II: Serenity and Sanctuary on the River Styx

Continued from I: Serenity and Sanctuary on the River Styx

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...?

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

Unity (more @ Unity, more @ IMDb, more @ Wiki)

For Sale: Reality and Truth

It's been a while since I've made the Internet rounds.

Why ever for?

Well... at the risk of pointedly setting ablush the long ears of long listeners aplenty... swimming in garbage is something that I categorically limit.

(Since I've been subjected to feculent waters beyond the pale of nightmares... the significance of my absence on the Internet rounds is... notable... to say the least.)

In any case...

Upon the Internet rounds -- it occurred to me -- this:

Have many of us -- fore the Internet cirque de miroirs -- ask:

What's real? What's true?

Because there's not much that's really real and there's not much that's truly true -- that's peddled through town squares and across front pages of -- so-called knowledge-for-knowledge's-sake sites -- so-called truth-for-truth's-sake sites -- so-called genuity-for-genuity's-sake platforms for entertainment purveyors --

Wait...

Did you catch that?

Platforms for entertainment purveyors.

Let me ask you:

What's free? What's for sale?

Is what's real and true -- free? Is what's real and true -- for sale?

If there is no material profit in selling what's real and true -- what more appealing packaging of what's fake and what's plastic -- is there -- than the glitz and glamour of spectacle and luxury for what's bluster and what's blather?

If there is no material gain in selling what's honest and right -- what better disguise of what's invented and fabricated -- is there -- than the smoke and mirrors of counterfeits and forgeries and shams and frauds billed to one and all as The Reality and The Truth?

Isn't that the point of tantalizingly digestible amuse bouche delivered on glorious spinning platters? To be stratospherically profitable? And what is more stratospherically profitable than -- entertainment? And what is more numbingly entertaining than perversions and illusions and deceits and lies -- masquerading as -- knowledge and truth and genuity and integrity?

With which to titillate one and all into senseless unquestioning stupor, of course. For how better to deaden and benumb one and all, than dredge one and all through repeated traverses through the River Styx?

For what else is the unliving undead state induced by repeated traverses through the River Styx -- than stupefaction? Meanwhile, how likely are the deadened and benumbed, to ask:

What's real? What's true?

So...

If it is your material profit and your material gain -- on the hook, on the line, on the brink of your admittance to any number of not-so-rare-after-all take-your-pick-of-purveyors-of-entertainment's so-called-richer-than-rich-Richest-lists -- would you prefer that one and all be -- aware and alert and awake and alive -- or senseless and unquestioning and benumbed and deadened?

Likewise...

If it is you -- holding brown paper bags of feculent hot air -- enthrallingly packaged with pyrite gilded mottos of reality and brazenly flaccid sentiments of truth, for one and all to adore and admire and emulate and praise and trumpet and worship --

What would you do?

For though reality and truth have already been sold to one and all -- and subsequently bought by one and all -- (for entertainment purveyors have most certainly acquired stratospherically material gain -- by selling -- en masse -- what we are incontrovertibly buying -- in toto) --

have we also -- been sold to one and all -- and have we also -- been bought by one and all?

Or:

Are we not for sale -- nor so easily bought -- after all?

More

When what is real and true -- is for sale -- 

What's winning the game of life? 

If not what -- who?

As for why --

To bigger and bigger and bigger.

As for how --

The consequence of biggers who bigger is this:

Biggers who bigger -- bigger more than material gain. Biggers who bigger -- also bigger power and influence. And what is more powerful and more influential than -- Pens and Swords? 

Moreover, if you possessed the lion's share of Pens and Swords -- would you use your Pens and Swords to instill hope and illuminate grace, for all allkind? Or, would you use your Pens and Swords to enthrall one and all into states of senseless unquestioning unliving undead -- to bigger and bigger yourself at the expense of all allkind?

As for when and where --

Is there any who believe that there was ever a nanosecond in the history of the granverse -- when biggers were not biggering? Is there any who believe that there was ever a speck in the history of the granverse -- where biggers were not biggering?

Are there any who honestly believe that any kind have ever been exempt from the reality and truth of biggers who bigger? Are there any who honestly believe that those willing to bigger by exploiting one kind -- have ever not -- also -- been wholeheartedly willing to exploit all allkind? 

Are there any who honestly believe -- that those who have biggered by exploitation -- that those who are biggering by exploitation -- that those who will bigger by exploitation -- care one whit -- about which allkind are subject to exploitation -- much less any allkind? For all those who have biggered by exploitation -- who are biggering by exploitation -- who will bigger by exploitation -- will continue ad perpetuum -- 

Until all allkind stand.

Lest we succumb to paralysis, stupor, apathy, and fear -- as biggers bigger at the expense of all allkind --

Let us stand. 

For me. For you. For one. For all allkind.

- M.

Note

Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (2001) (read more @ IMDb; read more @ Wiki)

I: Serenity and Sanctuary on the River Styx

When we live our lives, relentlessly lashed without mercy, by dark fears that terrorize our mortality -- serenity and sanctuary on the River Styx inters preposterously beyond reason or sense.

Nevertheless, inasmuch as our lives are no more within our incontrovertible control, than the lives of any kind are unequivocally within any kind's control -- in one time or another, in one form or another, in one life or another -- one and all traverse the River Styx, to brave the one and only reality worse than death:

eternal amnesia of the mind, heart, body, soul.

Serenity and Sanctuary on the River Styx

Have you heard the tale of Serenity and Sanctuary on the River Styx?

No?

Pull up a chair... and let me weave a story of long ago and far away... well... perhaps not so long ago... nor so far away... 

The tale giver's voice drifted away... then, she continued.

Let's have a go... shall we? For this tale is long... and how much time is granted, you and I, is not for me to decide...

Pshaw! Enough of this glooming nonsense!

The tale giver settled into the cushions about her and intoned with a clear, crisp, radiant, resonant cadence:

Once upon a time... yesterday in fact... there were allkind. Some served black purposes. Some served white. But all served with diligence and fidelity, honor and brilliance.

Yet...

Three stood apart.

A queen. A knight. A king.

The queen and the knight were assigned white purposes. The king was assigned black purposes. But, over many many traverses through the River Styx, their purposes obscured as their clarity and vision disappeared beneath the blackest of black waters, over and over and over and over. For the River Styx ever transformed them, into:

Creatures of hatred. Creatures of vengeance. Creatures of intolerance, condemnation, vilification. Creatures of reprisal, retaliation, retribution. Creatures of cold mind, silent heart, hard body, empty soul. One and all, creatures in service to -- none other than -- the River Styx.

But time and time again, matter and matter again, life and life again, Grace wove her magic. She pierced every shadow. She lit every corner. She flooded every path with the light of truth. Over and over and over and over.

Until...

The queen, the knight, the king... awoke from the unliving undead slumber typical of all allkind in thrall... of the River Styx.

Thereupon their minds, their hearts, their bodies, their souls were flooded with all that was real and true. Thereupon memories returned. Thereupon hope returned. Thereupon, joy, love, faith returned. In full glorious measure... and more.

But their awakening stirred more than themselves. Their awakening stirred the allkind.

Thereupon...

A great horn reverberated with the deep thrum of the inevitable across all allkind... thus to commence the war of all wars to end all wars amongst all allkind. 

The queen, the knight, the king, startled amidst awakening, found themselves forthwith, at a crossroads -- whereupon Grace and the Moirai spoke with quiet audience -- to each -- in turn. Upon each was bestowed a blessing -- of a future that could have been, a future that may have been, a future that could yet be -- and a destiny -- of a future that could have not been, a future that may have not been, a future that could yet not be.

Consequently...

The queen chose the road less traveled. The knight chose the road most perilous and lonely. The king chose the road most arduous.

Three in a race -- against time, matter, life -- to return all to allkind -- all that was real and true -- their memories -- their hope, their joy, their love, their faith.

For the war of all wars to end all wars amongst all allkind -- could -- would -- end all allkind for all eternity.

But...

What were three... against the might of all allkind?

Continued...