The mundane world’s so-called “thinkers” amount to this: amateur painters in the Louvre, making copies of the Old Masters …‘cept in this instance, there are no actual Masters, only the amateurs. The only artists shown in established galleries are those of the Ouroboros School, (cannibalria generalus; plagiarirus incestius), and by so doing is the public spared disruptive outrage, and the march of progress kept civilized.
The few born in a straightjacket, who feel they are living in a fog that those around them do not notice, cannot tolerate an inner reality so constricted. To realize their special aim requires unfettered creativity in thought, but there is none to be found; not outside their self – not out there amidst everyone else in the parade. The degree of creative thought they actually need to reach their goal would be thought totally unconnected to any thought they had ever had before. It seems literally impossible given the physical dimensions of this universe, (as perceivable by mortal minds, at least). There is no such thing as a thought that is totally independent from every other thought ever thought, but by god that is precisely what it takes to ever awaken yours from the ignis fatuus realm in which it is now stifled.
It is necessary and yet seemingly not possible. How can you have some thought that is not at least partially imitative-of and connected-to thoughts which men have already had? It really does sound impossible until you consider it more carefully. What kind of thought COULD be completely unrelated to any thought you or anyone else has ever had before? What possible kind? But there is one, and its operational reality is coded in the very sentence rhetorically questioning the possible existence of such.
The thought is right there amidst that jumble of words.
Grab it! It’s the only creative one there is.
What kind of snake indeed could swallow itself so completely that not nothing is left, but rather the full explanation of its prior apparent existence.
J.