Room with a View, IV

Part Four

We discuss the speakers of Latin, travel beyond The Falls in Outworld, and The Presence causes more to Become and more to be Known.


You have returned!

If you have been here long, you may have thought that I was not. Strange (although words become murky with meaning in The Room), but I both have and have not been absent and/or here.

The Presence, which has always been, but is now recognized as such, is THE PRESENCE. I know this more fully now, hence the murkiness above.

THE PRESENCE and The Flow, I have come to realize, have quietly entered into Outworld from The Beyond. Consequently, the view from The Room has changed. And with that consequence we have changed the image above. We may change it again. This entering has happened softly, quietly as I said, but with authority and power to such a degree as essentially to merge The Room and Outworld into a unity with The Beyond. This unity is maintained by The Flow, and all of it has become one within THE ONE PRESENCE. It is ridiculously, unfathomably complex. Intricate. Labyrinthian. Unspeakably beautiful. Exquisite. Intimate. It can be sensual, yet it has a benevolence about it that is pure (and I must say more about this benevolence and its will to power*). It is gracious. Full of limitless wonder. Marvelous. Stunning in its majesty. All of that and more, yet it is utterly simple: THE PRESENCE has taken what could have been, might once have been broken or separated, and made it One again. Permanently, now and forever.

This entering has happened multiple times in one sense, but at a particular point in Outworld history, it happened uniquely. And all of these words about time and history are not very deep with meaning, of course, because t = t0/(1-v2/c2)1/2 and because of the entering itself. The entering subsumes all that is not a part of it so that it is all One. I know I know that this is wordy and possibly confusing and is non-sense and yet . . . I know I know that you know. If you did not, you would not be here.

And that knowledge and recently a focus upon the entering, bring us to the speakers of Latin. Let us discuss them, even as we may be discussing ourselves in part. First, the Latins are . . . detached. They are a kind of self-segregated society while simultaneously having extraordinarily close ties. Some among them, both males and females separately, have removed themselves from all ties and they each have vowed to maintain a thoroughgoing detachment. This is both attractive to me, and repulsive. I have a high regard for their devotion, have a higher regard for their commitment. But, I do not have the highest regard for the entire concept, as I do not think at all that THE PRESENCE intends this for us (except as a temporary state, which is of great value, that value heightened by its end. It must be a temporary state.). However, it may be for some, in order that they may be kept closer to THE PRESENCE. To discuss this further, and even to discuss the Latins more completely would require words outside Room With a View. Thus, I shall say no more about it here except that I believe you may understand and agree.


*This benevolence is indeed from Latin, not to be confused with, but may be freely associated with, those who speak it in The Room. It is from bene–“good”, and volentia a form of volēns–“I wish”. And here, if we are to grasp any single nature of THE PRESENCE, it is this: the absolutely untarnished, undiminished, inextinguishable will to do good and an unequaled, unparalleled, unsurpassed power in doing it. I must rest here, as it is beyond any words (although I may try later in Part Apart).


And that brings us again to The Falls.

As you may recall from Part Three:

. . . [we] were fed by the wonder of the journey . . . And from the pool, we drank at the feet of the giant.

My friend and I knelt down at the pool and scooped water into the bowls of our hands, sipping the purity to our delight and refreshment. Water fell from our hands and mouths, returning to the pool and merging with it, then flowing down the stream back along the path we had traveled. 

We looked up and could see the falls, but not its whole. The sound of so much water hitting water had become background music, and our ears now attuned to its rhythm. It was a rhythm of constance. It was a pulse created by the steady, unending flow working its way over and around unseen rocks, boulders, and pockets of space behind and beside them. Moss and other things living softened the pulse making it clearly and deeply organic to us.

Nearly as one, we decided to continue. We had gone as far as any human has ever documented, even to this day, but we would continue. There was no direct course, and any kind of pathway had long ago faded far behind us, but we would find a way or it would find us as we committed simply to walk. To climb together.

The only direction could be up and we began moving. Obstacles were on every side in every direction, but there was always one opening. A single stepping stone, a space between ancient trees, a mystical shadow that became an invitation, all of these simply came to us as we continued. Time was nothing as we climbed here and there, to the right to the left, never backwards and always higher. On some occasions we had to veer far from the flow of the water, but it was our song and, as needed, we were able to turn toward it and know that we were close.

It seemed almost suddenly that there was a clearing of obstacles as the ground became more flat, and our progress became sure, certain, and swift. We could see the stream now, the flow of water as a small brook surrounded by marshland. It was earth that simply contained and released the water, some into a kind of channel that was the brook, and some simply, but slowly, seeping down, always down to the falls far below us now.

We continued ahead, now with the direction shrouded by clarity through a mist rising from the marsh. We simply walked, but carefully. The slope was imperceptible now, as we had climbed so far, although the flow continued behind each step.

And then, again somewhat suddenly, we were there: at the source of all of the flow, all of the water that became marsh and seepage and brook and creek and falls and stream, and streams joining other streams into river joining with other rivers, and all of them on all of the earth flowing into the many seas which are one sea.

We were at a wall of water, not rushing, not a parted sea you understand, but an un-solid wall of soil and stone and moss and rock knitted together by trees and clinging vines and intermeshed green growth that was absorbing and releasing all of the water that was in the air and had fallen from fierce storms and gentle rains and snow and sheets of ice. The wall was immense and stretched beyond our vision to either side as we turned to grasp its size. Above it, far above, we saw only the sky, which we knew continued into what might be infinity. This wall was a thousand dripping springs, single droplets of ever-flow that joined and became one until their weight or size attracted them to others who themselves had joined, and all of it, each of them, joined the steady unending flow from the source.

Magnificent is a word that can only partially bear the meaning, not only of what we were seeing, but also of what we were feeling. We were in the presence of life never-ending and a flow that was not at all visible in its entirety. We could not, in a glance, take it all in. Even turning our heads this way and that, we could see in only one direction. But behind our vision we could also feel the cool mist of molecular motion.

And all of it was beyond our capacity to behold.


And, dear reader, such is THE PRESENCE.


Glória in excélsis Deo et in terra pax homínibus bonæ voluntátis.

Photography and Text © 2017, Timothy Waugh