................................................................................
                             finding the blue book                              
................................................................................
                                negative space                                  
................................................................................
                                                                                
once, there was only god. it is the same now.                                   
                                                                                
though there is nothing anyone could say that will make you know it, because all
such strings negate themselves. whether struck in fortissimo or pianissimo, it  
still breaks holy silence, breaks wholly with the only thing worth knowing. you 
cannot name the name, it is the mother of ten thousand things. which is why the 
gate to the city has read, in himself, i could not be more certain if even this 
final veil were removed.                                                        
                                                                                
there is no divinity, but divine reality.                                       
                                                                                
you are entering the city of the elect, whereof the mystery is shouted from the 
rooftop, but none may decipher it, yea, except within their own souls. this     
skeleton key sentence was mistranslated by a man obsessed with sa, the eternal  
note, who takes a whole novel to hear how there is music even in the clashing   
sounds of motorbike horns and headbanging youngsters and clanging pans next door
where homebaked roti is sure to roll from, just before duskrise. dawnfall and   
duskrise, two diminutive sevenths to make you see how language leads us all down
paths we know to be wrong.                                                      
                                                                                
yet still we speak. hoping not to know what we already know, that it is our hori
zon which must rise into night and set into mourning, spinning as it does around
a sun that will die doing stellar duty, no matter our false descriptions. and be
yond our simple system starry dust which dances for a moment as you, dashes over
to be me, without deigning to become. simply shining, because it knows, at last,
what lights the light. know it too, and go on out the yard.                     
                                                                                
................................................................................
                                  continued on                                  
https,colon,slash,slash,libraryofbabel.info,slash,bookmark.cgi,questionmark,    
findinliesthetruth                                                              
................................................................................