An English In Kentucky



















October 25th 2009

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    In my mind the geometry of "being" is described by the word 'aedicule'.  I think back to its incarnations and know that in my mind the aedicule is not now what it once was.  Moving things are real, but I say the aedicule cannot be a series of moments.

    The idea of the aedicule as a space within a space, comforts me.  Then when I turn the aedicule into a sphere, I see no awkward edges where 'being' might get lost.  Today, the aedicule appears as a triangle, its two feet on the ground like a tent.  I can sit inside on a dark night, watch the new moon and know that I am lost.

    Those who would decry the geometry of "being" do so for very practical reasons.  'Being' is isolated and isolation does not share.  So better to devise a physical attribute that can be measured, and thereby shared, even if that attribute changes from arch to sphere to tent through time.



    When I look at those shapes described by ancient texts, I see the issue until I try to interpret them.  Were I one of those men doodling on a cave wall, my imagination would have taken me from arches to spheres to tents.  Comrades might have questioned my purpose, so I might instead have doodled antelope, ox and hyena.  Others might then have shrugged and said my antelope looked like a boar.  

    Had I represented my arches and spheres and tents as belonging to the world beyond our understanding, I probably would have been asked to leave the cave.  Which I suspect is why priests and shamans wear funny clothes, make funny noises and imply dangerousness in order to get fed. 

    I can think back to last Autumn and try to recall how the aedicule looked and I realize I have fallen to sharing in that traditional way.  An error in comprehension because 'being' is driven by its slope and by randomness.  It does not want, as I do.

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tim candler

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