Monday, December 5, 2016

In the Garden


Where did it all begin? How did it begin and with what words may I tell you?

These words are thoughts which are like ants along a trail. They scurry and bump into one another, but they have some sense of purpose it seems. The whole of them, when viewed from outside appear to be one organism. Entailed within this metaphor, mapped on it by pheromonal equivalencies and the randominium of axonic connectivity, is the will for structure.

But does that desire actually think? Who thought of that first? Why?

Consider the concept of Unity. I am not sure I believe in "unity" as existing outside of mind, but within that garden, it certainly maintains a beloved throne, usually at the center of our temples' concentric mandalic rings. Grand concepts always seem to move toward Unity as their ultimate goal, again, like so many ladders to other floors, being thrown aside.

Does a concept actually move? Again, I am being literal to make a point. Growth is a metaphor I can actually handle because when I go to sleep, the ground cover is one size, one volume. The next day it has spread. More intrusive. More invasive. Ideas do this as well, but usually they must have some sort of soil to grow in. That soil is language. It covers a lot of ground.

Ants, gardens, ground cover: one may find all of these ideas together. Fortunately, they are actual objects, things, perhaps even beings depending on your definition of that word, but I will leave that for elsewhere.

Generalizations are something else. A principle of sufficient reason and recognized patterns that our minds craft and what is there beyond that? Will. Desire. Potency. I glean these from the different things I see, but I am always making them up. The only thing I am not making up are these words. True, I am arranging them, but that is no more different than a house. A carpenter built it, but trees are wood: they grow. We have simply forgotten that. Perhaps because we do not climb in them anymore.

This all raises questions—questions about whether the doxographer is trying to explain the explainer. The difference always seems to be: confusing why with how. There are people who need explanations because they must explain much themselves. Why suggests causality, and time. How can work anywhen. What does it all mean? Do the ants in the garden somehow know differently in their mass because the angels converse with them?

Perhaps. I'll think about it.

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