The above is incorrect. Just my opinion, in light of the below.
The above is incorrect. Just my opinion, in light of the below.
Parcigal learned the powers of personal appearance, nearly two decades past. She learned its ability to exploit and/or to be exploited, nearly a decade ago. Hell, all gals did where she was from, Alabam, the Dirty South. Personal appearance stood as the primary source of feminine efficacy (next to blood kin).
The place where they raised her never addressed that which she regularly pondered: the long game for pretty lady face.
This type of prettification during youth resulted in an aged-self prettifying to remain relevant, as a new generation of beautiful gals arose.
The true Tao seemed to be finding Beauty unmasked.
She started to let her face be as it is. Washed it, moisturized it, but that was all.
She became the appearance of the female she was.
She did this, going about daily public interactions, until she knew her face,
Became the female she is.
Then she wields the power of makeup’s masking properly. Not defensively.
Parcigal lived her dream of Art. She reinterpreted Myshkin anew, unbound to previous ties made.
Of course now, books are more often quoted than read.
The once enumerable is now innumerable.
Parcigal recoils from monastic traditions. It is being one a crowd, faceless.
Initiation required heavy control over the individual’s entire life. Gives very little free will. They seperate sexes, assuming gals are even allowed at all. It imparts a tacit intent to shame the sexual nature of the h. sapien mammal. She does not doubt the resiliency of these traditions. But, her energy does not run properly in their circuits.
She recoils from secret societies and erudite traditions, because she distrusts agendas she agrees to but cannot fully see. It feels, in her mind, like blindly giving away power.
But she is wary. She is also extremely lovesome.
A lovesome nature required diligence.
What was the use of sensualism with a resonant partner?
Why was this primal magic so hidden?
Magnetism and electricity.
Conductive bodies are conducive to utilizing each resonant body.
So, in her Fool way, she left her Ewer the note below.
The morning after she spent her first night in the handmade.
Before she snuck out (after two minutes of hard doting on his sky-eyes) without rousing him.
Æ am a/the word. And a/the word is not only, but also, glad/ly.
The recounting or slight reprise of several (re)countings falls to me.
Í endeavor to do my best on this, your sojourn.
But(t < giggle >), í am a Fool, a bit of a cad. And proud of my wide-eyed wonder.
Please, bear in mind that what is “down for me is up.”
What the sisters did in this sphere marks history. Of course, time perpetually does this to history, so long as there is one conscious, sapient, vantage point to see it.
Cassandra and Echo. Aphrodite ruled Cassandra.
Cassandra knew it not until she reawoke from her latest dream.
Unselfishness went far. Embracing laughter and not war did too. Now, such names reach above and below.
There is a beautiful naked woman symbolizing this sphere, allegedly it is she.
Failure, futility, debauch and valour. Her titles and attributes.
One who loves roses as well as the name of the rose.
She sometimes takes the form of the íynx.
Has the power of beauty triumphant. The meaning of this is not to be taken for obvious and it will become clearer in your imagination as we progress.
She took but two weapons. One was no more than a long bit of cord. Her girdle. Atypical. Her lamp. She carries her own. While she loves to sing the Song of the Goddess, she has yet to accept Shakti theology officially.
Amusing given her role. But then again, she is a fool.
Of course, Rādāh took most of the heat.
~ But, now í get ahead of what passes for my mind these days.
Your merry narrator has an acadæmic background. Outside.
An able learner keened up into a gifted child. The tradition of empiricism, many empiricists think, has become a large collective comprised in majority by a bunch of pretentious prognosticators. You may add my name to the list. I would not deny it.
We do have a methodology to which we may aspire; although í’m not sure we understand it anymore.
Any work undertaken is going to address a research question. This general question will lead us to our object of inquiry. From there, we may begin our study by commencing with research.
Let us consider our object of inquiry here to be of Landgrave tradition.
This endeavor, like all forms of writing, will be an imagined experience. One that we shall undertake together.
Í will address conceptual and practical problems.
Practical problems predominately belong in the professional spheres. They address states of affairs in the world that are found troublesome. Much like a lazy eye, this perspective will ultimately depend on whom you ask: what is the “real” problem?
Sex, love, gender, women’s rights, men’s desires. These are not problems as much as potentially and periodically problematic. The difference akin to someone who likes the soup hot but not spicy. Modernity shuffles the deck of sex, gender roles, discrimination time and again; and these term fly like spaghetti towards the wall.
And yeah, it sticks. The pasta is done. While a new bot boils already. Periodicity. Embrace dont fear.
Conceptual problems tend to the acadæmic spheres, as they often have the luxury of not solving any real problem, but rather simply pointing out that what people currently think is wrong. Undexterous. Or else, they may point out some other version of not knowing [sic. differentiated from not-knowing].
While there may be no tangible cost to this type of problem there is a consequence: a particular kind of ignorance: a particular lack of understanding that keeps us from realizing something else that is even more significant.
My conceptual problem will address the problematic notion we refer to as Cartesian Dualism. To put it nicely. But we will consider the present social bifurcation existing between sexuality (pleasure, sensualism, hedonism) and spirituality aka soul power.
We will also review the practical problems of the politicization of love. Our concept of love and souls and spirit tethered itself to new stakes of symbology with the birth of nations. Questions of individual efficacy and empowerment. Evidence nature is not foisted by self organization, but birthed by it.
Perhaps nature dealt us the recurrent self organization that becomes Parcigal et al.
No 0ne knows.
Perhaps the point eludes still.
The complicating neuroses of this day and age are illness. Cultural malady: part of our Civilization and its Discontents. Certain psychological “maladies” or tendencies have not pervaded all civilizations, just the increasingly modern ones. Or were perceived differently and not in the context of illness. Certain psyche-related phenomena do not qualify as illnesses anymore than the influx of pubic hairs at that-age does. But low-level, often chronic psyches that feel listless (depression), those in rapture and the enraptured (anxiety/panic disorder), those than that suffer overarousal through cascades of chemical reactions eddy in both members of the pair of nervous systems. Fight of Flight modus operandi. PTSD. Shellshock. Trauma.
Fight or Flight is a sign of good health. Exhausting. Yielding enraptured dreams behind closed eyes. Certain strange magic. Disorienting your relationship to the world. A la any number of means: light sensitivity, panic induced by loud abrupt noises, increased heart rate, vertiginal dizziness.
Vertigo. Choclear imbalances.
Aringing in the ear/s.
Powerful memory recall and impactful imagination.
Rationally irrational for a year or two (if not longer for many others) keens you in on how to wrap one’s head around it. Remember: realization of the irrational confederacy of elements which have rewired your mind, does not restore or correct the new wiring.
It can increase the symptoms displayed, both self-reported and observed. Emic and Etic.
Until you figure out
How to w/rap your head around it.
W/rap your head around it, bind the craven and the whinging and the pitiable with your head.
W/rap your head around the the idea of
Rapture. Transitive verb forms only exist.
So shall we characteris/ze as a noun, adjective or adverb.
Rapture is the Experience of
Whatever wavelength resounding back to another resonate body.
We shall dismiss outright the Christian allegory from our discussion. We shall also not use it by example frequently as this handle grows inflamed. This does not say that this narrator does not have the utmost respect for the traditions and ways of Christianity Your narrator does not dig ecclesiastical anything, really. No disrespect intended.
One way is to remain on the quiet side and attempt dispassion in actions. When you are a spark near a drought field know why you take to action or move to a new scene.
The Key and The Kingdom.
The King and Realm.
Symbiotic experience of a relationship.
Give and take. A rope tug of war. Required well-honed suitor to make the earth to him bespoke. Parsigal preferred impeccable. Used infrequently to describe the character of things, but a word frequently used when she found it so suitable to do so. To excess. Tiresome and demeaning to the intended integrity of the word to act as a meaningful descriptor at all. Our gal played the long game too. In an effort to live cleanly per se. The trick was that ten or fifteen years down a stretch of road often made people forget the glad moments. But upon hitting a rough patch on that highway, those memories catalyze the emotional content of our psyche and mind.
Catharsis through a sweet remembrance. She could do worse if this was worst case. Make him remember himself then.
By being a bit annoying about it now.
She argues this untangled mess began with Descartes. The very notion of Cartisian dualism is awkward, yet intuitive. Confounding. Body and mind.
Being. Howl, a cultural chemist might argue that we are nothing more than the balance of our pH. Should that even be what it is? Of course not, it (already) is what is.
Even so, modern science often mistakes visionary and engenius for morons, weak, prone to, indigent et al.
Misanthropes, fuzzy and fidgety creatures of mystery, fell (enbetweened)
Parsigal reads. Words. Transcribes written words and scratches n’ scribes out new ones. (Well k/new to her pen is.) Number system & written language. With occasional oral communication should requisite it provide.
Parsigal writ: Written words and verbal explanations reveal the mechanics of mathematical proofs. You cannot “read” mathematics without first reading its principles in words. Or hearing them.
When Parsigal was playing as Iynx, she learned from stalking her mother about the little green house how men fell in love with the words stirred in their own minds. Echo related her experience with Narcissus, in small snippets, with death and the lover. She learned from Pan the power of sensual, music, and the Impromptus.
Iynx was a nymph and a Parsigal was a bit of a cad.
Spirited. Enspirited of the mountains and the pastures by nature. She knew the word ‘panic’ derived, ultimately, from Pan.
She knew Zues liked to play with mortal lovers, despite having taken Hera.
Goddess and godhead. She knew her mother tried to shield and protect Zues.
After he commanded it of her.
But Hera learned of his triflings and used Echo’s intended, Narcissus, to hurt her.
In response, as Iynx, Parsigal cleverly made Zues fall in love with the Moon. The moon reflects the sun’s light. Zues surely loved a good reflection if ever a sentient thing did. This is where Iynx resonates: in her metaphysical reaction to the injustice Echo and Narcissus suffered.
Parsigal passed time. Contemplating lists such as this:
Consilience, congruence, confluence, concommitance, conjunction, concurrence, conflation, concupiscence, concordance, and contiguous.
With this matter addressed we accede to procession.
To proceed again.
She saw the purpose right away. The ritual had efficacy. The elegance of movement indicated carefree, nonchalance. Something had been done a million times throughout the years. A habitual action that the young woman reenacts through time and time again. Simply slipping her keyring onto a finger while the other hand unclasps the handbag on her arm, the young woman then drops her keys in the purse and reclasps it closed. This she did without looking. Her hands knew the routine already.
Utter grownup magic to the eyes of the kindergarten girl.
She suddenly cannot wait to have keys of her own. One to this place. This one to another. A big black plastic capped car key would provide variety. The more keys the better. And also, she would have a small collection of essential stuff, so many little things. A purse would be needed to carry all her little stuff. And for her keys too.
She would need a phone with her always; and perhaps a piece of important paper that she may be called upon to present. It would be kept, neatly folded, and handy. The bag would have both zipper and clasp closures. Hands with painted fingernails made a difference too, the little girl noted. She would remember this for when she got older, she thought.
This was the height of adult culture, maturity; the pure glamour of young adulthood to very young children.
She would be sure to throw in a mumbled gripe (I just have got to clean this bag out) said to no one in particular. This acknowledgement of her faith in cleanliness and organization showed she was always looking for more that could be done.
Yes. She would grow up to be a busy lady, she decided. Be one who juggled keys and bags without looking. Her hair style would be on point and her makeup would be on too. She would be pretty and only wear lovely clothes, like high heeled shoes that click on hardwood and sidewalk and lanolieum. Everything would make her smile at people. She would speak with her hands, using animated expressions that were almost but not quite panto.
She would always remain put-together and successful at whatever came her way. She would know what the other ladies were all doing too, the stuff she’s supposed to do, like be the best. Act like someone who gets it, you know?
She would be no weak-willed, lazy type who needs to just get over it already. There was no artistry to their keyring handling. No one admired their not nimble fingers as they shoved keys into bags.
They did not smile nearly as much as the other lady grown ups. They must be miserable and have sad lives.
She thought to herself: I mean, smiling means you are happy. Right? The other ladies have to be happy, yeah? Otherwise, they would not smile. Or is that just the face lady grown ups wear?
No, thought the girl. They must be happy. Just look at their keys! Their purses came to smell like sticks of spearmint gum. They were always on the go. I’ll never be still, thought the girl. I’ll always need to be somewhere. I’ll always know an interesting thing to say. My reactions will be adorable and cute too.
Like people on screens, she saw how she would act and pose to play the part of lady grown up.
What a strange dream of childhood from which to awake.
When we last left off the Great Work of story, Parsifal went it alone on the quest shared by all. Parsifal was unaware, unsure of the quest itself, of that being sought.
The first secret herein reveals the Green Knight and Parsifal are one and the same; or, perhaps these are the two faces comprising our protagonist. Two lives lived in parallel.
You have heard the name ‘Knight Templar’ and assumed it referred to a man,
The second, open secret: Parsifal is a broad. A simple wench, to use the modern subtext. A gal.
A gal questing but for what holy grail? She worried about it not. Journeys become. Destinations are a drag. She spun infinity effortlessly. She worked her method. Her method was the achievement not the means to achievement.
This was her Tao, her manner and way of being:
learned from Elder Brother in secret;
thanks to Knecht;
apologies to his Shadow, still wandering alone;
And no regrets coyote.
[Verticies. Ways of being. (Berger’s Ways of Seeing).
Multiple levels of discourse take time to discern.]
But our Parsigal remains.
Our Parsigal is a tangential elaborator.
(S)he is something new: the contention made (here), at least.
One is left to presume.
Hurumph and hazaa.
Herald this return from the heavens and hells.
Ringing in the peals of bells and pounded from the skins covering drum heads.
Issuing forth in the drone of electric strings plucked and amplified
The return may come before the end of next summer.
It is not good when it is done.
It is done when it is good.
Parsigal struggles here, locked in the struggle box. Feeling like an empty empath.
Some comment: that is okay, she is pretty (enough).
Never. Pretty is never enough. Work. Absurd. Always.
Multiple primary sources note her propensity for laughter and love of comedy.
“No one laughs like….”
Multiple romantic partners:
“You are comfortable,” whispered with serious gravity.
Well, the pretense of gravity. They needed something basic. Parsigal was simple but never basic. Basic exists in limited misery. Simple is elegant methodology.
Stars are everywhere.
Most come out during the day.
It is hard to see the stars of the day.
And hard to understand the night stars so easily seen in the dark.
Two stars become a planet with the application of the function of a
Goddess/Godhead. One : another.
So came Ae.
S(he). Cloaked. Parsifal.
Jade eyes that turn amber and brown when upon looked.
Only the Grail knows this:
Morning and nightly star.
She is a knight hand-made from a handmaid.
She will sow. Sew.
A she-chevalier for he.
True amateur. Feminine anew. With masculinity imbued.
She wears all the colors of Joseph’s coat. The one the Argonauts eventually obtain, no?
Ha, some dummy thought her a witch who turned the men to swine like legion running off some cliff, like clumsy wildabeasts rushing in a herd towards their own demise.
The lesson she meant to impart in these old epics is: never cast your pearls before swine. Never haggle over the price of an irregular pearl, either. Is it more valuable in its uniqueness? A snowflake impeccability of form. Or is it grotesque? Ill in uniform. From an uninformed maker? A non- artisan oyster? What crass and craven questions could one scratch if not these?
Improperly tangled loops.
Emergent, epiphenomenon of complex systems.
The third law of thermodynamics misinterpreted.
Her name has been spelled too many ways.
She cannot rightly recall her writeful name;
Her dexter handle;
The a droite moniker (not the a gauche one).
All titles have power. And to have is to hold.
All titles can be reduced to words of language.
Not all titles can be expressed with words of language.
Collared without collaring. Maverick whose brand is a lack of brand.
Feral gal child, spirit undomesticated.
This is our Parsigal.
This is the story.