Common symbols and their associations reproduce no real possibilities. Not responsible for mankind's aspirations, incandescent clouds hang virtually frozen above the teeming masses. Their billowing purity a silent rebuke between brief moments of living and dying. Measures of time ignored, they say whatever we want them to say at any given moment. And we take these moments greedily, hungry for Being. But our essences can not compete with the void. Even the most eloquent sentences with words like blue or white dismisses the rest of the worlds they contain. By the time that cloud transverses the perspective we have run a hundred laps from "this" back to "that", leaving no wound exposed but the one buried deep within and our eyes are filled with blood and no one knows.
|
After more than three decades of work in this area it seems plausible to propose that most of the numerology in ancient mythology - and all theology in advanced civilizations - is musically inspired and disciplined.
|