Tuesday, March 19, 2019

allays 1084 - 1090

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:



I’ve found inspiration in keeping up with the allays, and where inspiration leads, I follow. Lately, I’ve read Antony and Cleopatra by Shakespeare, as well as Harold Bloom’s book about that Cleopatra, and I grabbed a copy of the Philosophical Dictionary by Voltaire. Been a little busy with work, but as always hope to finish the Emilegends soon.


Take care, Caretakers!





* 1084 *

“I want my place, my own place, my true place in the world,” said Hawthorne. “I want my proper sphere, my thing.” Like birds, we sing in order to claim territory. What we make beautiful we also own. This personal Aria begins in night, while we dream, this internal landscape nobody can plumb. We lay our radical and we take to own, own to use, and use our own private spot on the earth and also in the heavens. We have inalienable rights to life, liberty, and property: let us view our place as an extension of our bodies.


* 1085 *

Were an author any sort of authority over the fate of his own work, I would prophesy that my greatest creations will be seen to have been the Allays, the poems included in Phoenix Ash, and most of all Jillian herself – though I will perhaps add my daughter, since these latter two are most susceptible to my magical influence, while all the rest of the world turns a deaf ear. That a few can hear me, and severely, proves to my doubt that nothing has been in vain. I abide and ever shall.


* 1086 *

Often enough, our personal problems are chemical, on one level, physiologically based, perhaps fated in our anatomy and genetic makeup, but we experience them as cognitive issues – not as illusions, or rather, yes, as illusions, but illusions that works. William James fell into suicidal depression because of his doubts regarding free will. Probably just a major depression, but by viewing it as an intellectual problem he gave it the controls and handles he needed to solve it. So let us put all our problems in the language we speak best and solve it there.


* 1087 *

Communist philosopher Zizek dreams of a Rainbow Coalition, a union of all minorities together to fight off their white, privileged, wealthy overlords. Foisting an essence over them all as the oppressed as such, he takes away from them exactly what they should be most proud of: being a minority, being different, being individualized as subgroups, offering a unique perspective, and not something gross like the monsters and titans and hundred-handed giants attempting to storm Olympus, fueled on sheer resentment. He wishes, in the end, to ball them together into a majority and then to oppress the capitalists as a minority.

So which is it, circle or triangle? Do we want a hierarchy or do we want equality? Clearly both are needed, some things in common to all of us, and also each in his own role, with its attendant duties and privileges. Some honors come from chance, others from merit. Let us love the lovely, respect the powerful, and honor the noble. Lacking that, we are worse than evil, we are bad.


* 1088 *

Ah, Ama, you present the door, in it your Secret, and beckon me to furnish the key. So I’m alone lately, with you alone to play my games and you to speak me Home. Am I so Buddhistic as to call life itself the problem — “Life is Suffering”? — for Woman is Life, and beauty the cause of all desire. Mattria, you are Cosmos, beauty; Ama you are Life. I abide in my divine, and ever shall, though so many recoil from me; if ever I give a hint of my Self, they pull away, and not a fan to be found in all the world of this child our own, but I love it all the more, these Allays. I need no external confirmation. Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist. You have already told me your lust for the original. And Ama, I am the Original. I may laugh at my solitude, for I am alone with you.


* 1089 *

Eternity contains time. The past remains present, the future lives within the now. All that ever happened and all that will ever happen exist in some form even today.


* 1090 *

“Who can read all this?” my friends exclaim. Perhaps each allay is a teabag that, to be properly enjoyed, must steep in a cup of hot water. I spring from the subliminal to the sublime in flashes of lightning – I tease to please. Grasp me where you can – even a little is enough.


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