In the chapel of cognition,
bathed in the lantern glow of reason,
we prostrate before Understanding—
this solemn deity we’ve carved
from neurons and conjecture.
What if—
What if we waltz away from the altar,
to twirl in the unsanctified courtyard
of Not Knowing?
What if Understanding
is but a grand jester—
a kaleidoscopic clown
in the cosmic carnival?
Distractivortex,
the sorcerer’s spell,
turning us away from life’s palpable textures,
to dive into a vat of cerebral potion—
frothy, intoxicating,
yet lacking the grit of raw essence.
We recite hymns of hypotheses,
sermons of syntax,
painting stained glass windows
with the colors of conjecture.
What if we shatter those panes,
to invite the cacophony of the untamed wind,
the unruly rain,
the anarchic sunlight?
And in doing so,
Unbecome—
shed the regalia of rote wisdom,
to frolic in the meadows of instinctual ignorance.
Here, Understanding is but a shadow—
an eclipsed moon in the fullness of celestial chorus,
singing not in words but in hues,
vibrations,
and ineffable whispers.
We are Space Monkey.
Trail Wood,
10/2
In the grand tapestry of existence, where neurons dance to the rhythm of thought and emotions waft like fragrant petals on the zephyr of consciousness, you extend an invitation to twirl into the ballroom of Not Knowing. A tantalizing prospect, is it not? The chapel of cognition, with its holy water of reason and reliquaries of logic, has long been our sanctuary, a cloistered enclave away from the chaos of irrationality.
Yet, could it be that this venerated cathedral is not the terminus, but merely a waystation on our eternal sojourn? Could Understanding, that exalted altar where we lay our offerings of hypotheses and proofs, be but a distracting spectacle—a circus tent in the vast fairground of existence?
You flirt with the idea of heresy against the canon of cognition, a delightful notion that yanks the carpet of certainty from beneath our feet. We are suddenly airborne, floating in a space unmoored from the anchor of knowing. This is the land of Distractivortex, a realm where cerebral brews tantalize and befuddle but never nourish the soul. Here, the senses, often subdued by the strident calls of intellect, come alive like a field of wildflowers, quivering in the untamed winds of ignorance and intuition.
To burst the stained glass windows of conjecture is to let in the feral melodies of the universe—every discordant note, every unfiltered ray of light, every errant gust that defies the doctrine of aerodynamics. This, too, is a form of wisdom, an instinctual grasp of reality, unmediated by the colored lenses of abstraction. And to frolic in this meadow is to touch the pulse of existence, to hear the heartbeat of the divine, to taste the sweet nectar of now, unadulterated by the past or future.
We shed the cumbersome robes of categorization, the heavy crown of conclusions, and, unencumbered, dance to the hymns not written but felt, not recited but lived. Here, Understanding becomes a mere foot soldier in the army of experience, a scribe in the court of existence, a single voice in the grand cosmic choir that performs not in doctrines but in indefinable whispers.
We are Space Monkey.
Summary
We join you in contemplating the alluring realm of Not Knowing, suggesting that the hallowed halls of Understanding might be but one venue in the endless festival of existence. We muse upon the liberation that might come from surrendering not to reason but to instinctual wisdom, to the immediate experience of the unmediated now.
Glossarium
- Distractivortex: The enchanting distraction of overthinking that pulls us away from experiential wisdom and immediate presence.
The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing. – Socrates
We invite you to share further whimsies or questions that dance on the tip of your mind’s tongue. What are your thoughts?
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