The day of Transfiguration had just passed. It was a good day to be on some mountain, looking up for a light. I couldn’t do it, though; I've spent my day in a hole, in darkness. Nevertheless, it never hurts to dream about light:
And why do we call it transfiguration? That's the question I’ve asked myself.
As the story went, Jesus took three of his best disciples (Peter, John, James), went to Mt. Hermon and there his countenance turned dazzling white; Moses and Elijah appeared before Him and paid Him homage; and Peter said... well, everyone knows the story .
You also probably know, that the Transfiguration of Jesus, like almost everything else in the New Testament, was preceded by Old Testament events - the transfiguration of Moses. Moses’ countenance irradiated bright light, when he went down from Mount Sinai. “The skin of his face shone because he had been speaking with the Lord.”.
“If only I had known what he would turn out to be,” said Henry Tandey, a British soldier of WWI, who had a chance to kill Adolph Hitler at the Battle of Marcoing.
According to Henry's account, he took aim but had a heart not to kill a wounded German soldier. “If I only had known what he would turn out to be. When I saw all the people, women and children he had killed and wounded, I was sorry to God to let him go.” 
We live in a world of words. Some people even make a living by weaving long and sometime quite elaborate strings of letters. Some of those strings worth more than strings of pearls.
The strings of words pierce the space on radio waves, fold into books, hide in CDS and microfiches and wave to us from banners pulled by crop dusters. They shake our air with acoustic booms of contraction and rarefaction. They carry meanings; at least some of them, while others are just pollution, toxic noise. Some words will stay with you for the rest of your life, like the first word of your baby. Or like the last words of your loved one. Words give life and words take life away.
These wrecks lie undisturbed by greedy to artifacts divers. Smell of wormwood at sunset. Wailing of turtledoves in green quarters of Yalta
. And grave silence of ancient columns protruding from sandy cliffs. It is a bit like California
, if California would have several millennia of history. It is almost like California, but no overcrowding, often more a desert, than even a steppe. It is Crimea, and there is much more to it, but... Much more? What can be more? Maybe, mountains? Or submarines? Did you know that there is an innate connection between Crimea
and jingoism? These words are connected in many senses, but let's start with semantics.
is one of the original and most interesting phenomena which we have discussed from the start of this blog (see COGNITIVE ECHO OR SYNCHRONICITY
; COGNITIVE ECHO II OR HUMMINGBIRD
; LILACS OUT OF DEAD BRAIN or COGNITIVE ECHO III
). This is a kind of phenomena which I believe reveals digital or (if you would prefer) intelligently predetermined structure of our world. I’ve illustrated it and discussed it through various physical manifestations which occur quite regularly in our lives, but cognitive echo can happen sometimes in quite subtle ways. Here is an example.
This little piece is about invention of new words and the causes that bring them to the light. Actually, this is about something entirely different, but, well, you’ll find this out…
I think that many new words are invented out of a pure ignorance of writers. This is, of course, a generalization, so maybe it will be fair to put it this way: when I am writing I am ignorant to the point of invention of new words. How about that? I think it is a fair way to say.
I’ll give you an example. In the process of writing The Leap of Faith
I came up with a great word, the word I can relate to, and if you’ve read my books then you know what I mean. And the word is encagement
I was patient and ignored all cognitive echoes which had happened to me since I’ve last time described this phenomenon in the Hummingbird
. Yet another echo had #happened and this time I have gave in. Here is the story.
I have lost a word. And this was so embarrassing – I have lost a pretty common word, not an opisthoproct
or cosidoron (those are coming wherever I need them). It was a good word, a name of that pretty common shrub with purple or white clusters of flowers. You know what I am talking about?
I was editing one of my story called “Pink Black Widow
”, when I’ve run into a little snag. I needed to find monsters. Not monsters with long fangs, sticky tentacles or legs growing out of their heads, but verbal ones. The culprit word, which sent me on this unusual quest was “decumanus”, a word which plays quite a sinister role in Pink Black Widow
. I was looking for some name which could make a match from a dark and even sinister side of meanings, like “chthonic” or “Tcheralindra”.
Perhaps, we had enough eschatology discussion, let's talk about something else, like, say, the relativity of truth. Lately this Subject was quite regularly on my mind. What is it coming from? I think, I can tell, but first I would like to take a bit longer look at it.
I just finished my second time reading Harry Potter, all seven books in a row. Just like the first time, it was … magic. The images of the novel were invoked so vividly, so truly, that afterwards it feels as if I’ve been there and witnessed it all, either under a cover of the invisibility cloak or from a dive into Dumbledore’s Pensieve. I only wish it all was real, I wish it lasted longer, but the last book is finished and closed, while I remain where I am – a poor Muggle, locked in Muggle’s Azkaban.