Labyrinth Torch and Twang
Interesting, there's surprisingly been some talk on some horse blogs recently about socialism, facism, etc., specifically in reference to horse rescue and personal accountability and government helping stupid people who can't apparently make good decisions or help themselves, as if we're cattle or sheep who must be herded about by Bureaucrats Who Know Better, as if that's the answer to what ails us. (Oh yeah? watch this, and then follow the link over to the geniuses in Louisiana.) Talk of good big fat government making us accountable for our sorry feckless selves through taxation and fees and licenses and democratic socialism. Calls for more government. Pushbacks for less.
Talk of neoconservatives being facists.
Talk of liberals being facists.
Fingers pointing this way and that.
Good gods almighty.
Me, I tend to be more on the libertarian side of things politically, a constitutionalist, I'd say, but the more I spend my time thinking about politics the more I find myself a slave to the archons themselves. And I imagine them rolling around in glee because they've managed to lull me right back into the deep sleep, which is exactly where they'd like to see me spend my time. So I attempt to extricate myself.
What is freedom, I ask? (Occasionally, I find it on the back of a fast horse.) And I imagine those archon folk (No, I don't believe they exist in literal terms, I gave that bible-thumping-is-the-inspired-word-of-god approach up years ago, but it's fun to play with the idea anyway.) grimacing at my ability to ask this question. Just asking it makes me a little more so, I think. I know this--it really doesn't have anything to do with Smith and Wesson or Sam Colt.
I go back to my friends the gnostics again--
“The world-spirit in exile must go through the Inferno of matter and the Purgatory of morals to arrive at the spiritual Paradise.” G. Quispel. See The Gnostic World View.
Excerpta de Theodoto, defines this gnosis as the knowledge of "who we were, what we have become; where we were, whereinto we have been thrown; whither we hasten, whence we are redeemed; what is birth and what rebirth."
Learning is remembering, Plato said.
Maybe I'll have an answer by my next go-round. I certainly haven't achieved enlightenment in this one as far as I can tell. Those ridiculous new agers who brag about how they were Cleopatra or some other royal personage in their previous lives have no clue. Very few of us will be or have been kings or queens. This time around, I'm a free woman in the USA, albeit a USA slouching towards socialism and uber political correctness until some of us will be getting arrested for saying what we think. But the ugly side of the reincarnation idea is that you don't necessarily get born back into the same environment twice, I suppose. What's to keep me from coming back as a Muslim woman in Iran the next go-round where I'm stripped of every shred of my humanity except whatever I'd manage to salvage from deep inside of me, whatever part manages against all odds to remember? Could I wind up like this? Plunk me down over there now, and I'd bet good money on it, just for being about as opinionated as any one of the mares down in my barn.
Who's to say?
I've just watched Pan's Labyrinth. A beautiful fairy tale for adults. This is the story of Sophia fallen and redeemed. The hymn of the pearl complete with (warning: spoiler!) ruby red robe of glory at the end. I found it to be an exquisite story about immortality and going home.
About what real freedom is.
Long ago in the Underground Realm…where there are no lies or pain, there lived a Princess who dreamt of the human world. She dreamt of blue skies, the soft breeze and sunshine… One day, eluding her keepers, the Princess escaped. Once outside, the brightness blinded her and erased her memory… She forgot who she was and where she came from. Her body suffered cold, sickness and pain. Eventually, she died. Her father, the King, always knew that the Princess would return, perhaps in another body, in another place, at another time. And he would wait for her, until he drew his last breath, until the world stopped turning…And it is said that the Princess went back to her father’s kingdom. And that she reigned with justice and a kind heart for many centuries. And that she was loved by all her subjects… And, like most of us, she left behind small traces of her time on earth. Visible only to those who know where to look…
…a long, long time ago in a grey, sad country…There was a magic rose that made whoever plucked it immortal. But no one would dare go near it because its thorns were full of mortal poison. So amongst the men tales of pain and death were told in hushed voices. But there was no talk of eternal life… because men fear pain more than they want immortality. So every day the rose wilted unable to bequeath his gift to anyone. Alone and forgotten at the top of that mountain. Forgotten until the end of time…
I don't know much. But I know this. It's a labyrinth with twists and turns.
And there's no Utopia here in this flawed materia. (And it's frankly immaterial to me whether you agree with that or not. Your path is your own.) Nor will there be, as far as I can make out.
