, lost in cruel oblivion, lost by reasons alien and hostile to my being to blame, and my awakening is but through a "Twilight of Being." And then, I wonder, whether I am but a dream, perhaps a shadow, a fantasy in this mysterious existence, moving amidst these my only witnesses --aloof onlookers of dread and death.
A disquiet prescience assaults me, that per-chance or per-haps, not everything exists to welcome the very reason for mine being..."
Phoenix Bird:
"...Certainly, those feelings seem to haunt us all, we are all in the same wood. But with due deference to my priceless friend, I am so amazed that you, a minor cousin, could share so much of human nature, feelings and pathos! I always thought that Homo sapiens are the only sensitive beings, the only ethical species roving this hoary planet, the only circumspect bipeds endowed with that shimmering spark of intelligence, the only divine creatures vouchsafed with poetic impetus and afflatus lofty.
May you share being with our high ethics and sacred religions?
Squirrel: ”O friend! For too long we have lived next to each other, and yet, we don't know our-selves.
We are still strangers in the night. I can assure thee that the meaning of life is not just confined to ye alone.
We brisk squirrels have neither Heaven nor Hell to regret but this wood; and yet, we are quite pleased and grateful to thy Mysterious Scribe, that God of thine theological speculations and inquiries.
For my part, I deeply thank that unknown Excellent Artist, the Gentle Spirit, the Good-Willing-Breath whom thus kindly gave me no other purpose but to roam, back and forth, the fascination of my supple being --always climbing these trees!
My reason for being is just this zest-way of the wood; and my goals and marks are simply the many yes-path-ways that may allow me and my kith any possible existence. Nevertheless, I delightfully saunter next to thee my friend, next to them my dear Homo sapiens...and next to other fleeting brood.”
Phoenix Bird:
"We Christians, even though we are currently divided in many ever-heaving sects, schism, strange doctrines, tribal groups, mysterious cults, atheistic cliques, scandalous ideologies and one thousand other isms, we hold as basic premise of high civilization these principles: that to forgive and love your neighbors is the greatest good, the only testimony and evidence of high intelligence, self-awareness and survival.
Can you practice such loving-kindness and ethics with your kin.
What is evil in your sight? Or, if you have any ethical system at all?
Answer me, my dear friend.”
The Squirrel:
"What worst evil could be this, to leave such beautiful Shanti-soul behind, a pretty face receding with the demure moon, a most sensitive bucolic being, weeping through those fugitive winds, and every year, gathering autumnal leaves in her innocent lap. The poor soul wanes in hope futuristic.
O my dear soul! every creature knows her wound and tears --her personal story and prison-cell-- I know mine too, and very well.
O my goodness! How often I pondered in my heart, whether we all could live in peace.
Perhaps, evil would be that insensitivity, to see every leaf and string of the soul afore-mentioned destroyed, shorn off, shattered under the cruel scythe of time, every beam of light extinguished, a day benighted, amidst the advancing kingdom of King Nihilo and Darkness.”
Phoenix Bird: “Wow...What you say really moves me to sigh and reflect...”
Squirrel:
“Life is, indeed, a restless, challenging voyage, a terrible struggle. No sooner we reach the hill-top of our pilgrimages and high-marked aspirations, when yonder in view, lo and behold! the poor soul is overwhelmed by other as yet untrodden paths: perhaps, new valleys, new fens, unknown swamps, or perhaps the haze of distance perplexes us all. It may blur into an idyllic world, a fantastic world that the soul intuitively, somehow, infers should be her due-gift, her grand destiny.
And where the placid ocean and the pure welkin may enclasp each other, thereat we are reminded of past ages and glorious temples, the time when men like Phidias and Pericles could dream of things too divine to our religious narrow-mindedness.
A mortal being incapable of apprehending the divine in Mother Nature’s unceasing operations and holy shrines, should be regarded a miserable chirping cricket, or a swine wallowing in mud, or a wretched worm squirming in materialistic ranting, ennui and post-modern anxieties.
My consolation is to see my being unfolding, wafting in the ever-swelling, never-ending wellsprings of joy, beauty: a meaningful yes with this train of events.
Eternity be mine today! Deep in my soul, I know this hope, that one day, I will claim my right to wear this Shanti’s glistening necklace.
And then Inspiration and Perseverance will be mine too. And my Princess will rejoice, whence in the web of time, we may embrace each other, the Promised...the heavenly gifts for critters like me!
Phoenix Bird:
" ...Dear friend! We are now ranging the Web of Time and Space! Let us take a quick survey into the history of time and space in this wild wood.
Is time leading us some-where?
Parsifal:
"What shocking disappointments and troubles may heave, heap and pile up in the realm of this sad existence for Homo Sapiens?
Let us descry the upper-crust of your mad odysseys in this world, this hoary abode of failed utopias, those badly hatched systems always going to wreck and wrack.
What shocking surprises are always simmering in the womb of whimsical history and those terribly bungled experiments?
Could they impregnate that unstable hag ((history) with more horrid surprises?
Let us reflect on all those bloody, horrifying chronicles of Mankind's mad wanderings and desolation in the waste lands of history, their amazing travails for the last two thousand years, long before the Great Master was nailed on the woody stick of suffering and his disheartening outcry:
'Eli Eli lema Sabachthani?'
(My God, why have you forsaken me?)
The mystery of suffering seems to be imbedded in the core of human nature.
Think of all those ridiculous wars fought for the sake of Helen's rosy cheeks (the Iliad of Homer), or perhaps the head-scratching bickering and skirmishes and feuds among brothers and sisters for the little plot of clod cast upon their graveyard.
Consider all the plunders, untold carnages, conquests and bloodbaths to pleasing Alexander's self-aggrandizement and covetous ego.
Nay, ponder in your heart, the grim cruelty of Attila and the Huns, their all-destructive raids into the heart the Roman Empire: their dismal unimaginable pool of innocent bloodsheds, their unmerciful slaughters in this ever-recurring tragedies for the human race.
These are the grimmest beasts that are forever creeping from the entrails of history. Devils in human form, those Niezschean over-men, those masters who seem to trudge and straddle the gloomy horizon of our receding utopias and languishing hopes —always at the price of our scrawny trusting hands.
Let us remember Napoleon Bonaparte, his appalling enterprises, vile ratting deeds and atrocities, ensuing in ghastly debacles and monstrous maelstrom of consternation in the latter days of Europe: the Second World War. Human history, cruelties and destruction hardly achieved by men who did not have the cannons and the artillery...
But how about that fantastic Promised Ideology of Togetherness?
Indeed, we stand united, always waiting in the to-morrow of our men's fabulous utopias and chimeras.
Consider the high toll of casualties due to the erratic passions of your brilliant political thinkers, their unintelligible chattering, nonsensical twaddles, their clumsy-halting political treatises and conspiracy theories –especially those who are so fond of the Ancient Greeks and the progress of knowledge as always paving the path for civilized society.
How are we going to chew their cud in our full mouth?
All these books and philosophers have amounted to naught. Their utopias are but grandiose projects quickly crumbling down by their own cumbersome weight and colossal fallacies.
Indeed, these men are wrong concerning the ever-linear progress of our civilized society, a world beset with challenges and dangers ever greater by the day.
And yet, read their skirmishes in the daily news of fame and success, their most trivial disagreement, petty trifles, squabbles, squalling, flinching and feigning bipartisan gatherings at the table-talk of kindred souls.
You may add to this list, our constant debauchery, gluttony, avarice, arrogance, petulance, sexual scandals, hubris and sordid behavior among certain high-ranking oligarchs.
But I would not mention a devil like Adolf Hitler, or, a monster-conception like Stalin, or the other creepy ogres in the backyard of History, for, they would make us gnash and grind our teeth in a fit of epileptic attacks.
Which creature would dare call this world-morgue a pleasant sojourn, a riveting jaunt, a pleasant wood?
My friend, we don't wrestle against flesh and blood (Ephesians Chapter 06: 11) but against spiritual powers in high places.
Where is Shanti?
Peace be with you.
Parsifal (the Squirrel):
“My great friend, we finally agree on certain points:
Who is to blame for all these raids threatening my virgin wood?
That the current type of Homo sapiens we have today ruling our beloved planet is indeed a puzzle cannot be overstated. These destructive species should be feared alongside the roaring lion and the venomous snake mamba, or the other frightful beasts: the all-swallowing dragon Komodo or their distant sire the dinosaur.
We may find these dear gentlemen pondering and marveling upon the mystery of their own existence --and one may wonder on the reason of their being.
Why would Mother Nature allow a type of beast, human beings, which endowed with the shimmering sparks of reason, and the pangs of conscience, shall pose such great a threat to the other peaceful kin and kith: the other innocent brothers and sisters frolicking in the wood of Shanti?
Enough has been said on the incurable tendency of Homo sapiens, who do not obey the Law, but only through fear, duress, intimidation and punishment.
For what is the state of man without the state machine, the steel-machine to protect him from his fellow creatures, the savvy devils whom no sooner would assault him and deprive his existence of any sense of dignity and respect?
For it is a well known fact, that the future of Homo sapiens cannot be other than the fixed resolutions of their past crimes, wars, forays, slaughters, incursions, and those gruesome deeds exceeding those of the rapacious hyena, cannier than the loner tiger, a serial killer, worse than a ravenous wolf set loose on the surface of the Earth (Homo Homini Lupus).
These are, by any stretch of the imagination, humans or devils, frightening evil deeds of darkness, aborti of natura, begotten, committed or perpetuated by the same instinctual impulses which spur the other beasts for survival. Nevertheless, few animals would derive pleasures from inflicting pains upon others.
---Don't ye think so?"
Phoenix Bird: At this point, we both held silence, for the mysteries of iniquities, by any stretch of the imagination, defy our comprehension.
Nevertheless, I was so curious concerning the mysteries of iniquities, the origin of evil, and I felt compelled to asking my illustrious master what are his thoughts on the origin of evil, and why did the apostle John, as we peruse the Holy Writ, compare Satan to an ancient serpent?
‘The huge dragon, the ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, who deceived the whole world, was thrown down to earth, and its angels were thrown down with it. and the authority of his Anointed.’ (Revelation, Chapter 12:09)
My master, while fixed in cogitation deep, continued his take on the mysteries of iniquities, and I held reverencial silence for such an amazing lecture.
More On Suffering, the Meaning of Life and the Origin of Evil
Parsifal: “Having admitted suffering as a universal condition for sentient beings, we should not be surprised to find shocking traces of resentment and, in the most intelligent animals, i.e humans, dogs and cats, et al., underlying many a unforgiving heart, there are to be found unknown awful precipices and palpitations of retaliation, revenge, destruction --the sad discords of malice and depravity!
When brooding on the starless realm of Hades and Death, I dare not enter into such Dantesque representations of the grotesque: a type of human degeneration which could only awake in our bosom a sense of foulest disgusts: biological brush-strokes finally ensuing in scummy decomposition, meaningless putrefaction in this purposeless aim-of-life for every organic brush-stroke in the biological dynamics of existence.
I cannot believe that I will finally be evicted from this physical body like an execrable rat.
It is, nonetheless, a very obscure fact of life, and yet, a reality for every organic matter with no other purpose to exist but for recurring death.
Suffering and Death may lead us all to wonder whether there is to be found in certain living entities such boldness and resolution:
A) To declare war on the fundamentals of life:
B) A total hatred for the essential principles of life as we know it.
Among some serial killers, there is to found a type of self-negation, not through the courageous act of suicide, but through the path of vindication and maximized destruction for others.
Accordingly, we may infer this awful fact of life, on the throes of unspeakable suffering, and over great periods of time in the slimy lab of Mother Nature, many scary entities could have assumed their current monstrous physical forms that so horrify us beyond rationality (e.g. the crafty snake in the Garden of Eden).
Crawling the scorched lands of the Planet Earth, some snakes are said to have diabolical horns sticking out of their warty heads.
Such creepy entities, however goaded to move on by the smart beats and whip of constant pains and suffering, may have rather resolved to exist for evil sake alone.
And so they exist, solely, for the sake of inflicting on others a con-natural propensity for malice, depravity and hatred. This is (…) the arsenal of their unquenchable wrath and revenge.
Sentience, at times, can become the Pit of Hell. If these scary entities suspect the other heart feeling and thinking, then there is enough anger so as to adding more suffering and destruction on the surface of the Earth.
To a certain extent, the Judea-Christian religion may have a grain of truth in ascribing the Genealogy of Objectified Evil as something that could be alien to human consciousness (1 Peter 5: 08).
Can evil exist independently of the human mind?
Take heed, there are, however deeply seated in the abysmal, bottomlessness of every one's mind and heart, daunting psychological crevices, delicate rifts concerning the subjectivity and transiency of our erratic passions.
The stuff of the human heart is as explosive as any niter or dynamite. The higher the sensitivity, the more painfully acute the twinges of the soul. Intelligence not always accrue to wellbeing and benevolence.
It is believed that, upon our coming into this world, the bitter seeds of remorse and pains may be deeply seated in every one's psyche, but some, whether by predestination or damnation, may simply lose the redeeming pricks of conscience. These devils in human form are said to be bereft of pangs, qualms and scruples.
But more surprising than bitterness and frustration, there is to be found, even among the finest human beings, a certain odious sostenuto in potential, a certain universal grudge that seems to touch deeply the entire family of sentient beings.
When the rabble is provoked into insurgency and anarchy, then let us all flee to the wilderness.
But more perplexing than the question of Human Nature it is this awful fact of life: there are certain convictions that could unleash tremendous amount of unchecked forces, hysteria and bigotry; these are terrible impulses that could precipitate the noblest of human beings into veritable monsters of fanaticism.
The history of evil as conceived by the ancient bards could not be imagined without sentient beings.
Pandemonium and Hell are bad enough, but let us place some sensible souls there. Let us place some romantic creatures never inured by the sting of sundry passions, and how quick they are for pains, bitterness and agony.
Perhaps the genealogy of evil without a human psyche would be a meaningless futile task (in relative stands and positions, a pointless pursuit) it is only meaningful but in direct reference to the high-pitched feelings and sensitivity of our consciousness.
At any rate, the cosmology of evil and rebellion in heaven could not be understood without references to the forcible passions of pride, envy, jealousy, betrayal, deceit, malevolence, covetousness and so on.
At any event, we must also admit the intrinsic goodness of other beautiful critters on this planet Earth.
Life is an inevitable outcome on this planet of happy coincidences, obeying the imperative command of that Mysterious Artist; and yet many complex events seem willing to greet every recurrence of life and many other fabulous wights by the wood of possibility...at least to our kindred species.
Of course, as we observe the destructive scientific prowess of mankind, we are the more skeptical that Mother Nature would survive the grimmest onslaught, for, by now, countless innocent species are already extinct.
Will they come back?
Who would build the Ark for them?
Do we need another Noah?
Fortunately, Nature is too wise for silly conjectures and human inquiries; this multi-layered universe as conceived by Albert Einstein, Kant and Schopenhauer, is too manifold in willing-possibilities: a new dawn for creation.
Perhaps somewhere, somehow, there might be timeless, numberless Platonic Prototypes and Archetypes waiting for a new Break-Day on the surface of the Earth.
Phoenix Bird: “When?”
Parsifal: “I don't know. Indeed, the Wood of Time and Space is too manifold and multifarious for just one linear trajectory here.
We live and move in the Deceptive Wizardry of Lilith --the realm of our slumberous senses: one narrow, myopic, living zone in the ticking clock of Homo sapiens’ linear time, and their constant conjectures, speculations and hypothesis, which are, indeed, faulty, erroneous, and, as it has been averred by your pre-eminent historian, Edward Gibbon (The Fall and Decline of the Roman Empire), the history of humanity is indeed a madhouse of cognitive dissonance, follies and colossal stupidity in the grandest scale.
Now when we say that human beings can escape this awful tyranny, the madhouse of civilized society, what do we mean by redemption, aesthetics, philosophy, music, art, Mother Nature?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the possibility that, perhaps, some men and women are born without divinity, and whether divinity is confined to Homo sapiens alone.
And whether some species are on the evolutionary scale so as to justify their reason for being. Moreover, is "man" a principle of goodness and high-pitched intelligence, sensibility, sentience and consciousness.
And what sound argument there is so as to place mankind above the apes, above the squirrel, above the chimpanzee, above the hyena, above the tiger and above other brutes?
Phoenix Bird:
“I don't think we are all sordid beasts of survival. Some souls are children of light, the progeny of an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God (peruse Ephesians Chapter 1).
This global mess will have a resolution at some point in the future. We may become a better species at a latter point. This is my hope. We need to turn to God my friend.”
Squirrel:
"..Man without God, Man without Divinity, this is the millennial question that has tormented philosophers, scientists, writers, and the silence of some of the most gifted theologians throughout history.
Is man a principle of matter, energy or spirit?
Is this bipedal rover of destruction a mere fleeting, passing phenomenon on the surface of the earth?
At any rate, the question of man as an ideal is alike confusing and misleading –-and perhaps an ambiguous one as well.
Man as a goal to be pursued, or, man as having by "natural law" the same alienable right to change, the essential substance to becoming the other “he”, or, the other “she." This assessment and silly conclusion, may seem the most widely plausible, and it is the most generally accepted view on the current condition of the human race.
But pay heed, some differences among thee do persist even till this day. To me, Homo sapiens, don't all look alike, they don't even talk or walk alike, whether in their haughty pace, or in their slouching gait, they indeed differ in existential attitudes and goals; nay, some men are extremely tribal and sectarian, whereas others not even take time to thank the moon, nor would come to the wood in poetic inspiration, let alone to thank thy Almighty God Creator.
Surprisingly, for the Ancient Greeks, this privilege to share with the gods some divine qualities, was bestowed upon relatively very few individuals (peruse the Odyssey of Homer, Book XVII, 274-75, or, in the New Testament, Angels may put on the semblance of human beings, Hebrews Chapter 13:02)
‘Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.’
Are these stories fairy tales?
Whether for Greeks, Jews or early Christians, the possibility for whole group of people to degenerate into vile beasts was out of the question.
For even Jesus, and the apostle Paul were very judicious so as to delve into this mystery: X = Men are beasts in potential --watch out! which, frankly speaking, is as an argument against the intrinsic goodness of mankind.
Aristotle and Socrates knew this fact very well, when they, very prudently, in their noble assessment of men, the sedate sages have to place Divinity beyond the likeness and resemblance of thy physical constitution.
Man is, then, an internal principle in potential. He is, either a mammal, or a human, an angel, or a beast, or, in the true context of thy sacred religion, mankind, he is a destructive demon in the unpalatable pages of history...”
Phoenix Bird:
"I can assure you that I am not an execrable rat or an ape, nor a chimpanzee roaming this planet without a sense of dignity and respect.
I have purpose, meanings and goals, divine possibilities that my soul infers in the ineffable music of silence -- my communion with God and Nature.”
Squirrel:”How about me?
In thy eyes, I am a mere brute, a fleeting shade, a capricious trick of Nature, a ninny of endless reveries, a rodent with no other purpose than to climb this tree.”
Phoenix Bird:
”No, my friend! If my eyes don't deceive me, and I could still understand your wordless speech, you must be an angel, a prince, yes...in the form of a squirrel!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On Intelligent Awareness beyond thoughts, concepts, symbols, numbers and human representation, and whether Intuitive Perceptions and affections among certain current quiet creatures, could point-up to certain forms of highly developed existence capable of substituting Homo sapien.
On the yes-morrow of one thousand possibilities:"Goodness and Life!" Nietzsche and Schopenhauer finally reconciled in unknown entities, Will-O'-The-Wisp-creatures dawning beyond our primitive concepts of organic life, defying our physics, leading religious systems and ethics...
Squirrel:
"...Good man! Believe me, there are so many unexplained phenomena in the womb of nature. I am sent in a most noble mission unto the future year 2010.
My path-way is beyond thy conventional ideas of time and space, cause and effects. I can claim my blissful existence where thy conceptualization and limited cognitive powers could not dare reach.
Concepts, thoughts, numbers and representational ideas may not attest to other forms of intelligent awareness in this vast universe --this is where thou err my dear Homo sapiens.
The equation of life and intelligence is beyond the simple unit-cell or any other organic concoction. Thousands of feelings and emotions may strike beyond any human intellectual apprehension or awe!
There are, however wonderful to comprehend, other forms of communication exceeding the limited keyboard of thy uncouth expressive impetus and afflatus, other expressive forms of intuitive perception, where thy dull poetic words, symbols and scribbles, could be considered, as vulgar as thy crass ancestors' unintelligible foot-prints and their rudimentary tools.
Many a sea creature, at this very moment, are enjoying a blissful existence, free from any rationalistic philosophy, undisturbed by thy lamentable political squabbles, religious short-sightedness of unbelief and rampant sectarianism...”
Phoenix Bird:
”I do believe Divinity is not confined to mankind alone, and I am also inclined to admit this, that perhaps, “man” is a principle of goodness, purpose, spirituality and sensibility in high pitched feelings --beyond the current form of Homo sapiens. But to admit other sentient creatures or any other thinking-entities next to men, would be a ludicrous assertion, and it would contradict all my conventional ideas of perfection, rationality, beauty and excellence.
I recognize in most men a propensity to lie, presume, betray and deceive, but there are the exceptional cases of goodness, men of whom the world is not worthy.
Not all men-women are contemptible or unworthy of existence, and there are fine cases of gratitude, humility and obedience.”
Squirrel:
”There is no doubt that “man” is an enigma, compare the works of my incomparable sculptor Phidias with those of Picasso's or Van Gogh, and yet, thou may find philosophical grounds to question the relative truths of those forms, ideas and principles thereof.
Today Homo sapiens cannot hold or cling to any lasting truth, for everything is relative to subjective considerations, subject to constant change, trends, flux, fleeting fashions and sudden alterations.
I cannot understand how a privileged creature like thee, that is granted, at most, one hundred years of life span, could hold in contempt the venerable ancient Greeks; this is the more lamentable, when one considers how tediously long it took for those archaic masters to achieve such cumbersome perfection, a passing perfection that was accomplished but in the appreciation of changeless nature and platonic models.
But pay heed, the birds in the field still shrill the same old song of creation; the lively fishes still caper in their flamboyant, limpid garments incorruptible, and the wild wood in wanton brakes and pearly streams, may announce a perennial yes-truth beyond human transiency, goodness and fashions; for, in all frankness, true artistic creation is a work of long ages, the outcome of a slow, arduous process, in constant development and painstaking endeavors, the sundry experiments carried out by that Unknown Scribe, An Excellent Artist who seems very busy with some serious projects, some fixed plans and purposes in the dawn of to-morrow.
Nevertheless, I cannot admit current Homo sapiens as the last finest brush-stroke by these gods of Post-modernism, ‘mankind’ the fine-tuning of this grand canvas, a masterpiece or a biological experiment not yet conformed to the basic principle of unity, harmony, utilitarianism and cohesiveness in all its constituent parts with the whole.
Countless birds far exceed men in goodness, peace, con-natural tendencies to seeking the beautiful spacious skies, blissful feelings ever surging galore, to reaching the loftiest heights of the blessed spirit, and thus they enjoy a continuous sense of soaring-awareness with their own kind.
In terms of feelings, love, empathy and the most moving motherly nursing emotions, the female ‘sea-otter’ (now an extinct creature) stories abound, that when her baby is killed, the caring mother would refuse to leave the spot, would whimper in deep sorrows transfixed, and would not eat for several days. (Animals at Bay p. 19, by Adrien Stoutenburg).”
A World Fraught With Malice
Phoenix Bird:
"My dear readers may accept my apology, for long I wanted to continue conversing with that ancient entity of time; and I could not find a sound excuse, nor a sound argument to extenuating or condoning Homo sapiens' well known reputation for disregarding their minor kith and kin as inferior.
That in the last resort, we will not destroy the goodly creation of that unknown Excellent Artist, for much in pains was I to convince the squirrel, that many great men and women are endowed with lofty well-meant feelings, great souls like the poor lass, the sea-otter mother left behind, the far-heard outcry of natura amidst those fugitive, wailing winds of old –and how they ruffle our emotions, impelling us to question the scope of divinity within us and other quiet beings: our narrow concept of anthropomorphism as exclusive to humans' prerogative and narrow hovels of religious feelings and gatherings; that eventually we will prevail against the forces of materialism, greed, noise, malice, presumption, despotism, sectarianism, fanaticism, that general hatred for any stable model as prescribed by that unknown scribe of orderliness and purpose; our constant watch against the illusion of modernism in passing, fleeting nihilistic idols, those prototypes degenerate and decadent, these false simulacrum of truth in that spattered, besmirched canvas of deconstructionism, despair and chaos; those vaunted caricatures of avant garde after the ranting of Sartre and the other tail-less philosophers, those spruced-up, seditious rascals whom, a gusto, may corrupt our decided mind to every yes-ways to our cheerful mornings: those devils in human form, those ghouls who flippantly sneer at the fundamentals of life, beauty and meaning as expressed in the sublime music of Pythagoras's timeless reflections.
Therefore, we stand against this constant flux and trends so obnoxious to the essential fabric of the soul healthy; that eventually we will understand and accept ourselves as constituent parts with the whole of creation.
And above all, our urgent need to stand together against this electronic-god of the flashy stage-effects, that sham spectacle of bombastic jargon of nonsense, silly quackery and easy stardom of success, those lightning goblins who constantly allure our senses and attention, thus making us forgetful of the eternal works of that Supreme Artist --the only provider of genuine joy!
And as we stretched our vision northward, southward, westward, eastward, downward, we looked at each other in swooning disbelief and dismay, knowing that life is, in the last analysis, for the strong soul to be courageous and let him-her climb that gnarled tree --if perhaps reachable but with many painstaking efforts and toils; henceforth, we only thought about of that great man or woman whom, like Mozart or Dante Alighieri, has to taste the sour chalice of betrayal and poverty, whose memories may be carried away by the drifting river of oblivion.
And many other ineffable things would have been thought-out very carefully, had not our conversation been interrupted by the constant threats, snickering, bantering, and chortling coming from the other side of the wood.
Meanwhile, the other brutes have been sorely piqued by the squirrel's glistening necklace, and his ridiculous presumption, that he is not a beast of prey or a common predator, nor without lofty feelings and poetic inspirations, thus implying that he may claim a blissful existence high above the utmost tree's crest –-to the moon's rosy cheeks and twinkles of joy-- whereat the majority of seven billion bipeds may not dare reach.
But the wild lynx was the most at pains to putting this crazy squirrel-fellow in his proper place. Oh my wits! How that long tail provoked the couched cat out of all equanimity…for such little waving tail, as you will learn, was the main cause for much woes and trepidation in the wood.
Thank goodness mankind is today without a wagging tail, for who knows what biological link there is to be found between the spinal cord and the Mark of the Beast?
In this manner, much ill-sore was the Lynx’s miserable soul, quietly brooding and lamenting deep in his rankling heart, how he may avenge the glowing golden fellow, a little squirrel girded in a necklace of gold.
‘What a mad romantic of fine platonic ideas.’ Thus said the Lynx, ever cursing that barbarian woman Shanti, whose silly amorous limerence, has led her to crown a great philosopher a mere squirrel.
It seems that my master’s lectures on the inherit inequality among the animal kingdom, has caught the itching ear of the Lynx, and he was brooding vengeance in his heart.
Thus, on the base ground of survival and struggle, Mother Nature has denied the Lynx a bushy tail.
O heart unforgiving!
How many a civil cat would not run wild back into the wilderness of resentment and lamentations, those nocturnal remorseful beings, expiating their guilt without any hope or consolation in caring hands propitious, unable to change their innate propensity to stupidity, malice, envy, deceit, these loners may become the shock-and-awe of this forest.
The Lynx! Animal of subtlest instincts, always flinching and squatting in shameful acts of folly and mischief, is now hellbent on attacking the innocent squirrel of inspiration and perseverance.
Mind you, those felines, however domesticable, are said to be spiteful, treacherous, very savvy indeed, whose visage while fixed in counterfeits of innocence, their hearts, nonetheless, may simmer and fizzle with the incendiary blood of seething vengeance. Inflamed in unquenchable fury, these wild cats may move on to charge their sharp claws and fangs on their poor victims.
O miserable gibs and aborti of natura! And how they mew and hiss in dolorous jealousy timorous...”
Will The Squirrel Survive?
Meanwhile, the birds, whose attentive ears, can catch the subtlest of rustles, are still discussing the marvel of a squirrel flaunting a golden bling.
Phoenix Bird:
"After much debate, chattering, mockery and procrastination, the death of the Squirrel Parsifal is finally sentenced amidst some minor disagreements and reservation; and whether it would be more honorable to die with poetic pecks, flowers and moving dirges of wounds, failures and numberless disappointments in this cruel life.
In this manner, let the inspiring poet renders his lithe body to the craving appetite of lofty birds of prey. May capricious Fate grant the Poor Creature a destiny more honorable than just being putrefying carcass, the expired meat for boring worms and the sad Pathetique Sonata of buzzing flies; may Sweet Heaven allow his great odysseys be remembered to posterity, the ineffable requiem in wailing winds..."
Falcon: (suddenly interrupting the Machiavellian conversation): “Excuse me! Gentlemen, allow this servant to put forth some plum-expedients to your melodious satisfaction!
What are the chances of his downfall and destruction? Do you think He could have saved his life had not his waving rump provoked the consternation of the wood?
Raven:(from a roost adjacent to the starling bird)
“Had he kept his proper bond, he would have lived longer and happier. But the mad poet is not content to being a mere squirrel, but in trespassing the unmeasurable expanses of heaven, the ninny has lost his sound mind.
Why not live content according to the limits of his paws and volatile head?"
Falcon:(tumbling slightly on another higher branch) “I think every one should be happy in his proper place. It is not enough to have the talent, a magical ring, but also the permission to use it.
Do you think the Squirrel can claim nobility and rank with us?"
Raven:“By Gosh and Moloch's sacrifices! That's absurd. We should do not ascribe talents beyond the proper utility of productivity.
The creature has just mastered a few simple tricks. That's all. Can he see things clearly amidst the fog of survival and existence?"
Falcon: “I agree with you. To this day, we have out-lived many sordid beasts; and it is very likely that, in the latter days of time and possibility, some birds will claim dominion on every tree, hill and cloud."
Raven:”Poor devil! Tomorrow the Shining Squirrel will be a dead creature. What a sad ending for an inspiring poet!
Can you write a moving panegyric for him in rhyme? Please, write like J.S Bach, Air On The G strings, with disheartening flecks of passion and suffering.
Where is the nightingale?”
Falcon:“Amazing! Sooo! You want a fine funeral and a memorial service too?
Let's wait until tomorrow when we will find some carcasses strewing the floor of humiliation and putrefaction; and then we will pen down some moving elegies on his sensible hind and pelts.”
Raven:”With blood the better the weal and the gash. Do you think the Savvy Cat will leave some edible vitals for us to gnaw?"
Falcon: ”Only Fate will determine his memory. I think it would be a desirable end, that birds should have the right to finally rack and tear apart a great bard decaying --the poet is out of fashion.
Why worms first?
Why not destroy or bore the execrable creature with due pauses and silent tributes?"
Raven: “Excellent! No tulips flowers for him?
Let's swoop thither swiftly and deftly, and in the the rosy dawn of bantering and disparaging, please do not allow the ravenous wolf, nor Homo sapiens or the dogs, nor the tiger or the rapacious hyena to take away our due and trophy.”
Falcon:”O do! The philosophy of life has been resumed tonight very successfully! I admire a savvy chap whom can find his expired carrion propitious --fresh in New York City alone!
For, learn this mystery of mysteries, the lynx and I are kindred souls from afar!"
(Footnotes: Can malice be as refined?
Hobbes would say "Homo Homini Lupus:" (Man Is Wolf To Man). --It is the bureaucracy of man, society and his human nature. You don't believe me. Mozart died as a martyr...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Is The Tail An Extension of the Spinal Cord?
A convincing evidence to placing mankind above other mammals!
The Phoenix Bird: .
"The great assembly was about to be closed when from another branch, a Snipe Bird brings forth other plum-expediency and hitherto unresolved puzzles: on whether a tail is an extension of the brain, and hence, another form of sensory perception and communication; or whether it is, merely, an outward symbol of rank, aristocracy and status; or, if it is a sad reminder of a forgotten era of great suffering in the distant past of evolution and struggle.
Most importantly, why current Homo sapiens do not have tails today, or if they ever had?"
A Snipe:(suddenly twittering from another branch while showing his sharp bill).
”…Most respected gentlemen elegantly gathered here tonight, you call yourselves learned sages, and yet, lack the concise methodology to hit the target with great precision unerring.
Are we not called illustrious birds of practicality and efficiency?
And it seems you have rather become romantic poets in endless twaddles and futile speculation, thus letting precious time and those lower beasts unperturbed.
Why not tweak the brutes to come into each other sooner?"
Starling:”Hmmm --How?”
Snipe:”By prodding the devil to wave his bushy tail!”
Falcon: "I beg you pardon. What is so special about having a bushy tail? And by God's sake to what use?"
Snipe:(Preening his right flank as if implying his target and status).
Do you think Nature has placed one's limbs superfluously?
A tail may have played a very important role in the sundry designs and projects of Mother Nature. It seems that there is a sense of pride and dignity in having a decent tail.
Unfortunately, Mother Nature has not bestowed the Lynx with such privileges and inalienable rights.”
Raven:(Deigning to take a careful look to the Snipe's short tail):
“And for a little tail, Nature has thus compensated you with such big a pointed beak! I understand the utilitarian role of your cutting-edge mandibles, but to what use a bushy tail on the squirrel?
Do you think it represents a common origin and ancestor, a linking cord for most mammals and quadrupeds?
--Do you think the Squirrel and Lynx are distant cousins?
Falcon ”Probably, and incredible as it may seem, there is no doubt, that in the distant past, a flexible tail may have played an important function in the development of clutching limbs and other dexterous parts.
But why do you think Homo sapiens have no tail today?
Is not a tail a prolongation of the spinal cord and perhaps another wonderful extension of the nervous system?
Would this tail-spinal-cord relation entail a greater degree of intelligence, susceptibility, perception, sensitivity and perhaps an enhancing mode of pleasure and suffering?"
Snipe: “It is definitely an extension of the nervous system; and we should not be surprised to find certain long-tailed animals being drawn toward Homo sapiens' milieu. But why the latter have no tail today, it is, certainly, an unsolved enigma.”
Raven: "Do you think Mankind might have had a tail in the remote past?"
Falcon: "We may induce such possibility from the striking similarities, reciprocity, resemblance, affinity, revolting physical characteristics and uncouth habits among certain simian species.
Mankind have no tail today, but the crass brutes, in the dawn of history, could have struck a common biological interval with the short-tailed Lynx; and in these latter days, the wild cat may have been losing his cherished organ, little by little dwindling, in his couched rump sprawling.
This is the missing link between Humankinf and the Wild Lynx. Through-out time, a series of complex events may have finally set free both beasts from their tail-stemming relationship and common ancestry.
This was, however necessary, a ground-breaking, pivotal event on the question of survival, sensitivity and suffering. But more striking than a missing tail is this irrefutable fact: both beasts are dammed to ramble the earth fugitive, destructive and meaningless.”
Raven: “With due respect to your far-fetched conjectures, I don't think there is any relationship, whatsoever, between the question of sensitivity, intelligence and the intrinsic purpose of a bushy tail.”
Snipe “Are you calling Mother Nature superfluous?”
Starling: ”Gentlemen, enough with your philosophical chattering. Let us be practical.
To-morrow the Squirrel must die. His death is decreed not on the basis for having a bushy tail, nor for having rapt poetic reveries, but for his obstinacy in scrutinizing the high heavens of contemplation; and in the last resort, for extinguishing the only source of light to all our inquiries and questions: the Moon.”
Snipe: ”Thank you. I would like to jolt him on the head, or, in either flanks thrashing and thrashing, let me pinch him off equanimity. Please, in consideration to your cordial civility and ethics, allow this humble servant to jerk the squirrel's bushy tail waving, thus inciting the wrath of the Wild Lynx on him devouring.”
Raven: ”By heaven's sake! You must be out of your mind. The unpredictable animal will transfix you with a most shocking swatting flame. Keep in mind, that the devil is dangerous beyond description; he may char your pinions to charcoal and ashes.
Do you want to become a rasher?”
Falcon: "My admirable friends, time is running out. The devil cannot be left there undisturbed, and thus motionless defying the entire wood timorous. Let us grant the Snipe his right to carry out his Machiavellian plan successful.”
Starling: “I agree with you, if we don't stop this Bush-Tailed Prodigy, who knows if in due time he will set the entire wood on fire.”
Snipe: “I must admit this, nevertheless to your melodious delight, that the great challenge at hand is not an easy undertaking. My main task is to incite his tail waving; in doing so, let the Lynx climb up here, and if Fate is propitious with us, let the ninny be plunged down there, headlong to his own destruction.”
The Falcon, Starling and Raven:(in squeaking dissonant triad):
“Let the mad poet meet his downfall from the top of a gnarled tree, and then he will learn not to compete with birds.”
A Silly Bird: “…Amazing! I always thought that a coiling tail was a mere decoration, to warding off flies or fleas. So, John Milton was right, suffering has a direct relationship with the spinal cord, and in the distant past, a goodly tail was another branching tendril off the brain's nervous system...Homo Homini Lupus par excellence!"
Raven Bird and a Starling Bird
A raven: "What is light?
It is quite a wonder that we cannot explain the Squirrel's luminosity, a daunting phenomenon, however impressive, a golden glow that could be inferred but in direct relation either to uncreated night or the moon-light's source.
Does he have the source-light on his own being?
A Starling: "What is darkness?
Your answer to this question, may shed some light into the other and vice versa, but I cannot attribute a dull silly Squirrel with such lightning powers.
Look up! For heaven's sake, I have never seen a squirrel with such flaring a flame!
A raven: “I agree with you. This is the more striking as no moon-light is seen gleaming in heaven's vault, but dark clouds imperial reign at this Solemn Hour. Do you surmise he might have extinguished the moon-light's torch?
A Starling:(with a sarcastic grin and looking up to heaven)
“That is a plausible possibility. The portentous animal, if left to himself, could shake and tear to pieces the very axle of heaven's circumference, and trust me --it would brake loose.”
A raven: “Amazing! That's a ludicrous exaggeration.”
Starling: “What is he doing up there?
Half-opened mouth, the poised creature seems willing to sip the ever rolling path of the firmament.”
A Raven: ”He may be thirsting Eternity's Inexhaustible Streams of Life. I heard him saying: 'Eternity Be Mine Tonight.' Thus implying he can also out-space the birds.”
Starling: “Ha, ha, ha! Not only does he glow pretentious and unreachable, a lightning Squirrel with purpose and meaning may out-soar the eagle's flight, and then he will build castles above the aeries of ravens, starlings, plovers, falcons, albatrosses, hawks, kites, larks, snipes and all the illustrious birds that day and night wheel this ivory tower of creation.
Are we not placed high above every crawling and creeping creature?
We are, by nature's aristocratic caste and ranking privileges, the lords of this narrow existence.
We are meant to instruct humanities from the endless errors of aeronautics, landing, ascending, descending and all the tactics of aerial pursuits. We have seen many a civilization going to wrack.
Above all, avoid a too linear flight, and occasionally, shave the air sometimes circling, sometimes aslant, sometimes wobbling up and down but with fixed focus of sight remote and yet near.”
A Raven: “ Indeed, we fly at the speed of sight, but we cannot glow like that squirrel. We must deem this wonder-squirrel an imminent threat to our high kingdom on the hills and the clouds of existence.
Therefore, he must die, for in due time he will conspire not only against the lynx and the snake and the lion, but against the ravens and the starlings.”
Starling: ”Let the wrath on the squirrel, the asp's fang on him the venom. And then he will learn not to compete with birds.”
A Raven: Yes. “I cast my lot on the asp-snake.”
Two Owls At The Threshold of Time
A Sullen Owl Hooting: (Perched on a shooting roost, and opposite to the Squirrel's)
Hey Ye Night-walker!
Thou keep thy tread in less hasty pace.
Unravel the meaning on this gloomy gaze.
May ye hear this sad grunting my guests nightly shades.
Don't leave this my forest without sorry hooting.
The shadows hold sway in grave clouds distant looming.
And how I keep watch in late hours
brooding.
Those sorrows bring echoes far in gales restless roaring.
And how they make sour, my soul ever scourging.
Ay! The blast really hurt!
Can thou hear their groaning?
No love for my being, an owl is thus forsaken.
Errant winds howling doleful, the wretched soul is thus shaken.
Where is the lamp flickering flame?
Its light has been snuffed.
Who is to blame guilty?
The moon is left in shame.
Another Owl: "Enough of mawkish poesy. Let the wrath on the Squirrel, the lynx's claws for him devouring.
Can you read the high omen?”
Phoenix Bird: “Meanwhile, dark clouds meet their consorts grave, and ominous signs decree here vengeance, at war their essences intermix hazy and lurid, their powers in swirling commotions, the grand vault is shaken, and lightning bolts threaten the question of silence and meaning.
The millennial expectation is interrupted, while down here on Earth, the fiery elements wrest their nature in friction terrible.
Whizzing, squeezing, roaring, wailing, cursing, bustling, in needs oppress many a-burying. And then, we trudge these valleys like zombies amok, ghouls and ogres, goblins and witches, so stinky, all-for-all, a-farting, horrendous beasts of preys we are, a Walpurgis night in this forest”
The Sullen Owl “O gash! Destruction only good! No worse than pain in hopeless sufferance, let it be his due sacrifice, the victim or the innocent, and thus in evil intention prove his conduct a malicious Squirrel.
The grievous gash for him alone, let him resolve the reason for being a beast malign, an arrogant ninny, a vile animal forlorn, without hope or Shanti.
Bitter is revenge, at night consumes the vitals. The hungry maw has her fill of joy, sweetly tasted inly, the sour gulp of revenge brings gladness to the sore heart, and the soul gasps, munching and licking her penance in silent relapses.”
Another Owl: ”On the Lynx catch the lot.
—-Where is thy hope?
Can these winds snuff your candles?
My dear, let thy wrath on the Squirrel be resolved..."
(Footnotes: How does Fate tie and interweave all our unrelated moments meaningful! What is sequence in your life)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
An Angel To The Soul
An Angel: “But not so invincible is the kingdom of darkness nigh advancing, that no-one could withstand them timorous, and not so united the dark enemies victorious, that some glorious light may not shine them dispersing.
Selena displays her sweet beams, amidst exhalations, she is perplexed but not yet overcome; the promised one, gently retreats thither hidden, coyly weeping in these dewy drizzles, leading gentle steps trackless, tucked away to a place unseeable, unspoiled, surrendering by coercion untouched, submitting pressure hostile, by such forces not debauched.
Surely, contrary stands a holy maid, little yielding to annihilation or trepidation.
And where is the propitious dwelling?
Where she the answer expressing clearly?
Seal not she the silence wholly hermetic and yet meaningful?
For, in like eyes far-gazing nostalgic, and in murmuring lips ever-begging, some One came caring, healing, adoring, the good redeemer's prescient inklings, His radiant face aloft scarcely displaying, yet shrouded in darkness transitory.
Don't be deceived in despair, for these foes lurid, lying under the Master's stool, vainly fight restive. Tonight, let her face dearly limns her Christ's diadem, declaring rightly, her true possessor returning; and if valleys and mountains hold secret meeting dangerous and precipitous, and the good soul is lost in crook ways astray; even there, sweet moonlight glints her heavenly lamps consoling, elsewhere, the broken heart she nurses in Him, the Sustainer, the good Doctor; and He will heal the grievous wounds bleeding, and will wipe every teary eye understanding.
Please, let the night her course pursue uninterrupted, let this wood a place of ghosts and gloom.
Could ye read the augury erewhile in heaven seen?
To lead the Glowing Creature protected, to a yonder place a woody hill, the future-path, whereat the Prince remains waiting; and under His shadows guide his steps, shedding dim reflections on yonder hills solitary.
The silvered austerity of courage and obedience not yet tried; and if tried, let the Squirrel-Soul prove himself a spirit victorious, unyielding to death ignominious, per-chance or per-Fate not so easy a prey squalling, nor a coward so vincible dishonored; for, it is appointed to thee, to let the soul her journey end with sword in hand, unsubdued by shadow, or, by terror that at night-walk rambles stealthily this forest....
Tonight be courageous!
Stand up on thy feet, trudge those valleys ever-rolling, seek farther spots, temples and footpaths, not yet walked or profaned.
Do ye see that yon woody hill?
The Fort Tryon Park, a jutting peak barely glimmering, thereat thou will find a den cozy, snug with true love, unanimous hugs of companionship; at the hillside steppes, scrabble yourself up, climb up those passages not yet so steep or rough, if perhaps erroneous and stony, they may suggest of goals and dreams attainable: some upland unknown to be found, yet displaying other views splendid!
If thee persevere farther, to the end a tireless seeker walking, a lighthouse will welcome thine steps noble, knightly received on the portico of wisdom; thence, thou will enter the threshold of magnanimity, a glorious temple, deftly built for souls like thee, a citadel flanked by goodliest trees, portentous, juicy, of loveliest shades, profusely, redolent of mighty groves not yet cut since the day of creation.
But if you prove thyself greater, high on the hill-top, on mystic days, a bluff road may pave thy destination to the utmost ways of existence, rosy, florid, a paradise unfolding, unveiling a cerulean blue, the welkin of zest and infinity; and if thy search has not yet found the philosopher' stone or the X of Kant, further up, thou will encounter a chamber of diamond-bricked structure, therein, a room marvelously shining, marvelous to behold, what precious things lie there hidden!
But thou must prove thyself worthier than these earthly things, and thy place shall be with Mel-chis'-e-dec, King of Salem, the great lord, whose temple is perched on the uttermost cloud's loins and peaks: the majestic vault abode, a grand gift unmeasurable!
On the topmost of Mount Olympus, there are ever stretching fields, pellucid lakes for fine thoughts gay feelings, most kindly enlivening, clearly studding the meaning of this blessed existence, an existence not so scanting in meandering rills melodious, but glens galore to thee, to find thyself sequestered, to greet the simmering bubbles meaningful, a music supernal, gushing forth streams of love, gladly slaking the thirsty soul inspiring.
Now go quickly, prepare the altar, the hut, the cabin enshrined in the wood of trials and suffering. Light the candles hopeful, and how mildly they flicker in these lately hours –surely, the Squirrel will ward off destruction and non-existence.
And let the nooks and fields pour forth their songs of Hope and Patience. Let the heart endureth with Him alone and steadfast, discovering new ways possible, allowing the great wayfarer's odysseys triumphant to heaven, to proceed forgiving his stories, beyond this dire forest of malice, misunderstanding and confusion.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the Outcry of Mother Nature and the Meaning of Pains and Silence...
The Phoenix Bird:
”...In the mean time, far in receding distance, a multitude of dark clouds have been arraying mutinous, pressing round the demure moon's cheek.
Sad Selene blameless, as though ashamed, tarred half-face, is stifled in ethereal confusion, in her crescent phase abstruse, scarcely visible, dimly lights the welkin obscure, fronts defacement, pending melancholy.
The promised lady struggles hard, partially veiled, she sighs Fate's recalcitrant children, brood of rape and adultery: bravely resist them, importune shadows, army vaporous errant, patches blasphemous dire, grim enemies of beauty, bastards of darkness dolorous, file of gloom and woes.
High above, prophet Jeremiah had read the omen undecipherable. But down here, in the hard walks and scuffles of life, the prophet Ezequiel had interpreted the ominous signs of hopelessness, famine, destruction and death.
O homeless crowd destitute! O abortis of natura!
Among the many complaints to heaven daily issued, tonight a wild lynx brags woeful, blasphemous, boasting dangerously, eyes flashing terror and vengeance.
Nevertheless, the anticipation of potential death touches deeply, beyond conscious thinking, the sharp hunches every soul impresses subtile, beyond the upper layer of thought or concept; the dreadful intuition embraces every sentient being (an irrefutable proof of feeling beyond intellectual perception).
In this existence of baffling possibilities, fear for the unknown is not just confined to human beings alone, and many a brave wight would resign a nightly journey in dread overcome.
Reeked of struggles and perspiration, the quailing animal would avoid a shadow hovering nearby, a spirit that obstructs the path, the thoroughfare of our shared existence with other entities –beyond immediate perception or sounds: a common awareness and testimony that life and intelligence may exist independently of organic matter, conceptualization, free of time and space, defying cause and effect, a world incomprehensible amidst sounds and pauses.
But is not silence another aspect of listening, another mode of inferring, another discipline of thinking in wordless communication?
Certainly, silence may be pregnant with meanings and interpretations in the parenthesis of existence and struggle —a disrupted continuity (...), an unfinished nay in endless pauses, yeas, periods.
And yet, a complete silence may not be possible in this wanton forest, the constant rustles may eloquently warn us of a life not just lived in rest or peace (Shanti).
And at certain hours and moments, every living being may shudder, chillingly disturbed, the unknown tingling sensation shakes every creature off composure.
Thus in this Darwinian forest, on the upper-crust of life and struggle, however unpredictable, long silence, may sometimes warn of imminent danger and disaster, of wars and forays –this is the philosophy of reality.
And in the late hours of survival, the soul would not dare break loose his joints and limbs unready; nor budge a silly steps unpremeditated, nor trespass his boundary careless, let alone, relapse complacent or idled, thus leaving the adversary to strike him off guard. Therefore. let the soul be vigilant!
This is the valley of tears, always meandering river of sorrows and pains, a world of errors and deception; certainly, it is a real place tangible, a realm that if felt or seen from his perspective, it is a terrible sojourn, nor least filled with other awful premonitions or puzzles --being in penumbras suspended and forsaken-- one is touched with doubts ever-pressing: to live but –perhaps, for dead ideals in bygone bloody revolutions, goals buried in caves and dens oblivion, whereof moldy scrolls lie besmirched, undecipherable, stained with the blood of forgotten martyrs and saints: perhaps the high promise that should have been obtained in ages past and remote.
But if there is any route to follow, unfettered desert or roadmap available, or, any immediate marked-way ahead of sight or time, verily, it would be to escape the enemy of existence. Let us henceforth make pathways, where the Squirrel-Soul may, if fortunate, ward off the final blow of that hunting predator: the sharp claws and fangs of that grim butcher."
Continue Chapter III:
www.eddiebeato.com/shanti---chapter-iii---bedlam-on-the-tree-of-wisdom-demons--the-mark-of-the-beast.html