We are composed of multiple Its, fragments of ourselves that take ascendance from time to time, then recede into subterranean background.
We place some of these Its on hold, to be lived only at certain times: on vacation, with a certain set of friends, in particular subsets of circumstances.
We repress some Its, lock them in a dungeon, never to surface, visited only infrequently and brought scant food tossed haphazardly through their barred cells.
We glorify other Its we are, trying on their always too large shoes, clomping around like children at play with wishful dreams.
We keep our It circus going, performing in multiple rings of our devising -- the acrobats of agile moves here, the clowns there, the lion tamer with lions in Its protective beast-taming cage.
Each of us is a nation, a small nation of Its, each with Its own m.o., i.d., and raison d'etre.
Irruptions in the fabric of time, we person-ify ourselves. Deep within each persona is the embedding of the Unseen, the Unknown.
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The question is how to get from the circus to the one man or woman show, though most are comfortable with the circus.
ReplyDeleteAre we, in our own way, mirroring the Divine (Passion) Play? Are we both that Play and a host of a play in microcosm? "As above, so below," is one rendering of text on The Emerald Tablet, accredited to Hermes Trismegistus.
ReplyDeleteThe account began with, "We are composed of multiple Its..." I also read, "It [the nameless one] is composed of multiple its..."
"By God, I mean a being absolutely infinite, i.e., a substance consisting of an infinity of attributes, of which each one expresses an eternal and infinite essence." --Spinoza
Its multiple its has multiple its, too. And so the story continues...
--Gary