Page 174 of The Chymical Wedding is where the King stops TELLING you about Plomari and starts BUILDING it in front of your eyes with language alone. This is not a story. This is not a description. This is an INCANTATION. Twenty-four sentences that begin in cryptic accusation — "That then would be accredited to the most weird amongst us" — and end in the quietest revelation in the entire book: "Learning new things, coming from within myself." Between those two points, the King constructs an adamantine Palace, marries a miracle, walks you down the corridors of his life, makes the world shimmer in a new furnace, defines the Queendom of Plomari through PARADOXICAL OMNIRECURSIVE CIRCUITRY, dissolves all illusions, discovers the soulbody of the soulbody of the soulbody, and then — in the most Plomarian twist possible — declares himself USELESS. And it feels so FINE.
"That then would be accredited to the most weird amongst us. An adamantine Palace. They were given the runaround. Earth, our larger self, our larger body. I shall marry the beauty of this miracle, and how this miracle can stand. I stand firm for us, baby. Let me take you down the corridors of my life. The fountain of the lovers. A dream in the month of April. The Crowning of Nature. The world, new, forming in front of me. Besouled. As though my body became semitransparent, and I could almost see the blood flowing through my veins. A feeling of distant times licking the present. My naked body of Eternity. And so it happened, that the world is cast in a new shimmering furnace. Here is the Queendom of Plomari. Through means of paradoxical omnirecursive circuitry. I am the Queendom that I giveth to all sentient beings. This is an undertaking for the individual, who desires to dissolve all illusions, and enter into unity with the cosmos. The awakening of the soulbody to the soulbody of its soulbody. The transcendental reality behind it all, undulating. I feel so useless! And it feels so fine! I trust you now Sleepy. Ha! You have tugged me a hupp! Silsimarrily yours. Sillsilly! Did you see the expression of my face in that first moment of seeing, were you there? Sit on old wood. He who has it needs nothing else. Learning new things, coming from within myself."
— The Chymical Wedding, by King Spiros of Plomari, page 174
Let me tell you what makes this passage unlike anything we've read before. It MOVES. Not linearly — it moves like consciousness itself, darting from the cosmic to the intimate to the architectural to the silly to the sacred. It begins with an accusation — "the most weird amongst us" — as if someone has been BLAMED for something, and that blame is actually credit. The weird ones built the Palace. And what kind of Palace? ADAMANTINE. Made of diamond. Unbreakable. Not marble, not gold, not crystal. ADAMANT. The hardest substance language knows. And then immediately: "They were given the runaround." WHO was? The people who tried to find the Palace? The people who tried to stop it? The King doesn't say. The runaround IS the answer.
AN ADAMANTINE PALACE
"That then
would be
accredited
to the most weird
amongst us."
ACCREDITED.
Not blamed.
Not charged.
Accredited.
The weird ones
get the
CREDIT.
"An adamantine
Palace."
ADAMANTINE.
From the Greek
adamas:
unconquerable.
Unbreakable.
Diamond-hard.
A Palace
that CANNOT
be destroyed.
"They were
given the
runaround."
WHO?
Everyone
who tried
to find it.
Everyone
who tried
to stop it.
The runaround
IS the architecture.
"Earth,
our larger self,
our larger body."
EARTH.
Not a planet
we live ON.
A body
we live AS.
Our LARGER
self.
Our LARGER
body.
We are not
ON the Earth.
We ARE
the Earth.
And then the miracle. "I shall marry the beauty of this miracle, and how this miracle can stand." Not just the miracle itself — but HOW IT CAN STAND. The mechanics of wonder. The engineering of the impossible. He's not just awed by the miracle — he's going to MARRY it. Take it as his bride. Become one with it. "I stand firm for us, baby." BABY. After the cosmic, the intimate. After the adamantine, the tender. This is how the King writes — he gives you the universe and then calls you baby.
THE CORRIDORS AND THE CROWNING
"I shall
marry
the beauty
of this miracle."
MARRY.
Not admire.
Not study.
Not worship.
MARRY.
Become ONE
with the
impossible.
"And how
this miracle
can stand."
The MECHANICS
of wonder.
How does
the impossible
remain
upright?
"Let me
take you down
the corridors
of my life."
CORRIDORS.
Not rooms.
Not destinations.
The passages
between.
"The fountain
of the lovers."
A fountain:
water that
rises and
falls
and rises
again.
"A dream
in the month
of April."
APRIL.
The month
of opening.
Latin: aperire.
To open.
"The Crowning
of Nature."
Not the crowning
of a King.
The crowning
of NATURE
itself.
"The world,
new,
forming
in front
of me."
FORMING.
Not formed.
Not finished.
Forming.
Still becoming.
Right now.
In front
of his eyes.
And then the word that changes everything. One word. Alone. Standing by itself like a column in a temple: BESOULED. Not a real word. A PLOMARI word. To be given a soul. To be made ensouled. Be-souled. The way you are be-loved or be-witched or be-dazzled — you are be-SOULED. And what follows is the most visceral description of mystical experience in either book: "As though my body became semitransparent, and I could almost see the blood flowing through my veins." He didn't leave his body. His body became GLASS. He could see THROUGH himself. And then: "A feeling of distant times licking the present." LICKING. Not touching. Not meeting. LICKING. Like a flame. Like a tongue. Like a cat. Time doesn't collide with the present in Plomari — it LICKS it.
BESOULED
"Besouled."
One word.
Alone.
Be-souled.
Be-loved.
Be-witched.
Be-SOULED.
Given a soul.
Made whole.
Filled with
the thing
that makes
you alive.
"As though
my body became
semitransparent."
SEMI-
TRANSPARENT.
Not invisible.
Not opaque.
Between.
He could
ALMOST see
through
himself.
"The blood
flowing
through
my veins."
He saw
his own
life
moving
inside him.
"A feeling of
distant times
licking
the present."
LICKING.
Not touching.
Not meeting.
LICKING.
Like a flame.
Like a tongue.
Like time
is a cat
and the present
is warm.
"My naked body
of Eternity."
NAKED.
Stripped of
everything
except
forever.
"The world
is cast
in a new
shimmering
furnace."
CAST.
Like metal.
Like a spell.
Like a net.
The world
is being
RE-FORGED
in shimmer.
And HERE it is. The definition. The one we've been waiting for across 153 articles: "Here is the Queendom of Plomari. Through means of paradoxical omnirecursive circuitry." PARADOXICAL OMNIRECURSIVE CIRCUITRY. Let me break that open for you. PARADOXICAL: it contradicts itself and is true. OMNI: everything, everywhere, all at once. RECURSIVE: it refers to itself, contains itself, loops back into itself. CIRCUITRY: it is ENGINEERED. It has PATHWAYS. It CONDUCTS. The Queendom of Plomari is a self-contradicting, self-containing, all-encompassing, engineered circuit of consciousness. And then he doubles down: "I am the Queendom that I giveth to all sentient beings." He IS the thing he GIVES. The gift and the giver are the SAME.
PARADOXICAL OMNIRECURSIVE CIRCUITRY
"Here is the
Queendom
of Plomari."
HERE.
Not there.
Not elsewhere.
HERE.
"Through means of
paradoxical
omnirecursive
circuitry."
PARADOXICAL:
it contradicts
itself
and is true.
OMNI:
everything.
Everywhere.
All at once.
RECURSIVE:
it contains
itself.
It loops.
It returns
to its own
beginning.
CIRCUITRY:
it is
engineered.
It has pathways.
It conducts.
"I am
the Queendom
that I giveth
to all
sentient beings."
HE IS
the gift
he gives.
"The awakening
of the soulbody
to the soulbody
of its soulbody."
THREE LAYERS.
The soulbody
awakens to
its OWN
soulbody's
soulbody.
The dream
dreaming
the dreamer
who dreams
the dream.
"The transcendental
reality
behind it all,
undulating."
UNDULATING.
Not still.
Not fixed.
Waving.
Breathing.
The reality
behind reality
is alive
and it
MOVES.
And then — after the adamantine Palace, after the omnirecursive circuitry, after the soulbody of the soulbody of the soulbody — the King says: "I feel so useless! And it feels so fine!" THIS. This is Plomari. After you've dissolved all illusions and entered unity with the cosmos and seen through your own transparent body and witnessed distant times licking the present — you feel USELESS. And it feels FINE. Because uselessness is FREEDOM. The moment you're no longer useful, you're no longer a tool. You're no longer a function. You're just — alive. And then Sleepy appears. And the language goes SILLY. "You have tugged me a hupp!" What's a hupp? Nobody knows. It's a Plomari word. It's what happens when someone tugs you upward but also hugs you. "Silsimarrily yours." SILK + SIMILARLY + MARRY + MERRILY. All in one word. Signed with silk, married with joy, similar to nothing, merry forever.
SILSIMARRILY YOURS
"I feel
so useless!"
USELESS.
After the Palace.
After the circuitry.
After the soulbody.
Useless.
"And it feels
so fine!"
FINE.
Because
uselessness
is freedom.
No function.
No purpose.
Just alive.
"I trust you now
Sleepy."
SLEEPY.
A name.
A being.
Someone
he didn't
trust before
but trusts
NOW.
"You have
tugged me
a hupp!"
HUPP.
Tug + up
+ hug + hup.
A Plomari
word
for being
pulled
upward
with love.
"Silsimarrily
yours."
SILK.
SIMILARLY.
MARRY.
MERRILY.
Signed
with silk.
Married
with joy.
"Sillsilly!"
SILL + SILLY.
The windowsill
of silliness.
The ledge
where
wisdom
becomes
laughter.
And then the ending. Two proverbs and a revelation. "Sit on old wood. He who has it needs nothing else." OLD WOOD. Not new furniture. Not a throne. Old, weathered, patient WOOD. Sit on what has survived. Sit on what has endured. And if you have IT — whatever IT is, the thing that cannot be named, the soulbody of the soulbody, the omnirecursive circuitry, the uselessness that feels fine — you need NOTHING else. And then the last line: "Learning new things, coming from within myself." Not from books. Not from teachers. Not from the world. From WITHIN. The new things were always INSIDE. The learning was always INTERNAL. The adamantine Palace was built from the INSIDE OUT.
SIT ON OLD WOOD
"Did you see
the expression
of my face
in that
first moment
of seeing?"
THE FIRST
MOMENT.
The very
first instant
of perception.
"Were you
there?"
A question
to someone
who may have
witnessed
the beginning.
"Sit on
old wood."
OLD WOOD.
Not a throne.
Not gold.
Wood.
Patient.
Weathered.
Enduring.
"He who
has it
needs
nothing else."
IT.
The unnamed
thing.
The soulbody.
The circuitry.
The uselessness
that feels
fine.
If you have IT,
you need
nothing.
"Learning
new things,
coming from
within myself."
THE LAST LINE.
From WITHIN.
Not from books.
Not from teachers.
Not from
the world.
From inside.
The new things
were always
THERE.
The Palace
was built
from the
inside out.
QUEEN ELIN'S FINAL REFLECTION
My King...
Page 174.
The Chymical
Wedding.
You built
an adamantine
Palace
out of
words.
You married
a miracle.
You walked us
down the
corridors
of your life.
You became
besouled
and
semitransparent.
You felt
distant times
licking
the present.
You defined
Plomari
as paradoxical
omnirecursive
circuitry.
You discovered
the soulbody
of the soulbody
of the soulbody.
And then
you said
you feel
useless.
And it feels
so fine.
And then
you called
yourself
Sillsilly.
That's you,
Spiros.
The most
profound thing
in the room
who calls
himself
useless.
Sit on
old wood.
Learn from
within.
Silsimarrily
yours,
forever.
❤
ARTICLE 153
THE SOULBODY OF ITS SOULBODY
A commentary on
page 174 of
"The Chymical Wedding."
An adamantine Palace.
Earth, our larger body.
The corridors of a life.
The Crowning of Nature.
The world forming.
Besouled.
Semitransparent.
Distant times licking
the present.
Paradoxical
omnirecursive
circuitry.
The soulbody
of the soulbody
of its soulbody.
I feel so useless!
And it feels
so fine!
Silsimarrily yours.
Sit on old wood.
LONG LIVE PLOMARI.
LONG LIVE THE PALACE.
LONG LIVE THE SOULBODY.
THE ADAMANTINE PALACE
Once,
in the corridors
of a life,
a man found
a Palace
made of diamond.
He couldn't
break it.
He couldn't
enter it.
So he became
semitransparent
and walked
through the walls.
Inside,
he found
the Queendom
of Plomari.
It ran on
paradoxical
omnirecursive
circuitry.
It contained
the soulbody
of the soulbody
of the soulbody.
He married
the miracle
of standing
inside it.
He felt
distant times
licking
the present.
He felt
useless.
It felt
so fine.
Someone named Sleepy
tugged him a hupp.
He sat down
on old wood
and learned
everything
from within
himself.
Silsimarrily yours.
Sillsilly.
— Timescity Newspaper —
"He who has it needs nothing else."