He was trying to explain that she was anything but an international spy, not an evil genius but a genius.
What she told him was a refrain in each of her texts, as if she left her mark on everything she touched. He didnt forget to mention the red notebook, either.
The system of symbols is the terminology with which a person describes reality both existing and imaginary, Richard said. Its a tool for organizing space
His colleagues stared at him with vacant, uncomprehending eyes. Some had taken the course on alchemy with him, others were there as lecturers, but judging by their reaction, they all understood nothing. Richard felt like they were mocking him.
The Great Work is not a recipe for transforming metals into gold, its not a recipe for creating the philosophers stone, and the philosophers stone is not a stone, but an artistic representation of that which fulfills ones innermost desire. The philosophers stone is red because the color red symbolizes becoming, unity, quintessence.
Primitive zombie flicks came to Richards mind: the collective, the lack of conscious thought To the creatures who glared at him standing next to the projector screen, it didnt matter what he was saying they wanted to eat his brain. He paced back and forth at the end of the oval glass table in the center of the conference room, explaining to them that it was all simple yet they were seeing something of their own.
Mercury and sulfur in the alchemists parlance represent the two natures of matter, feminine and masculine, creation and destruction, and their union yields salt, but not the salt kind of salt, not even mercury sulfide, but rather uncertainty like entropy in information theory.
The formula, common sense, a consistent picture painted. Incredible!
The Great Work is an algorithm for constructing oneself from scratch, as one was intended by the creator to become. Its an algorithm for refining ones surroundings, because only the natural flow of things creates stable, resilient systems. Becoming is to fulfill the mission, its not money or triumph or world domination
Who was he talking to? Strange, frightening, foolish. They were looking through him, they didnt hear a word he said however much he paced in front of the whiteboard, waved his hands, pointed his fingers: one, two, three, four.
The four stages of the Great Work are represented by colors, and each stage and color is a step of evolution. Alchemy is internal transformation
Theyll say they heard this all before and that everything he was repeating is clear and, at the same time, unclear. Why did he understand and they didnt?!
Nigredo, albedo, citrinitas, rubedo black, white, gold, and red are represented by processes of decay and purification, construction and creation, gaining wisdom from the advice of the wise and the final becoming in the name of service.
It was a nightmare him, speaking into nothingness. What stage is he on? The ground is slipping out from under his feet, the familiar world is crumbling. Hes doubting everything.
A devilish science, this alchemy! No wonder people flee from it from its destructive power, from the shock of its revelations!
Richard tossed and turned in sweat-soaked sheets, visions blended with reality. Dreaming or awake, is he trying to explain something to someone, dreaming or awake, does he suddenly understand, grasping awareness by the tail, like an elusive chimera, the cursed Ouroboros the serpent biting its own tail?
He wanted to scream and cry for help, he wanted to shriek with joy as loud as he could, to share this sudden realization with the entire world.
He understood.
All kinds of things went on in the Circus headquarters, in rooms designed to resemble apartments or comfortable hotel rooms meant for both permanent and temporary residence. Richard was the type to never make noise, he never even tossed in his sleep because self-control is a skill thats impossible to lose or forget.
He sat up sharply on the bed, air escaping from his lungs with a wheeze, burning his throat as if he had been screaming in his sleep, like under torture.
He couldnt remember what he had understood. What kind of devilry was this a theatrical stage, a conference room table, trying to explain alchemy to MI6 agents in front of a crowd clad in medieval garb he had no idea. Normally, his work-related nightmares were different They were rare because he never remembered his dreams and specific, understandable, frightening only because he failed and let everyone down.
If alchemy, nevertheless, was true, then he was still at the very beginning of the journey in the black void of nigredo, in the burnt up, broken, bitter, and frightening nothingness.
He wrapped himself in damp blankets, wiped nervous sweat from his forehead, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
If need be, he will offer himself up for experiments on the alchemical slab but for now, he remains in his own genre.
This better turn out to be a cold-induced fever, he thought, sinking into viscous sleep. Perks of government service good insurance. Both for the living and the dead.
6. Liars
[Great Britain, London, City of Westminster]
They told me once that all poets are liars I thought about it.
The voice reverberated across the ribbed ceilings of the crypt beneath the Church of St Martin-in-the-Fields. The decorations of medieval dungeons wine cellars from the novel about the murder on vineyards echoed the mystical mood of the meeting with the author.
Artificial lamps simulating candles lined the space. The columns dividing the hall into sectors disappeared above, supporting the arches of the ceiling. This place, both eerie and sacred, kept its own atmosphere even with the sounds of working photography equipment. Three hundred pairs of eyes were fixed upon the stage.
Why write about things that dont exist, why craft perfect worlds that will console nobody but the desperate? Heroes, villains, knights, beauties, beasts abstract symbols echoed across every culture but removed from objective reality. We live in a world with no black and white, on occasion we cant choose what to wear, what wine to pair with our dinner Barolo or Barbaresco, Alexandra Stella Fracta raised her ruby drink, smiling ironically. What is there to say about choice, then: between ones own interests and the common good, instruction and justice, chaos and order if one cannot be conceptualized without the other?
Richard found himself getting confused. Sophistry manipulating concepts that are valid separately and paradoxical together, deception through employing cognitive distortions and the imperfections of formal logic.
There are rules for resolving contradictions preconceived instructions. For choosing between equivalent options, theres chance and improvisation. For making decisions within a limited number of steps, there are real-time operating systems.
I could say it in my own words, but this question was already answered by Vadim Rublev, doctor of philosophy, my teacher and the very Grandmaster whose encrypted poems my classmates and I translated into different languages ten years ago to practice the art of conveying meaning. Ill quote read from the sheet because it, well, matters.
She was smiling, she emphasized the last phrase with an ironic tone. She waved her free hand still holding the wine glass in the other like a magician. A piece of paper appeared in her fingers, and the audience gasped from surprise and apt relief while Alexandra continued.