From my Greek studies...
“It is thrilling, for example, to read the fragments of the world’s earliest philosophers as they decide that one entity, whatever it is, lies at the root of the physical world; as they grapple with explaining how that one entity changes into the different phenomena of the world we see about us (wood and water; rock and blood, thought and spirit); As Parmenides decides that, logically, change is impossible (If something is, it is; if something isn’t, it isn’t; you cannot change an is into an isn’t; therefore change is impossible) - and draws the stunning conclusion that the world we see about us with all its changes (like, for example, movement) must therefore be an illusion; and how his successors began to grope their way towards an atomic theory of matter - that the basic substance of the world is below the level of perception and does indeed remain unchanged itself, but by combining and recombining in different ways creates everything we see about us. No one in the west, as far as we know, had ever even begun to think like this. In area after area of human intellectual, political and cultural endeavor Greeks laid down principles that have informed our thinking about the subject – for good or ill - ever since.
For any Westerner, then, to come into even brief contact with the ancient Greek language is to open oneself to one of the richest linguistic and cultural experiences imaginable.”
Too many synchronicities with my mystical philosopher studies to even begin to mention.
Everywhere I look, there is more to see.
I am onto it now down the hole.
I beat the bushes in our ancient tongue.
I hear the drums beating, like our collective heart, in my ears.
Then is when we individuated.
Now is when we are resyncing to the unchanging.
I guess we always coming near or pulling away from it or it from us.
The literal will reject this line of inquiry entirely as useless and superstitious, but oh no, how wrong they are.
This is the center of awareness.
And we are mostly still asleep and missing this now.
But who cares about them really, they are fine and trapped in their sleep, but I hear and see it.
You cannot raise your voice loud enough really to move even the smallest stone.
So I speak only to my self from the darkness of the world soul, in the middle of our collective dark night, amongst the sleeping and their false idols of self.
Seeing “A Submerged Town” — Szukalski
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