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There is an ancient part within me that smiles with the universe.
This was originally penned on the 29th day of May, 2021. It was a Saturday. It has been reprinted here for posterity and/or austerity (whichever you prefer). Enjoy.
There is an ancient part within me that feels greater and older than almost time itself. Most of the time it lays silent, as I live out my days. But on occasions when I see fellow human spirit alive, it opens an eye and nods with a hum of a thousand strings and ten thousand drums.
There are several metaphors which could speak to the dimensions of mine Primordial. In many of these it is like a god, in the truest pagan sense. It is massive, the sounds it makes a mixture of beyond this world and beyond our powers. My most lively memories from forming my self-conception as an adolescent led it to be coloured by the music from the fourth generation of Pokémon games, Diamond and Pearl as well as Platinum. So, there is a strong synethesic bond between them.
In another way mine Primordial is like a godfather and even a guardian angel. The oldest brother beyond brotherhood it seems, always there behind me, seemingly having seen it all, but remaining just for that spirit of life itself that damns all objective reason to live. When I speak in unison with mine Primordial, everything seems to rush out in the third person, endlessly impersonal and endlessly right. It knows the truth then. It must be so. There is no person to even stand in the way between the words and the truth, because truth stands by itself, and in this moment, it is abundantly clear that it does indeed stand. There is so much greatness flowing out from its presence, mine Primordial feels like the greatest blossoming flower, or the tallest of trees, or any mighty singularity.
Mine Primordial knows who I really am, and who I ought to be. Perhaps in younger years it would have been an imaginary friend. Perhaps it is my shadow. But it isn’t me, it can’t be, it must be beyond me, because it is so incredibly powerful and omniscient. It knows all the things, and more importantly knows why. Mine Primordial winces and awakens one eye when things of the world are novel or righteous. On those rare occasions I channel that, feeling the same as it does, for a moment at least. It wears off fairly quickly, but in the time I feel at once with everything that ever was or will be, like the immortal steel beast-guardian it is. Every fallen feather and every earthquake—the most massive of events—have all been seen at once. All of reality becomes reconciled with the reason anybody shows to have for living. The reason cannot be said, but it’s in those moments that it’s known, and that’s all that matters.
Mine Primordial, I am endlessly thankful to know about you. It is the pleasure of my life to embody you like an artist of happiness. I am eternally grateful to be able to be your canvas or paint, even for a moment. I don’t know if anything would be as swell otherwise. It must be so that mine Primordial is truth.
Hey! Thanks for reading. This one is a republishing, so it’s a free read, as before. I run this Substack to help break myself out of relative poverty and earn the white collar lifestyle I was not endowed with growing up. It’s $5.55/month to subscribe, or $55.55/year. That’s like the Interstella movie, or something. Think Daft Punk. Totally worth it.