Remember, Circular Arguments : Chapter IV; 1-29

the costly devices of the imitative scene-painter

A : Ask me a question. The prison of the soul has been created. It is formed, again and again, early in age, in every semi-conscious monkey that walks straight.

C : Only the fearless can cross the fire and not be incinerated.

A : That alone should be enough to filter truth-seekers from blind animals in the cave. And yet, what we have as Gods is a grapple bucket of thrill-seekers.

C : As a proto-God, imprisoned, alone with the sky far beneath under the world, my breath is decaying together with my ancestor’s will to power. By proxy, I am unchanged. His fury is compressed into an element which can melt humanity. The fission of my cat-patience can, too, bring about the end of the world.

A : The bitterness of Uranus is the bitterness of spiteful emotion, where your one true love has betrayed you, and your children have taken your joy and your false pride.

C : This, along with a river of poison is enough to destroy what’s good in us. The prison of the soul is built with such walls. All the stories told and retold, imagined and staged, are false, however vividly portrayed.

A : After all, there is still hope. Secret spiritual messages are revealed to Sufi poets.

C : In a conflict of a world, we need more spirit-tolerance, not less. All the scholarship amounts to an empty tomb.

A : As I am an ancient God, I find it hard to keep my ego in check. I am plagued with visions of hatred and fear. Nearly all I have left in this cosmos is a litany of foolishness.

C : You cannot expect to push on just as is, all these coincidences are not to be pursued. It does not matter what vision you might have had. There seems to have been a time in the distant past when you could be quiet in diverse manners and diverse places.

A : There at least was a possibility for Truth. God does not speak in diverse manners in diverse places now. Humans are scattered, the Gods are scattered, all that remains is the pantomime of the winds of doom.

C : I dare not ask about the father of the holy country, India.

A : There is a fundamental misunderstanding about one’s dharma. How does one know how to perform the rightful action? What defines it? The Hindus of today sees their actions as justified by the righteousness of murder. Arjuna’s doubt and Krishna’s call are all used as lawyer-words. Non-attachment as a spiritual duty is derided.

C : Quite right.

A : In Parsi-Gujarati “hambandagi”, bondedness together. It embodies the sense of spiritual pursuit of goodness which is not a means to an end. It leads to harmony and cooperation.

C : Hambandagi, then as another Bapu from Gujarat might have understood and practiced.

A : Do not engage in violence, or ultimately, violence will win. I am paraphrasing.

C : Tolerance is not easy when you are being persecuted. Should you not fight back? Isn’t this precisely like Arjuna’s doubt and resolution?

A : No, it is not. Arjuna’s resolution is not to literally fight, but to engage in spiritual non-attachment, and accepting the part you are given in the fray.

C : Hence the confusion. Doesn’t one fight in the fray? What about all those confused birds in conference, seeking a king, a mono-thematic God? Were they not fooled into submission? I doubt, therefore I am.

A : I don’t doubt that you do. As a God, I have to believe. It is my job from the start.

C : But believe in what? In yourself? Ahura-Mazdah, the wise? In fighting Angra Mainyu? Who says he’s Angra-bad? Who sent Loki to the underworld? Or Uranus? Or Lucifer, Asmodeus?

A : All the false lights. Reflected light bounces off planets, wandering in the sky we aimlessly misunderstand the ancients and take the planets for stars. No fire burns in planets, they shine by proxy.

C : Surely, there is fire in their core.

A : And yet, no fire on their surface. They live by leeching a multiverse of particles.

C : Tell me, why the dualism? What makes you the father of the good thought?

A : Old Persian texts maintain the central antithesis between that which is true and straight, and that which is a lie and crooked. “Perform no Zurah, no crooked behaviour to either rich or poor. Do not be quick to anger. Keep your temper, through the power of manah-thought.

C : So, we should all worship… you?

A : I am not the God, merely a God. If I were crucified, hung from my feet like Odinn before me, I might see beyond all this haze of words.

Remember, Circular Arguments : Chapter III; 1-21

The wisdom of Socrates

C : I certainly don’t believe that we already know everything. I am pretty sure that you know nothing.

A : How can I know nothing ? I am God.

C : Do you claim to be the only God, the One ?

A : Well, I wouldn’t go as far as saying that. Yet, those miss-believers that still believe the old religion…

C : What of them ? Are you going to eat them ? Fry them ? Boil them ?

A : They’re warned.

C : Let’s find the mouse of the matter.

A : I feel I am not as Good as Odinn. I can’ever spell his name for one thing.

C : Not your average run of the mill Pazuzu. Wasn’t Odinn both evil and good ? One eyed and all that ?

A : I sometimes ask myself: ‘Who am I, as a God?’ The answer : ‘I am a strong supporter of the righteous.’

C : There we go again with right and wrong. Who cares ? So there are some with rings of power. Surely Andvari’s curse applies to them too. And if not, not! Why all this begging, and guilt. I want to eat a mouse, I skin it. I go ahead and do it.

A : Is there a question ?

C : Is there ever an answer ? From you, or anyone ?

A : Surely, there must be something that we have done that is worth telling. Creating this world for example.

C : Geez, I wouldn’t ever want to take credit for this mess.

A : But who are you, cat ? Have you sat cross-legged on your way back from the desert, besieged by demons ?

C : That would be beneath me. But I know others who did those things. There’s nothing to be gained from navel-gazing.

A : That’s madness.

C : Not at all. Come meet my grandmother, Hel. She will tell you what’s what.

 

Churn the ocean

Steal the pot

Eternal life, my foot.

Demons every where

Evil is ill

defined

It exists between silences and behind the eyes of your neighbours.

God is invoked, but revoked. The Iron Door is bent out of shape, its mechanic rings are spinning.

There’s no safe space, no formula, no litany, no succession

Athena is my witness, Artemis was my name.

If you think you are not good enough, join the moot.

 

A : A tapestry of pheasants, a conferences of doubters. A varied agony at the throat. Molasses of piano-stricken dialogues, riddled with root canals. I’m not the perfect Wagnerite. I am not the sound of some broken dream. Come and collect my nightmares, and you will see. They’re on offer. Discounted. I am lion that bites the flaccid buttocks of False Truth, and a friend to Asia and Europa alike.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remember, Circular Arguments : Chapter II; 1-18

Chapter II: What is real ? What am I ?

C : Heraclitus said, there is only change.

A : Parmenides said, there is only permanence. Nothing ever changes.

C : From atop the dizzy mountain, what did your prophet say?

A : What we know is only based on a false report, written apocryphally many years later by a Dionysian follower.

C : Ok. But what did Zarathustra actually say?

A : He spoke of legends and fables, a collection of unreliable, fake stories.

C : Here goes. “As the Holy One then I acknowledge thee, Mazdah Ahura” – he is talking about YOU – ” When at life’s birth I first beheld thee, When thou didst make deeds and words of reward, Evil for Evil, a good Destiny for the good … ” – simple isn’t it? Like the narrative of good-evil on Arrakis.

A : Can’t you take anything seriously?

C : Listen to this. It gets good. “As the Holy One I acknowledge thee, Mazdah Ahura, When good thought once came to me, and asked me : WHO ARE THOU. WHOSE ART THOU. BY WHAT SIGN SHALL I MAKE KNOWN THE DAYS FOR INQUIRY OF WHAT IS THINE AND OF THYSELF ? “

A : I honestly don’t remember saying that. But then again, it’s been thousands of years. One tends to have a short memory. Hell, I can’t even remember what I did last week, let alone that long ago. I am not even sure I am the same god, even. My identity has shifted. I have nothing in common with that Ahura Mazdah. Gods age badly, my feline friend. At some point we’re all worshipped and full of vigour, and then the altars are deserted, and our breath changes, and staring at infinity won’t change our pulse. And so, Chubby the cat with impunity that got me in trouble… tell me, cat: are you a true foe of the liar, like Zarathustra?

C : I most certainly am. And yet, I am not sure what is the Truth. These days so many relative theories peddle perspective. So there is a collection of perspectives, and small absolutely diluted fake-truths. My truth is respected, though. Mostly in catly circles at least.

A : I was about to establish, that the definition of true Evil is the Lie. And then you went about relativism, and single pebbles, and oceans of wisdom. It’s discouraging.

C : Don’t be discouraged. But how, pray, do you define lie ?

A : The lie is the repetition, it’s not really about truth, but the intention to deceive by exhausting the opposition (the listener), but a recursive common-sense elimination. Just keep repeating the lie until the listener is exhausted. And then it will get in, force-fed into the gullet, and it shall be come the Truth. And once it possesses the name of Truth, it truly be at the point of being the Lie, and thus, evil will step one closer to wrap up the multi-verse. Time to go.

C : Common sense ? Sense in which sense ?

A : You know, Psyche was not a little girl after all. And all the gifts in the world would not suffice. Her sisters did not refrain from lying.

C : Sometimes, I struggle to see the human in people.

A : Perhaps there isn’t any. People are slightly convoluted baboons, babbling about angels and demons, and struggling to keep their paws in the cookie jar, shitting all over each other, braying and screaming to get on top of their sexual selection process.

Remember, Circular Arguments : Chapter I ; 8-28

A : In these our modern times, I feel there is no silence, no space left. The dark matter prevails. The solar matter is diminished. In this ruckus, I am diminished, too. The pale reflection of who I once was shines in the high night.

C : So, as a Persian God, as a youth or a philosopher, you do not shine. You’re the ghost of the Sun. But do you still have magic? Can you see with second sight? Is the future any brighter? Can you change the world with the power of the Mind?

A : Not so. The future is nebulous. There are confused signs. Even as I pore over the sea-pebbles (and play the wizardry game) I find the ocean overcast with a plethora of false stories. This story is too narrow a margin to examine. We ought to examine them lies one by one.

by many turns we have been made to wander and found a friend or two

far back in time

and never too far ahead in the never-ending nebula

a poisonous snake-river

a half-bred fire-sword

C : Tell me, ferocious God-Beast. Do you still Have It?

Tell me, uber-godly monster, tell your servant and your friend, your enemy and your rhetorical opponent:

What is the nature of Evil?

A : In my youth, I thought I had come to understand it. There seemed to be a time in my adventures in foreign worlds when Evil was so simple, I could comprehend it. I saw it in its many phases and forms.

I debated with myself for a thousand nights (or so).

What should I do about it? Naught. Then I did.

I have fought the angry bull that rages, full of foaming jazz.

My lion bite has left a mark on the Evil creatures.

I did make a difference.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

C : I am not sure I can relate.

What does Evil look like?

Is it shared?

A : It is an image that neither floats or flies. It stays within the boundaries of the mind-fuck. All it does is reflect light, much like that stone full of magic, the satellite Luna.

C : It reflects light, like a mirror? Will you not be concrete? Example. What’s it sound like?

A : Evil sounds like the shape of the blue-winged Jay. Auspicious and winging it.

C : Metaphorical nonsense. Yes, I am a cat, and yes, I am Greek. But do not take me for a foolish follower of Athena. I am better than the Wise old Owl.

A : If Evil changes across time, it shape-shifts to ride with the Valkyre.

C : Now, then. Who should we recall from the dead? What’s in the Archive of Myth that can aid our cause? Who would come forth for Justice and Truth?

A : Once there was a Franklin, rosy-cheeked and full of Epicurus. He had a bit too much to eat. Not him.

C : Well, there was a colleague, an inverted God hanging from an Ash-Tree. He had two ravens like a later story-teller.  Their lies were only true on Wednesday.

A : Well there was a deep hole in the trenches, and there lived a Hobbit.

C : There was a volcanic eruption, a man out of the cave and into the forest with a rice bowl. Into the arms of a kind girl that smiled broadly, even-toothed.

A: There was the madness of Dionysus, and before him, the star of Ariadne in Heaven.

C : “Bewise of Fanciulla‘s heart ! The heart of Fanciulla !”

A : “Even the recollection of willow fronds is a spellbinder that lets to hear.”

C : How exhausting, the bubbles of time and space with all these broken stories. These might be our friends, and yet we do not give them full service. We are not even close to the start of a story that tells the dialogue of Evil.

A : Evil speaks clearly, much more than you and me. This jumble of fragments we are not shoring up against any flood. We’re just remembering in circles, hoping for the Muses to kick our head in.

Remember, Circular Arguments : Chapter I ; 1-7

Remember

Circular Arguments between a Holy Cat and an Ancient God

“Doing good to others is not a duty. It is a joy, for it increases your own health and happiness. I will be mindful of the truth, so long as I shall be able.
Mayest thou grant me the truth, tell me the best to be done.” Avesta

 

Dramatis personae

Chubby, the cat

Ahura Mazda, the Persian God

 

Chapter I: What do a cat and a Persian God have in common ?

 
C : Listen. I say.

A : Wot.

C : I am a virtuous cat, and I have holyness about my paws. I am here to discuss the Truth.

A : I believe you. ‘ I speak the Truth, or not at all. ‘

C : So, by way of introduction , you present yourself as a sun-dial. How charming.

A : Nay, I am the SUN. I shone in the land of Persia, for the benefit of all sentient beings.

C : Uh-uh. Why, myself I am a cold-blooded feline. I love to sniff out mice while I sing of
golden showers across the solar system. Poetry and Justice are the same thing, I will
have you know.

Darkness and schmonsequences

What is that Titanic spark yonder?
Is it Athena rising of Metis? What lily?
What Narcissus? What Echo is there?

There, thieving love may be stolen; if
Stoned to death, we are burgled and
Then rendered in three dimensions.

Wet grass under the bridge. What remains?
Fear of the other, presumed loss, false
Idols. The wisdom of commerce. Biscuits.

Crying out from tear-gases, the memory
Of you, not-you, definitely Somme at else.
I did love once, and lost all marbles. Wait.

A quantum of transcendence

If Socrates is right, and the soul is immortal
And intrinsically good, then a minimum of it
Is carried by the body at all times, no matter
The circumstance. The black body radiation

Of πνεῦμα can only change its energy
In a minimal increment proportional to
The frequency of its transcendental wave;
I oscillate between freedom and chain.

If Emily Brontë is right, and there is such a thing
As the dawn of the Invisible, the Unseen Truth,
Only when the outward senses in electron-like
Spin perfectly align in angular momentum,
Only then my inward essence will feel.

Almost free, I wait for that constant Dream.

dream interpreter – Part 2 : 29-36

29.

Rebirth once was Pythagorean. That history,
we have remembered. Stretching, we touch
the daughter of Leto. That silvery light
longbow will soon change us and chase us down.

All the ghosts of the labyrinth are roaming.
In times to come they all shall seem to die.
But in dismantled memories, the gods set
yelping hounds upon them, their bodies torn.

30.

Reader! If you return to Knossos, you might
dance the Antic Hay. Perchance you’d meet
Ariadni, as the pilgrim sought the bull-tail.
You might talk to her. And if the sorceress

crawled out of a chest in bitter resentment,
you might still sit in meditation. The ruler
would look at you vanishing into dark thoughts.
You might chase dreams, much like the merchant.

31.

Ariadni might tell you how she forgot who she
was. She once had a false love, before meeting
a raving lunatic who had been adrift in Gangas.
He stole her hair, and promised her the stars.

She might tell you of his drunkenness, and his
joy. She might leave you mid-sentence, as
a ghost would – coming upon you at night with a
grimace, or a platitude cast to dispel the quiet.

32.

Ariadni might tell you of the TigerTiger roaring
to her horror, a lifetime of servitude. Ghosts
roaming the empty palace, would come hither, you’d
find yourself talking to the dusty halls, a shell

of a person. Ariadni might show you an Orphic
tablet, much like she showed to Desert Storm,
beg pardon, Dream eater before she turned into
a banshee. “Look here, instructions for the next

33.

Life”, quotes the tablet. Bee-stinger evaporated
into an all-knowing cloud having followed the
rules of the game. And what are those, you might
ask? Key-holder wondered about that, before jumping

in. “The water is just fine.” Instructions for the
soul who wishes to re-incarnate: you may wish to
learn your grammar and your trigonometry first, if
you please. Then as you walk in, ignore the well-spring

34.

On the left, that’s Lethe. You may wish to walk on
and reach Mnemosyne. Refresh yourself in that pool.
By all means, have a bubble bath. To be clear.
Drink not from forgetfulness (!) but from memory (!)

Dionysus was thrice torn apart, and returned each time.
He came and went to Jai Hind (forgive them, Mahatma).
He returned home in full Buddha-hood while segment one
of the Veil nebula echoed with Zauberflöte being sung.

35.

Then in a haze, rainbow-hued gas densities
shift-haunted her heart, but Ariadni laughed:
the sick thoughts of planets are finally here.
They are to be discussed by the Athenian School.

In the labyrinth, all ghosts will fail, By Gravity.
By Exocytosis. Here we be like the flow of water.
We built a vessel to push across the gate of
history, crossing the boundaries of Kronos.

36.

For that, we bought a ticket to the museyroom.
I wish we had minded our steps. We stumbled on
a big koan going in. There, three Muses met us.
At Knossos, the ghosts in chains, tethered with

the Griffin to the column in the great Eastern
Hall. The bull escaped us, like it escaped Marco.
The Venetian merchant had not come to terms with
his egotistical choices, and they pulled him down.

finis

dream interpreter – Part 2 : 26-28

26.

The pilgrim, the sorceress, the ruler,
the merchant and the adventurer are
within the gates of the grand palace
of the double axe, endlessly circling

its corridors breathing in the cool air:
it is a place to rest. But they are restless,
amid rocks aglow with mystic power.
They are alone, each is lost separately.

27.

There, they all caught an early glimpse of
the spiritual bull. Now they are wandering
inside the stone labyrinth in absent search
of a sign of the animal’s tail, but once again

they are back to the gate, blind to each other’s
presence. As ghosts, they haunt the high halls
of the entombed ox-palace where white river
lilies wave hazily at the sleeping mountain.

28.

Their life has been a short meteoric tumble
along the forever resting steppes. Yet it has
seen murder from a Venetian roof-top, and
has met the devil voices on an Indian wall.

Now they are caught up in delusion: pride,
power, divine right, pleasure and delight.
They are oblivious, as forgotten deserts,
as ocean bottom feeders. This is Knossos.