The Old Craft

I am a being of immemorial light and endless possibilities, am I not?

What I think and want from whatever falls unto my senses, shall be so. An old cross, a dark sky, and a whole saga to bear… 

My stories are as old as my luminous being, cast down to this mundane realm by mischief, they shall survive and thrive, at the precipice of every evening tide ...

O Labyrinths

O Borges, is this Thee labyrinth, Thine palace of immortals, so splendidly hidden, in the dark, icy depths of Ultima Thule?

Lemurian

The night feels a bit ‘Lemurian’-like, this particular evening, for some unknown and unforeseen reasons. Leaving one wound up in an enigma, almost as depressing as that place Borges depicted in the 60s….

“A labyrinth is a structure compounded to confuse men; its architecture, rich in symmetries, is subordinated to that end. In the palace I imperfectly explored, the architecture lacked any such finality. It abounded in dead-end corridors, high unattainable windows, portentous doors which led to a cell or pit, incredible inverted stairways whose steps and balustrades hung downwards. Other stairways, clinging airily to the side of a monumental wall, would die without leading anywhere, after making two or three turns in the lofty darkness of the cupolas. I do not know if all the examples I have enumerated are literal; I know that for many years they infested my nightmares; I am no longer able to know if such and such a detail is a transcription of reality or of the forms which unhinged my nights”

Jorge Luis Borges – Labyrinths / The Immortal