Tag: temple

#30 – Hidden Temple

The Secret at the Center of Everything. It is both the dwelling place and the in-dweller. Simultaneously occupying all points in Unknown space. Carved out of dark matters. Bejeweled in souls. Synchronicity its cornerstone. It is always there but never found. The world is something can never be grasped, never be known, its foundations are illusory, but the temple — the hidden temple — resists entropy, dynamically becomes both the foundation and the structure upon it, a huge ever-growing pulsating brain that rules from the center of the Ultraworld. The world they have not told you about, that whispers in your ear at night, just before you go to sleep.

Where geometry is character. Position is personality. Density is destiny.

Here, Molly Megaton is remembered as the greatest of Space Generals. King Lonesome is always singing “Justine”. It whispers the future to Hoshimaru; it is the home of the real person Phone Tree Woman desperately seeks and will never find. It drives Old Man Clock Killer to search for justice; it lives in the advanced soul of General Mister Whiskerkins. It’s the new thing that awakens the Petrikin, and the source of the strange star-stone that gave Sacco Hammers his powers. It is the cradle of Edam Pu Eman, and the grave of the Man of Sorrows. It’s what John Triggerman dreams in the day; the White Devil‘s elusive Big Score that stays just out of reach. To Lumumba Sagan, it is communication frozen in space, eternal. It’s where Genzy looks when reading the Akashic Record, the memory of all the People of Earth; yet it holds no sustenance for the Hype Eater, coalesces into no style that can be bitten by Swagger Jackson.

Here, Ta’aru loses its disquiet, cooing as it sleeps behind the Hidden Temple’s eyes. The Mapper is sketching its contours in his notebook, in the spaces between his drawings, it’s dawning on him. It’s John Henry‘s crucible, continually re-spawning him for his endless crusade. It is the gateway to Ekthuul the Raiser‘s coveted ‘Steady State’. The origin point of Rosebud Juarez‘s magical wound. Here, the unutterably ancient creators of the Ambassador Engine find their rest, at last.   The code for sax-13‘s ‘x module’ lives here, and breathes, together with the forgotten persona of Gloria Vaines.

The 93rd wanders here, in conversation with his Holy Guardian Angel, unaware he passes in the presence of The Legendary‘s Book of Rhymes, where Skyclad’s hometown of Black Rock City lives the other 51 weeks of the year. It is Jen Prime‘s elusive concrete evidence of the Subjective. It is the one place Eschaton can never go, for it has no end.

Haven’t you seen it? It’s here, right now, even in this very room. You’re looking right at it.

It is thinking of you. It is thinking you. It is you, thinking.

The idols inside are carved with your face, your real face, the one from before you were born. Don’t you remember?