Fall, Deoch 214
"We weave as art, and all of us are part of the tapestry."
A while ago, I attended a class given by Thubub on the functioning of our temples and fellowships. What I witnessed was rather surprising: the classroom was filled with people I have never seen before, asking for more details. What I am witnessing, of course, is our memory: our collective dream, being passed on to new sparks. To be quite honest, it has been...well, longer than I want to admit publicly, but a very, very, very long time since I saw anything like this.
If you’ve listened to any of my other classes you perhaps know that I take a dim view of our current society. Frozen, unmoving, unchanging: Chadul’s dominion. Similar to the ancient Grinneal: Mundanes work with little progress.
The question that now stands before us is: shall Aislings work with little progress? Am I wrong in my assertion that our society cannot change, because of the Mundanes (aka the state)? Admittedly, I would happily concede the point.
I would be thrilled to be so wrong as to see a total renewal of this society. One might say every flash of my spark requires it. Demands it.
But alas, dear reader, I do not hold my breath. Time, and experience, have taught me otherwise. New Aislings especially assume - the state cannot be in league with Chadul! How could that be!
And yet.
We need to look at our own history - Aisling history - to understand this process. Our own culture has failed, nearly totally, to remember itself, and its history. We live in broken fragments of the past: occasionally, dedicated servants make unbelievably valiant efforts to reconstruct these fragments, or to extract new meaning from them. But, similar to how Chadul holds us, and the state, in its grasp, so too do his tendrils creep within our very minds. How often do we destroy our own memories? Multiple libraries worth of our history have been burned, sometimes in rage, sometimes in spite, sometimes as censorship - but always contributing to a misunderstanding of the thread of history.
Our memories are destroyed by ourselves, and by the process of this life itself. This world is a palimpsest: scrubbed clean, written over - yet an essence remains: the knowledge that there is something to be valued, something to be treasured. Maybe it’s why you are here now. Perhaps it is why you attend mass, or why you came to this class.
A fragment of this world, a glamour, embeds itself in us when we receive the spark. We see the world entirely differently from the Mundanes. We live in this world. We breathe in it. We create this reality as a shared dream between all of us. Temuair is the summation of those threads. The word itself, Aisling, means “dream" in the old tongue. Aislings were not created by Deoch to toil - we were created to dream. To weave and share that dream. We are builders: we forge castles in the sky that others cannot even perceive.
But, too often, there is an assumption that dreams are pleasant, heroic, mythic things. We forget that even our reality might be a dream - or a nightmare. We forget entirely that one of the most concrete dangers of dreaming is losing track of what is the dream, and what is real.
The Mundane suffer from no illusions. There is one world, one story. That story is by in large, mechanical. It would prefer that the Aisling not exist; it tolerates it out of sheer necessity. The mundanes would much prefer that we simply shut up and go about our business, and stop complaining. After all: they have no real comprehension of our history, our world, our fabric. It was something they tolerated so long as it was convenient for them. When it stops being convenient...
We live in their world now. New Aislings come, and they go. The Mundanes? Content to ignore it all. So long as the coffers swell...all is well. All is good.
Pay your taxes, peasants!
You and I know better, because we live in this world. We are of it. We see the tapestry: a centuries long battle. A thread that many have tried to carry, including myself. A struggle to continue the line of the first Aislings into the present day, to continue to invoke and nurture that shared dream. We carry on this work in opposition to the Mundanes. This work has never been supported by them, not once, not even briefly, in centuries.
So: we need to understand history to not repeat the mistakes of the past. Dwell too long there, though, and we neglect the present. We are frozen in the past. Enthralled by its mirage. As we discussed - this is the realm of Chadul. We must be of the present. This specific moment in history, more than any other, demands it.
I want to speak briefly on the concept of worthiness, which goes hand in hand with these concepts. I have noticed a disturbing trend in my life where valued friends and loved ones constantly question their worthiness to serve, to endure, to be participants in this shared fabric. Too often those that carry the flame forward feel as if they are unworthy to perform this service. They question whether they honor the past sufficiently, whether they are worthy of the service they perform, if they are doing it correctly...if they should be doing it at all.
Sadly, the people who need to be wondering this, never do. It is those with certainty, without questions, without worry, who do the most damage to our society - not the ones who wonder if they are carrying forward a two hundred Deoch legacy correctly.
We must redefine our concept of worthiness.
I have spoken at length previously that we must not allow ourselves to be prisoners of a mythic past. It prevents us from focusing on the present. We are drug, unwillingly, into a vicious battle: comparisons with legend. I myself suffer from this, as I somewhat uniquely straddle both realms: I have seen legends. I have loved them, with all my heart. I miss them now, with all my soul. I have been transmuted into one, against my will.
A historical past that others consider legend or myth is something that was my life.
I persist, but: is the legend actually me? Am I living up to some arbitrary theory people have about Kedian? When people pay me deference, am I worthy of it? Is this class sufficiently...class-like?
I will give you this advice. Let the legends lie. We are the inheritors, like it or not: our participation, our survival, marks us as such. Our endurance, our refusal to simply vanish, is what sets us apart from legend. The legends left. They vanished. Our fortitude and determination mark us as living. We carry the threadbare blanket. We ensure it does not disintegrate entirely. Not the legends, not the miracles of the past, not ancient history - but us, now, here, in the present.
The highest art of Aislinghood is existing. The practice of this art marks us as worthy. The flame demands it. Deoch’s gift is a reminder: that the height of Aisling existence is to exist in the moment, in the totality of the now - seized by inspiration.
When we are in that present, as you are now, with me - we inhabit the nature of Aisling entirely. We become legend because we practice that art. We are legend, we are myth, we inherit every fragment of that past, an unbroken line of history connects us from when I appeared in Mileth, confused, eyes wild, not understanding anything about Aislinghood, to this moment right now.
Nothing is a higher calling than that. And nothing is more worthy.
On this I would add: when that inspiration passes, as it must, then we are left with memories. Our moments, transmuted into history. Our history, and existence, counterbalances the legends. I am not merely a legend: I am a man, with hopes, dreams, loves, pains and regrets. We all are.
Examine your memories, reflect upon them. I encourage you to simply write them down! Perhaps share them with others. Add your recollections to our shared history. Away and separate from Mundane concerns and interferences. Do not do this to be rewarded, or to seek fame - simply do it. We weave as art, and all of us are part of the tapestry.
Remember the path of the Octave. We begin with inspiration: rooted in the now and the pleasure of the moment. But we cannot remain there forever. Deoch unlocks the path, it is on us to walk it. And walk it we must...or it will walk us.
When you remember and record your times here, reflect:
With compassion: constantly develop your ability to forgive, and to show compassion for those who do not understand. Even Mundanes. They know not what they do.
With balance: Have you been equanimous? Did you talk when you should have been listening?
With gnosis: Where does this fit into the larger pattern? What lessons can we draw from it?
With wisdom: How can we use lessons learned to improve our shared future?
With courage: Share your stories, theories and art with the world. If your works are ridiculed? Let them. A threadbare, forgotten blanket does not complain about a clumsy stitch. And besides: everything improves with practice.
With fortune: Luck illuminates the path to wit. A leap into the dark unknown is better remaining safely at home. Fiosachd in particular reminds us of the importance of existing in the world.
With death: All things end. Maybe even this class. End a cycle with these thoughts in mind, but end it. The state of the world illustrates that we suffer grievously from a lack of ability to bring things to a close, and to renew ourselves.
Thus we walk the Octave.
If you have heard any message at all today, let it be this: Weave for art - and art alone. We can break this cycle...and perhaps the end of the world will be beautiful when it comes.