Pass through safely the valley of the unknown is a very process by which each move is a move taken in caution and innocence. There is much unsaid in the present age. It was freedom we were looking for, from the binds that inertia bestowed upon us, like so many chains that criss-cross straightly and diagonally. We knew not anymore exactly what they were, how they were made, why they were there, if they meant anything. This is the sin of the past - not to say some moral wrong had been done unto a person or us in general, not to say somebody was hurt in particularly, but there was something that only dragged on which had become meaningless. It is an old memory this one, not archetypal but stereotypical. A usual guise or veil that had been spun over the centuries and held on so desperately as though of its own will though it had no will of its own.
We had to traverse an impossibility to arrive again on new grounds. We were on a ground, but it grew very large and expansive so that there was no end to it. This was different from the infinitude of the universe, the night sky, for it was of our own making, somehow, it was past already but it still persisted, and in the back of the moral consciousness there was a soft gnawing sound that just seemed to grind on and screeched though we could not hear it, nor discern it, nor make anything of it.
It is not at all the past that was in question. History is the way with which in the writing we remake the past as though that which did not belong to us is ours, but in the intelligent and careful writing, in the curating and the selecting, care took what happened and transformed the continuum of manifold into some distinct account now sensible.
They talk of amnesia in some circles, a social kind. Did we forget something important? It is the converse of what was experienced in the old world. Where we strived to move on and leave that which bothered us for it was not of sense before, in the new we are not sure to a state of certainty that we had carried with us all that had mattered. All the annals of the worlds we had built and lived within hidden in towers lit by candlelight and dusty libraries cleaned by bats but we could not fit all the volumes into our little luggages which had to fit into the bay of the boat.
Now looking at these volumes digitized we are sure there is something there, but is all of it worth looking at? Why were they locked away, and are we disposed to decipher old realities as recorded without being burnt? These are good questions, but undoubtedly, what we think we are missing is not a specific excerpt from one specific volume, though it may well be that the clue could raise in us a sudden awareness of something we can almost remember, if we can just locate that needle in the haystack.
What does it mean - a needle in the haystack? Precisely, what appears shiny in the dull matted hay. What appears to our percept as unique and relevant, yet in context of the particular haystack. There may well be one word being sought, or a method to explain something that had mystified for the entirety of one's life. Anything could be found, as long as the record shows.
A digression happened in case something of note could be meaningful here in this post. What matters to us in the New World is knowing that a choice was made in coming and making this world. The choice is to maintain a degree of freedom in our constitutional mode of governance and social being. There is no sense in doing away with all for a few reasons out of order. What matters is that we rediscover the specific needles in the haystacks - and there are many for they were made to be only needles and not chains. If we could only recall what it was that we distilled from so many centuries of hardship that enlightenment became a reawakening, as though we had fallen asleep for eons, we should find ourselves in good hands - that is, in our own hands, yet true but always must stay absolutely true.
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