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Thanks for that Elizabeth, I genuinely appreciate the encouragement.

This thing, going one’s own way, hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been fun and based on a passion and enthusiasm for truths, wherever they may lead.

And I truly believe if one goes far enough, digs deep enough, starting from any point on the periphery, one ends up at the same place, the centre, the mythological hub of this crazy grand revolving wheel called Life.

However, anyone attaining such a place, such a state of being, at one ment, would find him or herself slightly at odds with his or her surroundings simply by virtue of the fact that society as a whole, the group in which we live as hopefully functioning adult members, is itself unbalanced, out of synch with itself and its environment, which is basically the world and even universe these days.

What are the roots of this unbalance? That’s what the Cafe is about.

They go deep, but they are there.

Here’s good old Joseph Campbell:

“The main purpose of the monk’s Queste del Saint Graal was to check the trend of this reawakening to nature, reverse its current, and translate the Grail, the cornucopia of the lord of life, into a symbol no longer of nature’s earthly grace, but of the supernatural—leaving nature, man, history, and all womankind except baptized nuns, to the Devil.”—Joseph Campbell, Creative Mythology

And then:

“In total contrast, love, and specifically heterosexual love, with womankind its chief ministrant and vessel, is both the moving and the redeeming power enshrined by the poet Wolfram in his cathedral erected to the virtue of the Grail.”—Joseph Campbell, Creative Mythology

Two versions of a tale at the very dawning of the Western Psyche. The first largely won out while the second was driven underground. And therein is the Western Pseudomorphosis.

Damn, this is getting long, but you ever read Mann’s Death in Venice? The dying poet aesthete protagonist’s name is Eschenbach, the warrior poet Wolfram’s last name. And there is Picasso’s fallen knightly warrior of Guernica, Joyce’s fallen hod carrier Finnegan, Proust’s de Charlus, Maugham’s Brideshead Revisited, even Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, and what Spengler was referring to with his title: The Decline of the West. The end of an age, with the promise (Joyce’s fall and re-rise) of rebirth into something new. What is coming. The new awareness.

Slowly making my way through Harari’s Sapiens, a rather hardheaded, none rapturous history of the human species.

Life is ALL there is.

Sorry, that’s enough.

That’s what you get when you write a comment.

All the very best.