Now we turn to Rabelais. The alters, being hairless, their craft sterile, geometrical, “perfect”, a flying abstraction, unreal perhaps, or in any case again but a speculative reality… To say that they signal an unreality is inadequate – yea, they signal the implicates, and they shadow the distortions, and their place as second order entities is undisputed, but where in the hierarchy does that lead, is it established? Is second first to none? Is the subject’s thirdness assured?
Now forgive me as I hazard to point out the evident fact, much ignored, that the craft in its often seen mandala shape is a kin to the human anus – kin as well to the gaping mouths of loved ones passed as they appear to us in dreams. Rabelais did exalt such thresholds – they are thresholds -, which confuse and to all but the sexless delight, and through which we cannot tell, am I gazing inside or out? Truly, caverns within caverns; tuck, stucco, grotesque…
So Francois Rabelais took to the ditch and exalted again the foul end of the body, and met two giants, under the sanction of du Bellay, and was framed, and was thereafter forged a fifth book, post-humus. Play of the positive. And in the making was an Abbey established, which if you would believe Alick was a threshold to the greater dimensions, and to visitations, and which in its mythic infancy claimed “Herein lies subtraction.”
Out of the alley, in a logic of imitation, is found the third great cosmic image, “a devoured and devouring world,” for the Abbey of T becomes allwheres. It’s Crowley’s underwhispered pass that says, if the mandala is a void, yes, go on, penetrate, fill, devour!, look, however, on the edges, a rule of no contact, scale invariant, it is still a void.