tea with mom

so I was having tea with mom, and her son was building a boat for the two of us to go fishing for men … he had this curious way of naming his tools. each tool was individual, but types with similarities would end up near each other.

while working with them, and caring for and cleaning them, he would sing to them, or perhaps better – in terms of causality – he would sing them into being.

nearby, were the weavers of the loom … which while endless, still passed by for our review, …among the threads were somethings so black it was as if it was not there at all … one of the loom weavers sang to/of it as the “empty dark”

…I raised an eyebrow in the direction of mom, hoping she might have another word or two to add, which was this riddle: “the idea of geometry”.

my thoughts wrestled with that … such creatures as a line, or a point, or a plane … those were … however, not the idea, but the deed as was done by the idea …a power of order so absolute there was no escape … it just was …

the Name we give to this remarkable being, “the intellect”, aka: Ahriman …

evil is a human conception, while the Mystery knows that conception is there for us to overcome, a defect in the seeing, a beam, a log, a riddle in a mirror

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