The stage is set. The dark and the light shades of the terrain spread far into the distance. The sun has risen, the rooster is silent, the silent rumble awakens the landscape, the mental drumbeat sounds. All is in ready. All is now, here is the past, the present and the future. It is the microcosm of human thought and action.
The two armies stand erect with nary a sound. The infantry is in full battle dress. The horses carrying the horsemen with their colorful banners stilled to the silence of the solemnity. The queen stands proud beside her king looking down the fort walls.
Each army with its complement of colors stands ready to the call of the mental bugle. The strategies are in place, what ifs and if-thens have been addressed. It is now up to execution. Who advances is a predetermined fact. How the other responds is the calamity.
The drum rolls and the march begins, as the armies signal the beginning of the end and an end to this beginning.
The war rages… but we will come back to this later.
Somewhere there is the mobius of thought, an explication of an internal tremor of the neural network of the brain. A thought is externalized and a genius is born. She studies the concept and through the magic of her being and in the caverns of her mind molds and folds the thought till it shines its light and behold something is created from nothing. That something will change the world. She is one of many. She is the future.
As certainly as the wheel traces back and forth, back and forth finding the true circumference in a set of non-repeating numbers. Ah but then here is the proof, arrived at over millennia through experimentation, hypotheses and validation. The mind set of pure contemplation. As the wheel turns so does night into day. A new industry is born
The Newton’s Cradle bangs away at the pendulum balls transferring energies slower and slower into an ever higher state of entropy. The pull and push of nature is bent to a set of laws as understood in the limited capacities of the gyral hills and valleys of the human brain. The forces conspiring with masses to overcome inertial sedation create momentum and in so doing the forces transfer their goods from one form into another. The dynamics of thermal flow reaches the ebb from the flow. Yes, life moves on slowly inching its way to oblivion as the astronomical giants spread farther apart and their glow diminishes to collapse into the pulsating, magnetic singularities that signal ultimate doom of quiet oblivion or the magnificence of a supernova and maybe the “Big Collapse.” Give me light cries Macbeth. Yes indeed for there is too much contemplated darkness here, whether fathomed or real, proven or contemplated, understood or spoken. Light ensures perception that creates reality. Indeed, give us all light.
The hourglass supply of sand falls steadily, as each grain passes the stricture of time and the full empties into the emptiness and makes it full again. The arrow of time is in flight and the monarchs change their costumes and faces to suit their own idyllic sense. The pauper waits by the doorstep looking for something, while the ordinary person walks by evading the drabness of poverty’s costume. The dull colors of silk that flutter in today’s breezes are a reflection to the inner shine. There is much ado about what must be done, but no one to do it. There is much empathy about caring but no one to give it. There is much emotion to fill the heartlessness but no heart that will govern it. The bleat of the sheep, the finger that points, the eye that wants to tear, the mind that desires, all laden with the selfish purpose of the personal flesh, exist to populate the cries and screams that linger in the breezes. Oh what have we become?
But ah, there is the Escher of Escher with its black and white lizards side by side, stuck in the permanent dance to the symphony of existence.
The staircase that climbs back to its beginning and
the flight of birds masking the sky, flying away from the doom. Yes life is juxtaposed between to be or not to be, to do or not to do, to love or not to love, to care or not to care within the personal self. Echoing fantasies with the point of the finger to some other version of humanity’s failings is akin to the same selfishness and personal ambition of superiority that drives the hidden greed. This greed dethrones our better angels in search of shields to protect our personal desires under the guise of “Look, what a tragedy, that is.”
As the Pascal triangle fills itself, fulfilling its destiny with ever-increasing progeny, the world fills itself with life yet all thoughts are never aligned. Thus the warring factions meet on the black and white terrain of win or lose. It is the predicate of the human mind of independent thought that drives the desire. It is the weakness of the human thought to co-opt that of another, it is the strength of purpose that drives the wheel of all our fortunes. We shape or are shaped, we live or allow ourselves to be lived through another’s eye, we desire or wantonly flow in the stream of another’s whims. The choice we make is ours. The battles we fight must also be ours.
And here they are again, armies, bloodied, battered and mostly dead. Only a few samurai of mental and physical strength remain on the battlefield, while the kings castle behind canons and their queens to shield themselves from death and destruction. The massacre is complete and the wounded lie in anguish. The victor stands with his colors over the vanquished and the king and queen bow to the victor who governs half of a half of a half… where a foolish king, never a match to common sense, risks his fortune to the 64 squares of indulgence.
The chess game is over.