Philosophical Contemplations: Patterns

Patterns

Whirls and spirals are patterns of nature. They are often encountered in seemingly dissociated instances: in a thumbprint maybe, or a chameleon’s curled-up tail. Patterns conform to and display the laws of nature, and as the laws of nature operate throughout, there is a high probability of similar patterns cropping up all over the universe.

There is coherency and there are laws in the universe underlying the formation of all bodies such that similar patterns and characteristics may - will - arise in different places and at different times regardless of distance. Yet the universe is a world of variety. No two bodies can be identical. So although formations may follow a strict pattern, each has its own variations, each is unique.

Patterns evolve; evolution being a pattern itself. But there is no random selection as such. Even in discordant patterns nature’s laws are evident, not least because they are formed of smaller, orderly patterns. Every body, be it a cloud of smoke, a building of man’s own invention, or whatever, must be formed according to the laws of nature. Thus patterns do not arise randomly - unless randomness be a condition of nature’s laws.

The philosopher should observe these patterns, looking to see what lies behind them. For instance, he should be able to see in the daffodil its geometric pattern, and in that pattern, which is more orderly than the physical flower, the universal laws of formation.

The pattern is the visible expression of the invisible laws which underlie it. Furthermore, there is a Great Law which has given rise to these lesser laws and to which all patterns may be ultimately traced. Arrival at this greatest of laws, by which all others are understood, is the contemplative philosopher’s most noble and worthy aim, whichever pattern he studies.

Harmony

Harmony is the peaceful and pleasing relation that may exist between two or more things - persons, sounds, colours and so on. It may appear to a greater or lesser degree by making a comparison, at which we say something is more harmonious or less harmonious accordingly.

But Socrates would be quick to remark that all apparent harmonies partake of the abstract absolute Harmony, of which they all fall short. The more harmonious a relation, the closer it is to absolute Harmony; the less harmonious, the further away.

From this it is clear that the term ‘less harmonious’ is quite interchangeable with the term ‘more discordant’, and what we call discordant is merely a level of harmony at the far end of the spectrum; just as one might wittily say that distance is a kind of closeness, only far displaced.

Equally, and perhaps more accurately, we could say that the absolute Harmony is the only true harmony, and all perceptible ‘harmonies’ as we call them, are imperfect and therefore discordant to greater or lesser degrees. However, the discerning philosopher will realise that although all relations in the imperfect world are to some extent discordant, nevertheless disharmony only exists in comparison to a supreme and incomparable Harmony, the sublime perfection.

This absolute Harmony is totally free of discordancy and is the point at which there is no variance between things, that is, when they are indistinguishably one. Absolute Harmony is ever imperceptible.

Likeness

When something partakes of an absolute it may be said to be like it to a certain degree, whether more or less. For instance, when a woman displays goodness she is, to a greater or lesser degree, like the Good. Her actions tend towards the Good, bringing her closer in likeness to it than if she were to act otherwise.

Likeness is akin to equality, the highest ideal of both being absolute identity or sameness - that is, absolute undifferentiated Unity. So everyday likeness, as we might call it, is also unlikeness, since if absolute identity is its most accurate state then all else is less than the same. Something is only fully like another when it is the other; otherwise it is different.

When two things seem the same they are necessarily not the same, since, as I have said, they are two things, and two things cannot be one. True sameness is one, and yet then there is no sameness. This absolute Sameness, the same as absolute Equality and absolute Likeness, is inevitably imperceptible, even unattainable, since two things cannot be the same unless they are not two things but one, and if one then there is no other as which to be the same.

So in the world of things there can be no likeness without difference. But the true, absolute Likeness is an unmanifest ideal which exists beyond the realm of opposites where neither likeness nor unlikeness exists - where there are no differents and thus no similars. A state impossible to describe without contradiction, it is an absolute undifferentiated Unity. This description, I concede, although close in likeness, is inevitably different from the truth!

Flux and Mutability

Flux and mutability are characteristics of our unfolding universe. Every moment, I could say, is a moment of flux and mutability. But in fact there is only one moment - Now. Upon this moment change rides, like cinematographic images upon a screen.

It is not that flux and mutability are characteristics of existence, but rather they are expressions of manifestation. Manifestation must be impermanent, as only the unseen reality is eternally unchanging and manifestation, which is the reflection of the Unmanifest, must needs display change - for it is necessary that both sides of the coin be expressed.

Timelessness is mirrored in the flowing water of time, changelessness in the rolling sphere of mutability. Change must return to where it began, while through its motions the various hues of its complete spectrum are individually and progressively brought to light and phased out.

The beginning, the end and all that flows between is a complete whole refracted and separated through the lens of manifestation. And though to our senses the silver moon is sometimes new and sometimes full and sometimes old, we know that this is just a play of light and shadow.

The Dynamic Force

The Dynamic Force is the power that exists between opposing poles and pervades the universe, giving rise to manifestations that express it. It is the unseen energy that shapes and devours all forms, constantly flowing through them in undulating pulse. Hence all forms are its personifications or expressions - none more concise than the mythic dragon, descendant of the primaeval stirring of energy.

It speaks through fire, breathes through air, swims powerfully through water and asserts itself authoritatively in earth. It condenses and expands, and continually creates through the interaction of opposites. All planetary formations are the result of this force. Mountains, valleys, storms, seas, plants, trees, reptiles, mammals, birds, fish, insects. Through it all planets and stars are fashioned and dance according to its surreptitious sway.

The Dynamic Force can be sharp or blunt, smooth or rough, slow or fast, each necessary in its correct place. To go against the Force, to turn it against itself, is to use its qualities wrongly; that is, to use the right quality in the wrong place, or the right quality in the right place but at the wrong time. To master the Force one must listen to it, ride with it, sing when singing’s due, fight when fighting is right: receptivity and resistance each in its proper place - though moving all the time, rigidity and permanence not being lasting characteristics of the Dynamic Force.

It is the shaping wind that invisibly blows all evolving life along, from the beginning to the end. All its whirling patterns open out to the world, then coil back into eternity and the invisible.

Patterns within Patterns

It is understood that our sun and solar system is a comparatively insignificant part of the greater Milky Way galaxy and that we are in orbit about the galactic centre. We know also that our planet, Earth, orbits the sun while spinning on its own axis, about its own centre, many times per revolution.

This is a pattern of patterns within patterns, of patterns repeating themselves within themselves, in the smaller as in the larger. One is reminded of Hermes Trismegistus’ old but astute maxim: As above, so below.

Earth goes through glacial and warmer periods, we know, making water levels fall and rise, fall and rise, over thousands of years. Within these greater ages tides continue to rise and fall many times through the days and nights. And if we sit by the shore watching the tide come in or go out we see the restless waves repeatedly pushing the shoreline forward and pulling it back, as the tide slowly and gradually rises or falls.

Again this demonstrates the pattern of patterns within patterns, a law-abiding characteristic we would do well to note. By observing the smaller, one may understand the larger, and by observing the larger, one may understand the smaller.

The Essence of the Oak

One cannot hope to understand the oak without taking into account the acorn, nor know the acorn without knowledge of the oak. For the essence of the oak is its totality, from its rising to its falling, its complete circle of expression. Or to be more exact, its cycle of expression demonstrates in the drawn-out manifest plane the different aspects of its unseen essence.

The essence is to us unmanifest because it exists in a state where its beginning and end constitute a unity; it is in effect locked up like a closed acorn. Put another way, the life and death of the tree of our perceptions is a protracted version of its essence, which exists beyond this frequency of slowed time and distanced polarity such that it is invisible.

Thus the tree of our perceptions is not only an expression of its essence, but also an expression of the process of expression in this plane. The tree demonstrates to us opposing aspects of its essence which are otherwise unmanifest, and also - inevitably - the method by which it is made manifest.

The essence, then, can exist regardless of any manifestation, and yet the motions of manifestation - burgeoning and passing away - are enclosed potentially within it. The acorn is thus closer to and more like the essence, while the oak is its full-blown expression.

The Many and the One

In the thinking mind single objects or concepts may be broken down into many constituent elements. For example, one hour is sixty minutes, one minute is sixty seconds. Likewise, many separate objects may be thought of collectively as a singular term: many towns make up a country, many countries a continent. But these are imagined classifications, they are not real.

For there to be many there must be one, since many implies many of a kind. ‘Sixty minutes’ means sixty of the type ‘minute’. Even ‘sixty’ alone means sixty of the type ‘one’. So the many are dependent on the one, as the spokes of a wheel are dependent on the hub.

Yet if there is only one, the many being imagined classifications that the thinking mind imposes on the world it seek to comprehend, then number does not exist at all, rendering ‘one’ inaccurate. This error arises because we are still attempting to impose a concept on the world when the world simply is what it is. Concepts will always fall short of Truth.

But if we are to describe the world then ‘the One’ is closer to the Truth than ‘the Many’, and so the philosopher accepts it as a near-accurate expression.

The Rising and Falling

Judging by the way and ways of the world, there seems to be a kind of undulating force flowing through the universe, certainly through this revolving planet at least, that makes formations to rise and fall. Who can not have noticed the rising and falling tide, the rising of steam and falling of rain, the apparent rising and setting of the sun, or the moulded hills and valleys of a rolling landscape?

This unseen pulse underlies the visible world, shaping the forms that arise and making them to arise in the first place, as well as causing them to fade away afterwards. Take the instance of a man, who rises up from birth, as in the manner of mankind’s evolution, and falls at the last. Throughout his life his lungs are filled and emptied, his chest rises and falls, he rises from sleep and lies down again at night, he is sometimes tall and healthy and sometimes confined to his bed with fever, and even in his sexual life the same force is evident.

The rising and falling is a pattern produced by the vibrant interplay of opposites, which is so much a part of the manifest world. Having traced this pattern to the greater pattern of the interplay of opposites, we must follow the line further if we seek to know its ultimate cause. From where does this interplay arise?

Arise? But the interplay of opposites itself gives rise to arising! Is it, then, its own cause? It would seem so.

The Interplay of Opposites

The world is an interplay of opposites, a characteristic which can be observed or detected throughout, in all that has been, all that is and all that will be. Why is this, and what does it tell us?

Well, pairs of opposites - such as high and low, light and dark, good and evil - are made of two qualities, each dependent on the other. Highness without lowness, lightness without darkness, and goodness without evilness are impossible to comprehend; the opposite quality is necessary if each is to be understood.

With this in mind, it is quite conceivable that the world is making use of opposites, as a skilled illustrator might, to manifest a quality that is otherwise not perceptible, bringing it to the foreground by use of a background.

But the world is an interplay of opposites I said, not static but flowing and vibrant with motion. Its revolutions lift and lower, separate and unite; and this interplay may itself be rightly regarded as a natural consequence of a world of opposites.

Now if manifestation necessitates opposition (that presented against that which it is not) then the manifest world of interplaying opposites is itself the opposite of an unmanifest quality, and that which is the opposite of opposition is known as unanimity. It is clear also that in no other way than by a duality may unity be expressed or understood.

The interplay of opposites, then, with all its separatings and unitings, arose from the initial cleaving of opposites from unity, a motionless unity without beginning, without end. And the cleaving of opposites? This arose from a point where cause and effect are one. The cleaving of opposites is both the cause and the effect of itself. Before it there was neither cause nor effect. In fact, there was nothing ‘before’ it. Indeed, one wonders how, if at all, it ever happened.

Natural Selection

‘This preservation of favourable individual differences and variations, and the destruction of those which are injurious, I have called Natural Selection, or the Survival of the Fittest,’ wrote Charles Darwin in his great work The Origin of Species. Organisms best adapted to their environment are the survivors.

Natural Selection follows the pattern displayed in the structure of a tree. Existing species are like the green and budding twigs and may be traced back through perhaps many ramifications, noting where species diverged and, further down, where genera also parted. Many species branch out from a genus, and many genera also diverge from a single source.

It is a pattern perpetuating many-from-one, where each of the many is like its parent, one, and so in turn produces many of its own, and so on. Each of the many is both like and unlike its parent and both like and unlike its siblings, the same yet different. So over time the slight variations between siblings, if such variations are conducive to the survival of each (remembering that weak branches are more likely to fall), may become great distinguishing features in their distant descendants. Great variations are made through the slow progress of slight variations.

This pattern of many-from-one can be seen in both the small and the large, in the forms and in the formation of forms. From millennia of random variation and natural selection, for instance, forms have arisen such as fingers from hands, limbs from a torso, petals from a stalk.

The question is, is natural selection truly random? Or do forms arise by design? In other words, is there an orderly agency by which the variations and the selections of variations are influenced? And if so, to what extent is evolution determined?

Evolution

From the very beginning (theoretically speaking, of course) the universe has been evolving. And within this great evolution there have been many minor evolutions and involutions, and many within these also. Evolution is clearly a universal pattern: all things in the universe are evolving (involution being considered a relative and necessary aspect of the broader term ‘evolution’).

More down to earth, the life forms on this planet are following the universal pattern of progressive change. But this progression is not random; there is always an end in mind, and besides, forms evolve according to natural law, shaped by the designs that nature’s laws promote. No form ever arose that was not built on law.

So, many evolved forms are to be expected, and may even be predicted, if one understands the laws of nature that apply universally and locally. Perhaps it could be called ‘Natural Design’, since it is not impossible to find argument with the supporter of the design theory and with the advocate of natural selection, and yet to agree with both. Natural selection is actively influenced by the laws that design the motions of the world. And if you believe in a Creator, it is obvious to you what - or rather, Who - set these laws in motion.

Most importantly, evolution in forms can present us with a glimpse of the invisible - the unseen force that pervades the cosmos. Just as we can see the direction of the wind by the effect it has on a weather-vane, so in evolved forms may we discern the natural laws that shaped them. All may be traced back to the source.

Manifestations of the One

There are many manifestations of the One, each unique and displaying a different aspect. And just as the One may be broken down into many, so may each of the many be broken down into further units, ad infinitum. Truly though, no matter how many there seem, and no matter how much we care to divide the world, or the world cares to divide itself, there is only ever One.

Illusion

From the singular Real came its reflection, duality, and this consisted of one formed in its likeness and another its opposite. Hence now it is said we have truths and untruths, realities and illusions. But this duality is the reflection of the Real. It is by nature illusory.

So both the truths and untruths, the realities and illusions we have are not real. They are themselves illusory. This is borne out by the fact that if we analyse a ‘truth’ - one plus one equals two, for instance - we find that it is dependent on other accepted ‘truths’ (in this case, that a discrete quantity of one exists and that plurality is possible) and these hold each other up like a precarious house of cards. If the foundations are faulty, as I am suggesting, then all will topple.

However, we might choose to call these ‘truths’ lesser truths, since they are not absolute Truth but are clearly closer in likeness to it than the untruths. This is fine. Lesser truths are, say, the representatives of Truth, while untruths oppose it. But to what extent is illusion a reality?

The lesser truths and the untruths, I have said, are not real, they are illusory. But is this illusion then a reality? Surely not. Illusion is itself a lesser truth, not real; as is any accurate statement I care to make.

This is the problem. In fact though, there is no problem. There is no illusion, no reflection, no duality. There is only the Real.

Dreams and Visions

Perceptions beyond our mental grasp may appear to us as dream images or visions. That is not to say that all dreams and visions are caused by real perceptions. Some are most certainly fabrications and projections of the mind, and these we call hallucinations or idle dreams.

Some dreams and visions come through as bungled messages of subconscious intuitions; we see illusory images, symbolic representations of intuited realities, perceptions just outside the range of our everyday senses. There is a reality behind them beyond our grasp, but what we see is a symbolic image selected by the brain through tentative association.

To understand these perceptive dreams and visions one must also understand the dreamer, the person for whom the symbolic representations have associative significance (albeit often subconscious). Many people may perceive the same subtle stimulus differently. Some more accurately than others, perhaps. But to arrive at a greater understanding of the event one must also observe the observer, recognising that his or her perceptions of the event are deeply personal.

Through dreams and visions we can perceive with our mind’s eye a little of what the cruder and more solid sense organs can never detect. But they need to be translated, by one who knows their language and who can distinguish acutely between reality and illusion, knowing that all perceptions are inevitably tainted with subjectivity.

Imperfection

The perfect geometrical form is never manifest but exists, as Plato rightly understood, as the unseen Idea, of which the lesser, imperfect form we see is a manifestation. And though tangible matter strives towards this Idea, matter is matter and never will be identical to, and thus will never reach perfection as, the Idea. Perfect harmony cannot be attained in the manifest world.

The most perfect thing in the visible world is that most like its invisible design; all visible forms are inferior counterparts, inevitably imperfect, of their unseen designs. The imperfect is like a close veil that hides the visage of perfection yet hints at the real beauty of the unseen.

So matter (or the expressed form) strives towards its unseen Idea as an artist strives to complete his work. The original Idea is the goal of its evolution. And so by comparison only the Idea is perfect, all expressions of it are inadequate representations.

In the manifest world of imperfections, then, it would seem that perfection is impossible. Yet contrary to this, it is imperfection that has no concrete substance, since it can only exist as a concept in comparison to perfection. Perfection is the real.

Essences

There are many absolute essences that pertain to the same Idea. The essences we refer to as Truth, Right, Real, Good, Peace, Calm, Beauty, Love and Perfection are not many at all, but are the one great absolute essence - Unity. It has many names and aspects, but all may be traced back to the complete perfect absolute reality.

Truths represent realities. Right actions are good and bring peace of mind and calm relations, and love is manifest in the bonds of such close communions. Beauty is perfection, and the most perfect is the most good and right and real.

All these terms, which are only a small handful of many, relate to different aspects of one Idea. This I have said is Unity, though ‘Unity’ is itself another such term, but one here used to give a more accurate understanding of the Idea.

To say, then, that there are many essences (or absolutes or Ideas) is not strictly true, unless one assumes that there is an Essence of essences, an Absolute of absolutes, or an Idea of Ideas above and beyond these lesser many - and this might be a useful theory, until one wished to make clear the extent to which an absolute can truly be absolute.

So I say this, that there are not many essences, but only one true essence, to which all the greatest qualities refer (and they are deemed great exactly because they refer, most directly, to this one great essence). Opposite qualities such as falsehood, evil and hate do not have real absolute essences of their kind, nor is there an absolute Opposition in existence. Rather, these are all qualities far from the one true essence, which, being one, I name Unity.

The True Essence

Both the mind and the world have a tendency to group together and separate certain forms according to kind, or essence. And each kind may in turn be further classified as belonging to a greater group sharing a common essence, and so on, forming a grand hierarchy, at the apex of which is the True Essence common to all.

The True Essence is the only eternal essence, and all its lessers are its forms in that they are different aspects branching out from and returning to it. The further from the apex, the less the resemblance, although all are expressions of the same and none can be totally devoid of the True Essence.

Now that is not to say that the True Essence is greater in some forms than in others, but rather that some forms, all being expressions of the True Essence within them, are closer in purity and thus resemblance to it, whilst others express it less accurately.

The Theory of Ideas

Plato’s Theory of Ideas holds that there are types and classifications of things in this world and that each type is a representation of its unseen Idea. For example, the letter A may be written in many different ways, but nevertheless an a is an a. They all represent the same Idea A, an abstract universal without physical substance and which exists independent of its manifest forms.

All the letter A’s we can see are inevitably imperfect since the true, real letter A is the unseen Idea. All representations are lesser versions, imitations of the perfect A which is the Idea itself. But despite the shortcomings of perceptible forms, claimed Plato, it is still possible for man to know an Idea - through the agency of the intellect. By observing and understanding the lessers we may comprehend the greater, of which they speak.

And so to love. Love takes many different forms, a whole spectrum from the highest and most honourable to the lowest. But the most perfect, the mother of love, is the absolute Idea Love, higher than the highest and beyond honour. It is not a love of this or that, but Love in itself. Absolute Love.

Plato averred that there are many eternal Ideas untouched by the imperfections of this world, and if we are to find true knowledge we must look beyond the imitations that so readily present themselves to our passive senses, and seek, through contemplation and intellectual endeavour, those more elusive realities, the essential Ideas.

The Idea of Ideas

Plato’s Theory of Ideas is not perfect. This is a world of imperfections and any theory herein is unavoidably flawed (even the theory that this is a world of imperfections). Every ‘Idea’ that can be imagined or reasoned is imperfect, not the real thing, and if an ‘Idea’ is known then it cannot be the true Idea.

The theory is an imitation of reality, it has its imperfections. For instance, it assumes that plurality is a reality, and because there are many there are many of a kind, and because this is possible there are many kinds. Then behind each kind or class is its Idea. Thus there are many Ideas - and all eternal at that.

But wait. There is an Idea behind these Ideas, as Plato knew, and each sub-Idea (as they may be called) is to this Supreme Idea as each perceptible form is to the sub-Idea. This is fine, but it does not seem reasonable that these sub-Ideas are eternal. Plurality implies limitation, and if there are no limits, as one would expect in the realm of an eternal, then there is no plurality.

These lesser Ideas that I have called sub-Ideas may span a very long time, the length of the manifest universe even, but, like souls, they are not eternally real. Plurality is a non-reality, and only the Supreme Idea is eternal. The Supreme Idea is the Idea of Ideas, the immutable origin of all, of whom Love, Beauty and Perfection are its closest imitations, nay, intimations. The Idea of Ideas is the Real.

The Worse and the Better

The worse falls from what is better and the better, being previously unnoticed or undistinguished, is then known by comparison, in contradistinction to what it is not.

Beauty Subjective

The learned connoisseur and the everyday sort of fellow will both have their different views as to what is beautiful, and the sincere student is more likely to give credence to what the connoisseur has to say. But many could find argument with the connoisseur, objecting that beauty is subjective, is ‘in the eye of the beholder’, and that both he and the everyday fellow perceive beauty according to their own idiosyncrasies.

So we find ourselves in a quandary not unlike that encountered towards the end of Plato’s the Cratylus, though there it is brought on by conflicting theories for the origin of names. What should we believe? Our whole understanding of right and wrong is brought into question. Is truth and morality merely subjective, our ethical idea of propriety dependent only on custom and convention?

To be sure, all our perceptions are inevitably subjective. Yet while the object is what it is, our perceptions of it may be accurate or inaccurate, close to reality or far from it. Our subjective notions of an object may be true or false, right or wrong, according to how well we comprehend it.

Thus the beauty of an object can only be perceived subjectively and the subject’s perceptions are conditioned by his state of awareness or ignorance - the height of awareness being the ideal point at which the subject completely comprehends the object. Beauty is not subjective, it is only our perceptions of beauty that belong to the realm of subjectivity.

Beauty Objective

The beauty of an object exists independent of the subjective views of observers. The everyday fellow might pass it by unawares while the learned connoisseur stands awe-struck. Or, quite the opposite, the connoisseur might be biased against it or reject it, while the everyday fellow quietly and simply admires it for what it is.

There is subjective appreciation, where the observer deems an object beautiful according to his own biased, conditioned principals, and there is objective appreciation, the ideal of which is where the observer admires without bias or condition - that is, without self interfering - the inherent beauty of an object. The latter is, of course, superior and should be the aim of every striving connoisseur concerned more with accuracy than opinion.

What is it, though, that makes an object beautiful? A broken vase is clearly less beautiful in itself than a faultless vase of the same kind. And certainly some forms are more beautiful in themselves than others; the bullfinch is more beautiful than the earthworm, for instance. So objective beauty, it seems, like height, is dependent on comparison with a lesser, regardless of subjective views.

In the world of opposites the beautiful and the ugly contrast each other, and for each it is necessary that the other be also somewhere manifest. Thus there are hierarchical grades of beauty, ranging from the most beautiful to the least. The more beautiful an object, the closer it is in the hierarchy to that which is most beautiful.

Beauty Absolute

The bullfinch is more beautiful, objectively speaking, than the earthworm, while the snail is also more beautiful than the worm, but less beautiful than the bullfinch. Each takes its place in the extensive hierarchy of beauty.

But the bullfinch is by no means the most beautiful of forms. Indeed, the bullfinch may be relegated to a position as comparatively low as the earthworm is to it, by a form more beautiful again. What, then, is the superlative, the most beautiful? What is the most perfect expression of beauty, through which one may perceive most clearly the nature of beauty itself?

This is a difficult thing to ascertain in such a vast universe, and what with the self promulgating its subjective views. It is easier, perhaps, to establish what is the most beautiful of a kind rather than of all kinds, for the most beautiful of a kind must surely be its most perfect example. For instance, the most beautiful recitation of a delicate piece of music is that which most perfectly, effortlessly and fully presents it, while the least beautiful is that which most awfully misrepresents it.

Even in this, though, there is a problem, since, as far as misrepresentation is concerned, the most perfect, effortless and full misrepresentation of the piece is clearly a great deal less beautiful than that which only slightly misrepresents it. So the most perfect of a kind is not necessarily the most beautiful.

Thankfully, however, it can be stated, with honest morality intact, that the most beautiful of a positive kind is certainly its most perfect example, while the most beautiful of a negative kind is its least ‘perfect’ example - that is, when perfection has been turned on its head and is misrepresented, so that its high is a low and its low is a high.

This confusion aside, and accepting that the highest point of perfection cannot truly change and become the lowest, the most beautiful of a kind is that closest to real perfection. Thus the most beautiful of the beautiful is that closest to the perfection of beauty, and none is more perfect as regards beauty than beauty itself.

Beauty in its purest form is absolute Beauty, which is ever formless and, being without form or imperfection, remains eternally constant as the standard of perfection by which all lessers are objectively contrasted. And it is through these lessers only that the perfect and imperceptible majesty of the absolute Beauty may be - albeit indirectly - tantalisingly glimpsed.

The Hollow Hat

Nothingness is the magic of Creation, the full emptiness. It is the infinitely mysterious black hole. In it no thing exists, not even itself, not even the notion of existence. Nothingness is a complete undifferentiated unity.

One could call it dark or light, it makes no difference. It may be thought of as full or empty, it makes no difference. It may be understood as +100 plus -100, +3 plus -3, +1 plus -1, or simply 0. Whatever.

In the manifest world it is expressed as the hollow, an empty space within a necessarily closed shape (although, as in the case of wind instruments, this closed shape may be open-ended); without enclosure emptiness cannot be displayed. And all the ubiquitous hollows of the world - underground burrows, in veins and arteries, in funnel clouds, in things man-made as well as natural formations - hint at and are formed because of an underlying, unseen Nothingness.

The Hollow Hat is full of nothing, empty of everything, full of everything, empty of nothing. The Hollow Hat is neither full nor empty.

© David A. Hall 1998

davehall@cheerful.com