Until a few years ago I was a staunch materialist. Even as a very young child, I could not swallow the existence of Santa Clause or God without puzzlement and questions. I was constantly asking myself what the true nature of reality was. This is a question that the human mind believes rationality can answer for him. He may go his whole life believing that the nature of proof and the proof in nature is nothing more then a series of demonstrable observations. But he will be missing something powerful and essential which is not driven by what is perceptible. Like shadows on Plato’s cave, the average man is thus decieved.
The hidden language of the world is not spoken in the buzzes and hum of our spoken word, nor even written. Rather the layers and lines that establish our alphabet comprise an even deeper system of relating and conceiving of ideas: they evidence the symbolic manifold. This is the scheme of potential embedded in the mind of every child at birth, that which allows the developing brain to become fluent in any language that is spoken socially or culturally, any language that the child is exposed to. Before this open book – this layer of receptivity – is calcified, a child is practically a walking babelfish. But something odd happens when we reach a certain age, near the age of reason. Our ability to learn languages is cut off. The “tower” falls. Ironically, in America, our education system does not even begin trying to teach a second language to children in school until high school or middle school : right as the gates shut.
The scheme of the world repeats itself over and over and is buried in patterns that establish themselves in the nuances of perception indirectly : numbers, sequences, constants, shapes (geometric), and symbols. These are what we may call the formative substances of the archetypes. They have meaning that defies simple explanation, meaning that can never be fully grasped in entirety, because it is constantly in the process of being reinterpreted – manifesting and changing. A symbol is bottomless and like a fractal, contains infinite resolution, and complexity that continues indefinitely, constantly changing, ever-so-slightly.
An archetype is a seed which contains the hologram of the whole embedded in its bud – it is awaiting the water that will spring it forth into completion; we, its human inhabitants, wander within its echo, unconsciously enacting the psychodrama of the greater archetypes that amorphously shape the slumbering structures of our labyrinthine mind.
The memecist is the architect who sees the inner resonance of the archetypal language – in the legends of our ancestors, this is the Merlin figure who could humm in tones that would vibrate structural form into manifest existence. The divisors which seperate our reality from the higher dimensions, like space and time, cannot be percieved by our senses, but the archetypes SHOW us what we cannot see, if we can only learn to hear them, for they sprawl across the illusionary boundaries of distance and era to join meaning in synchronicity. In this way, they speak for those with eyes to see and ears to hear. And they are always whispering, murmuring and waiting for us to hear. For, in ages past, all men could speak like the medicine man – the shaman.
once upon a time, we all heard the words of the Olympians, of the Gods.