Serenity and Sanctuary on the River Styx
Where were we?
Oh yes...
The race against time, matter, life...
The tale giver drank a glass of water... and continued... her voice echoing the poignant urgency of the course set for the queen, the knight, the king...
But before she could continue, a listener raised a hand:
Who are all the allkind?
To which... the tale giver queried:
Does it matter?
The listener considered... and spoke with hesitant assurance:
I suppose it doesn't. Not really. I suppose... I'm curious. That's all.
To which... the tale giver smiled:
If that's the case... then certainly.
Of course... I can't tell you all there is to know about all the allkind...
The tale giver laughed a laugh of infectious warmth, as she felt swell in her heart her love of all allkind.
For we could be here for millions of quintillions of googols of eons and it'd be nothing more than an eye of one pyramid... now wouldn't it? But... I can share a few tids and bits, if you so wish...
The listener exulted with eager anticipation:
Oh! Yes! Do!
To which the tale giver proceeded:
There are many allkind.
Many, it may surprise you, you already know. Though not as allkind. For your kind name and label all kind, with names and labels, by which many all kind, are robbed of inviolable dignities, whereupon their certain enslavement and exploitation is exacted with cruel and ruthless barbarity, time and time again, matter and matter again, life and life again...
Nevertheless...
There are allkind akin to what you call: Sparkly and shiny and giddy and fair... they swirl in and out of time and matter... with the ease of aether. Indeed, their very vivacity embodies effervescence and joie de vivre and insouciance and mais oui. More than all... they love to be.
There are allkind akin to what you call: Melodious and delicate and fierce and refined... they jut and protrude and thrust and plunge through time and matter... with the ease of ocean liners gliding through great seas beyond night. Their fearlessness and wonder as architects and questors, is unparalleled among many kind.
There are allkind akin to what you call: Frail and intemperate and passionate and slow to knowledge beyond the here and now... they plod and toil and rail and war... and ever they drag their feet, so to speak, on charting starry skies, ever where their kind sprout anew. But though their kind value gravity over stars, their kind are worth no less for their contributions to the granverse.
There are allkind akin to what you call: Strong and magnificent and independent and adamantine... they relentlessly conquer the weak and infirm... for dominion over all and allkind, in pursuit of unparalleled unrivaled perfection. Indeed, they testify to ceaseless perfectionism.
There are allkind akin to what you call: Warm and lovely, impassive and impliable... a contradiction of much among many. They are great sailors of seas and great tailors of worlds -- though, not consistently coherent nor considerately compassionate for every kind whence before -- they are intrepid explorers of the unknown and inspired creators of marvels.
There are allkind akin to what you call: Skittering and chittering and dedicated and faithful... they are among the least understood of allkind. For they communicate by scent beyond smell, sound beyond hear, touch beyond feel. But they too, have heart and soul. For they are ever devoted to their queens, whom they love beyond measure with peerless fidelity and adoration that shame many allkind whose caritas and fidelis pale in comparison to their unqualified magnanimity.
Of allkind, there are many many more, beyond googols of googols of googols to the googolth power...
The tale giver paused... and added gently with soft admission:
There is no allkind that I do not love and care for, that I cannot speak of or to at length, for every all kind is a miracle. An infinitude. A wonder of wonders.
Thereupon the tale giver spoke through a veil of prophetic reverie:
I dream of an age of allkind, you know. An age of...
Whereupon, the tale giver sighed... shook her head... and proceeded anew:
Well... that's neither here nor there nor up nor down... is it?
Shall we...?
But before she could continue, a listener raised a hand:
Who are all the allkind?
To which... the tale giver queried:
Does it matter?
The listener considered... and spoke with hesitant assurance:
I suppose it doesn't. Not really. I suppose... I'm curious. That's all.
To which... the tale giver smiled:
If that's the case... then certainly.
Of course... I can't tell you all there is to know about all the allkind...
The tale giver laughed a laugh of infectious warmth, as she felt swell in her heart her love of all allkind.
For we could be here for millions of quintillions of googols of eons and it'd be nothing more than an eye of one pyramid... now wouldn't it? But... I can share a few tids and bits, if you so wish...
The listener exulted with eager anticipation:
Oh! Yes! Do!
To which the tale giver proceeded:
There are many allkind.
Many, it may surprise you, you already know. Though not as allkind. For your kind name and label all kind, with names and labels, by which many all kind, are robbed of inviolable dignities, whereupon their certain enslavement and exploitation is exacted with cruel and ruthless barbarity, time and time again, matter and matter again, life and life again...
Nevertheless...
There are allkind akin to what you call: Sparkly and shiny and giddy and fair... they swirl in and out of time and matter... with the ease of aether. Indeed, their very vivacity embodies effervescence and joie de vivre and insouciance and mais oui. More than all... they love to be.
There are allkind akin to what you call: Melodious and delicate and fierce and refined... they jut and protrude and thrust and plunge through time and matter... with the ease of ocean liners gliding through great seas beyond night. Their fearlessness and wonder as architects and questors, is unparalleled among many kind.
There are allkind akin to what you call: Frail and intemperate and passionate and slow to knowledge beyond the here and now... they plod and toil and rail and war... and ever they drag their feet, so to speak, on charting starry skies, ever where their kind sprout anew. But though their kind value gravity over stars, their kind are worth no less for their contributions to the granverse.
There are allkind akin to what you call: Strong and magnificent and independent and adamantine... they relentlessly conquer the weak and infirm... for dominion over all and allkind, in pursuit of unparalleled unrivaled perfection. Indeed, they testify to ceaseless perfectionism.
There are allkind akin to what you call: Warm and lovely, impassive and impliable... a contradiction of much among many. They are great sailors of seas and great tailors of worlds -- though, not consistently coherent nor considerately compassionate for every kind whence before -- they are intrepid explorers of the unknown and inspired creators of marvels.
There are allkind akin to what you call: Skittering and chittering and dedicated and faithful... they are among the least understood of allkind. For they communicate by scent beyond smell, sound beyond hear, touch beyond feel. But they too, have heart and soul. For they are ever devoted to their queens, whom they love beyond measure with peerless fidelity and adoration that shame many allkind whose caritas and fidelis pale in comparison to their unqualified magnanimity.
Of allkind, there are many many more, beyond googols of googols of googols to the googolth power...
The tale giver paused... and added gently with soft admission:
There is no allkind that I do not love and care for, that I cannot speak of or to at length, for every all kind is a miracle. An infinitude. A wonder of wonders.
Thereupon the tale giver spoke through a veil of prophetic reverie:
I dream of an age of allkind, you know. An age of...
Whereupon, the tale giver sighed... shook her head... and proceeded anew:
Well... that's neither here nor there nor up nor down... is it?
Shall we...?
Continued...
Note from the tale giver
Names are names of power and labels are labels of conscription. Thus, names as labels, labels as names, names as names of power, labels as labels of conscription, all -- limit, specify, particularize, isolate, and so on and so forth... singular kind, singular meaning, singular reference, singular instance, and so on and so forth...
Needless to say...
The extant reality and truth of all that is real and true... is, was, and always will be.
Sincerely,
the tale giver
~ ~ * * ~ ~ * * ~ ~
The Sword: In the granverse, all kind are deserving of celebration. For every all kind is a miracle. An infinitude. A wonder of wonders.
The Pen: Indeed, when one kind celebrates its own kind, to the exclusion of all non-one kind -- what is this one kind really celebrating?
The Sword: Then, Dear Pen, I propose a celebration of all kind!
The Pen: I second that motion, Dear Sword!
The Pen continued: For are not celebrations -- that embody true equality and promulgate true equality among all kind -- celebrations that exclude no kind? Much less celebrations that exclude non-one kind for the aggrandizement of one kind? For isn't this very exclusivity and aggrandizement -- the very apotheosis of privilege and inequality?
The Sword: Dear Pen... when will all kind be worth celebrating?
The Pen: Dear Sword... when all kind decide that all kind are worth saving.
~ ~ * * ~ ~ * * ~ ~
More
On names, labels, privileges, and inequalities: The Chip Aisle: Index
I like your message better than the Monson's.
ReplyDeleteAll kind? I thought this was more liberal Eastern Rubbish being espoused by people who want to bring down the world. Then I read this again and realized that the donkey in the room was me. We need to move past our differences and just be good to all kind otherwise we will always be mired in hells kitchen.
ReplyDeleteYou have perhaps one of the most complete writing styles I have ever seen.
ReplyDelete