[Oh so long a time since story time; well, let’s fix that now]
I don’t even know where to start. So much of what matters comes in the collision of dreams, the lucid moments between waking, the poetic linkages of wakeful thought, and the callbacks through which the world gives its affirmations. As soon as you start to say it is this or that, well it all goes sideways and you are standing around talking to yourself. Or, more accurately, as soon as you start to say what it is, you go sideways and step out of the nexus.
We all have our piece of the great dreaming cosmos, so I guess this is part of mine.
There’s Sophia. It starts with Sophia who is cosmic, who is personal, who is eternal, and who dies. She always rises up from the shore for me, her tail stretching into the ocean, her father, but there is a part of her older, stretching past even the old oceans, into the earth and toward the sky.
And she cares. Her caring stretches down to the tiniest little bits of this world. In some ways, her caring is the world, the formation of the tiniest bits to the greatest bits from darkness, what draws the forms up from potency into their actuality. You can find her in the gnostic gospels here and there, no doubt, though never quite as I experience her. That’s what gnosis means, though.
She sets herself down into this world, too, lives in it. It doesn’t go well for her, the care she has giving birth to this hungry world in which she suffers, in which she dies. She speaks with Inanna’s descent, tells the story of her suffering and frustration. But she’s the world, so even divided she comes back to it.
But there is something else besides her in all this, forms of being that don’t come from her. For some reason, they find this place that is good for taking a break and what do they stumble upon but this scene, this death without a body. It intrigues these beings and they set to studying it, falling into orbit around this crime.
These three forces become the crown within which is reconstituted the skull of wisdom, a seat to which Sophia can alight. When she touches down upon this throne, each corner draws a veil of souls to itself, concealing the thrown with a panoply of voices and colors.
Wisdom gives birth to the corpse.
That throne upon which wisdom sits? Its the head of the living. This little pact is made upon the corpse that we are and will be.