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Our great, great, great .... great Uncle

Our great, great, great …. great Uncle

Nothing’s easy. Fun, yes, easy, no.

Episode three of the Omphalos Cafe is now live on Youtube.

Attempted to draw attention towards where we’ve got it so wrong for so long, but the clips are unscripted and I tend to ramble on.

I end up sounding like a Luddite fulminating against Books and Academia, the point always being Life is never found between the pages of a book, in spite of what those who have dedicated their lives to books might say.

The thing is, we collectively derive our sense of history and who we are largely from those very people who have spent their lives with noses firmly wedged into the spine of books. And that tendency goes very very far back.

When our ancestors, if you call yourself a paying citizen of Western Civilization, flooded over the rotting remains of the Roman Empire, they did so without books. Their inner lives were given voice by poets and priests of the woods who transmitted their lore through song and word and ritual. Books retreated into churches and monasteries.

But in the fullness of time books won out. Memory lapses, but the written word well tended lasts.

Song, word, and ritual gave way to written words as contained in a Book and the new rituals that grew around them. What was our’s was lost and words from a Book written hundreds—if not a thousand—years before weighed heavy on our souls.

We’ve been on a quest every since. A quest to tap into that which was lost, that which still resides in our hearts, dark and devalued.

Our Knights of the Table Round, Faustian, Modern City quest.

The true poets always knew.

Life is ALL there is….