Alone again, Thales turned to the sacred writ. A monolith of forgotten knowledge. A tome for the bloodlines and madmen.
Cogito ergo dubito: yet never The Mystery.
By ETERNAL MONOMYTH PRIMORDIAL
Legacy 27
This was near the beginning, although one would say beginning is a vacuous term here. I am a man not born from his mother. Vacancy attaches itself to my existence now. Yes—vacuous is an accurate term, for this is a cold void. The shining void. Walpurgis Nachtmaere.
Mine own nature is to adventure, travel on an eternal quest. Your greatest knight. I run through the grail's door.
My tracks were swallowed. Don't be a fool. Even in the dark, subtle cues persist.
My dear friend who journeyed with me, Wisdom, says:
"In this deep abyss, does it see us? And if it can't… can we escape?"
I peer into the abyss. The bars of the prison aren't there. I do not see limits to existence. However… we are in void itself.
"No, Wisdom. Not even the void can see void unto itself. But we can escape, of course."
Wisdom says:
"But if even it cannot see us, how can we find our way back?"
I respond in kind:
"The master of travel leaves no tracks. Has no limit on where or when. The travel is all there is."
"Very wise," Wisdom said, "but the great silence does not permit our logic and restrictions such as a language. How do we speak, when even Walpurgis Maere cannot hear its own chants in this hole?"
The runic words in the abyss present no flaws. The dragon tongue is always heard. And the phantasmal defines existence. But the Deus has no need for communication. Benign prayer contains no errors. Not even "they" can escape that.
True language needs no words. Only intellect of the mind-self is limited in that way.
Wisdom said:
"Such madness... How long have we been here? Surely, you jest? Even calculation needs language..."
I responded:
"Oh but Wisdom, my dear friend—quantitative measure needs no abacus, no computation. Merely abstract the essence through direct experience."
"What are numbers to the heralds of the sands? Can you count every grain?"
The best work is done through introspection of the natural devices.
"Can we leave?" Wisdom asked. "Oh dear friend, is there any way?"
"Of course, my humble student, Wisdom."
"Oh please, magnanimous Hero! I've surely learned enough! Been graced by your great sagacity—please esteem me with your almighty powers!"
"Ah, but the best door has no bolt. And no key," I responded.
"How are you incapable?" Wisdom gasped—truly shocked.
Ah no. You misunderstood, dear Wisdom.
Fate in all the greatest trichiliocosm is the firmest knot. Karmic cycles and obsession lust after and intermingle with all things, And produce all manner of consequence, And yet they are not tied up…And still, they can never be loosened.
"Ah! Then you can execute Mother Spider, the genesis of all evil Mothers, the root and master of fate!"
Aye—even if that had truth to it, Wisdom…There is but one problem!
The true Monomyth loves all. The true Monomyth rejects no one. The true Monomyth saves things. The true Monomyth abandons nothing. Not even nothing. And not even the nothing after that.
We sail under the light of all tales, Wisdom. We step out of the light of all dreams.
The Light inspires. The Light grows. It cannot be blown out. Even now, in these Umbrae wilds.
The strongest nurtures the weakest under the light. The weakest is material to be taught by the strongest.
Despite any amount of knowledge, it is not to be learned to esteem one's teachers—Not even the knowledge of knowledge or the learning of learning. Not reflecting on reflecting or recalling on remembrance. Not to cherish one's material…Is to be greatly lost.
Love is your only weapon in war and peace.
The Love of Violence
The Love of Kindness
The Love of Eating or Be Eaten
The Love of All
The Love of None
Love thyself and your enemy, And all battles are a fleeting dream.
This is the lineage of the light—A step that shakes the heavens and earth.
Such is a marvellous...
MYSTERY!
Thales felt a fragment of rare wisdom flow into his Elysium, A fragment of the Light.
I wonder if the barber pole with no top or bottom begets the Light and its brother-sister, the Dark…Did such beget the music? The music I heard as a child? But when...?
Was that—such dwelling—surely not in this sleep...