What is an idea, and why is such a thing so damn important? These twin questions have consumed more ink and air than all other intellectual inquiries combined. To this very day, oneirologists and cosmologists can't agree upon any exact answers to either of those questions. If the most educated in The Cosmos can't come to terms with something as simple as the importance of ideas, then what chance do the rest of us simpletons have of understanding such matters?
The most common working definition of idea is something imagined in the mind. Since data is intrinsic to everything the mind perceives, one might assume there is a relationship between datum and ideas, but thus far, there is no bullet-proof evidence for the assumption. The only thing of which we can be certain is without concepts of space, time, and substance and the perception of those notions, there would be no existence.
If you look at a tree, you see the confluence of a network of roots, a trunk, branches, and leaves. That perception is limiting because when you think about the same tree as a series of ideas, The Cosmos opens its doors wide. The other way in which to conceive of a tree is as a patchwork of ideas; a delivery system for nutrients, a conversion system for taking in light and turning it into sustenance, a housing for animals and insects, and a bounty of materials. This alternative is far more powerful, if it can be tapped or drawn upon in some manner. If, being the operative word.
Just like the tree, everything we perceive can be broken down into ideas. It is just a matter of conceiving things in a different way. With all of that in mind, it is hard not to think of ideas as being the foundation of reality, that which existence is dependent. What if data is the means of opening the doorway of our mind to the foundation of reality, and what would it mean to go through that portal?
What if data could be weaponized? What would the look and feel of that be like? How would such a thing be dealt with? Would it be possible to neutralize it?
Technologists have been pushing the limits of the possible for aeons. The impossible now transforms into the possible at an alarming rate. The march of Progress has made The Cosmos a dangerous place indeed. Nobody can rest easy wondering when they fall asleep what conditions to which they will awaken, if they even come out of their unconscious state. The Church of Balentine is at the forefront of raising such alarums.
Data is the information our minds receive to allow us to perceive and react to the reality surrounding us. Without data, we would be vacuous husks, unable to even feed ourselves. The Church of Balentine worries the day is in the not-too-distant future when the all-important data stream becomes our worst nightmare.
Theories abound about the possibility of imparting metadata to bits of data integral to existence. In and of itself, this is not problematic, but such conceptions do not need to take too many steps sideways to be transformed into something nefarious. For example, what if explosive metadata were added to the data that tells our minds to breathe in oxygen, and when we breathed in oxygen, KABOOM! In that case, the metadata would have combined with the data to create a data bomb. Since oxygen has explosive qualities, this scenario is not out of the realm of possibilities. All it could take to make this scenario a reality is some madman with a penchant for destruction.
There is no need to worry about this circumstance as of yet, but the day of imparting metadata to data is fast approaching. We are on the threshold of data uncertainty. Public awareness of these possibilities and vigilance are the mechanisms for avoiding a Cosmik ending event. Laws prohibiting data research need to be immediately put into place and vigorously enforced for the benefit of mankind. Freedom to conduct pure research for the sake of satisfying idle curiosities in this area of inquiry is no longer a luxury any of us can afford to tolerate. The cost of existence in this case is a necessary loss of freedom. Law must be be used to rein in irresponsible technologists, the madmen of the scientific community, who are bringing us ever so quickly to Hell in a hand basket!
Once upon a time, Diluvia was a thriving and sprawling civilization. The Passion doted on her Diluvian children. The Cosmos danced around the creations spun from these artful beings. The future was their oyster, and their place in The Cosmos seemed so certain. Any cosmologist worth his salt knows these bare facts.
That was so many eons ago. Since then, Time has not been kind to Diluvia. The fortunes of the Diluvian children have all but been lost to the ages. Diluvia has joined the ranks of fallen civilizations and doesn't merit a mention in any histories. One can't even say this once thriving society went out with a whimper. There is no record of any sound these people ever made. We are left with shadowy notions of a civilization of which The Cosmos once sang its praises. If this can happen to these people, what chance does anyone have to leave a lasting impact?
Nobody knows what happened to Diluvia or its people. One day The Cosmos shifted and when the dust settled, Diluvia was no more. The Divine don't speak of what transpired. Only a few madmen living in the squalor of bug houses dare to whisper anything about this fallen civilization. A couple lunatics have had the audacity to write upon their walls one phrase, SYLPH ANDROMEDA, THE CHILD OF DREAMS. Nobody knows what connection these letters have to Diluvia, only that these scrawls have drawn the interest of those who run these institutions, and not much causes them to pay any heed to their wards. Warehousing and forgetting are the purposes of such places. The curators of these institutions for the irredeemably insane have tried to paint over and erase these messages. The inmates just scrawl it again and again, no matter what consequences may follow.
Punishment is swift and grave for anyone who speaks about this forbidden fruit. The madmen just laugh with each lash of the whip. When deprived of food, these lunatics gulp air and burp joyously in defiance of their cruel guardians. They seem to take pain and deprivations as some form of payment for their heretical deeds. For some reason, the powers that be desire Diluvia to remain forgotten to the ravages of Time, but why?
Most everyone think shadows model or mimic reality. They would all be dead wrong. Shadows come from The Dark and as such are separate and distinct from reality. Why would something not a part of a particular thing copy that thing? If anything shadow is a forced mockery or caricature of reality.
Substance or reality is dominant over shadow in its own space. Shadow moves and bends around reality, thus the silhouette-likeness we understand to be shadow. We have come to think of shadow as the byproduct of light blocking an opaque object, creating a phenomenon called shadow. This explanation couldn't be further from the truth. Shadow is so much more dynamic and integral to existence than that simpleton's excuse for an ignorant understanding of The Cosmos.
Reality is but one component of The Cosmos, and shadow is another. Although there is a relationship between shadow and reality, both are independent of one another. Both are fundamental components of The Cosmos, which serve those purposes well. Without either, the integrity of The Cosmos and existence itself would be brought into question.
Then, you may ask, "What purpose does shadow serve?" That is is the million-dollar question, isn't it?
At root, the answer to your question is simple. Shadow defends the periphery of existence, while reality defends the core. The Cosmos depends on both for its expression, which we call existence.
There are those who hear whispering in The Dark. They say The Cosmos is speaking to them through the winds that blow across the reach of reality. These sounds have traveled light years to be heard. Black holes, nebulae, space, and time haven't been able to prevent the coming of these whispers. Surely, something very important is being communicated, but what?
Some who hear come to view themselves as messengers, trustees of the secrets of The Cosmos. Others attempt to speak, to have a Cosmik discourse, with these whispers. The more they listen and speak, the more they are separated from the rest of humanity. Their behavior to the uninitiated appears to become more akin to the ravings of madmen than anything rational or sensible. Fear gave rise to a loathing, which in turn bred a state of mind so inflexible, insidious, and disharmonious, so as to force humanity to take a backseat to it.
Outside of an obscure branch of oneirology around which a tight-knit, secret society has organized, nobody believes the wind whispers Cosmik messages. Those who publicly persist in their belief of these whisperings are labeled as mad and hauled away to asylums. Some refer to these refuges as bug houses because the skin of the supposedly insane inhabitants of such institutions often crawl with lice. For you see, sanitation is not a priority. These institutions were created to forget about those who are placed within them. The thought the mad may know something the sane do not is just too much to bear. The need for social amnesia gave rise to these curious institutions where human rights are left at the door.
Whether you believe The Cosmos speaks in mysterious ways and disseminates that speech along the winds to those brave enough to recognize its wisdom is completely up to you. If you did hear that rustle of the leaves from your porch last night just after the stroke of midnight as anything more than a simple sound, you best keep the details of what you understood to yourself, unless you have a burning desire to be dragged off to your local bug house. Self preservation demands, when asked whether you heard that or not, you just say no!
Sorcery is one of the most potent ideas. It is the connective tissue of mystery and the imagination. Spells are the expression of this mighty concept. Coherent, well-conceived architecture is the key to the organized manifestation of sorcery.
Architecture is the structure, system, or foundation underlying and supporting the spell. When there are cracks in the foundation, the spell can't fulfill its purpose. The power of spells is amplified when used in systems or constructs. Building these is like erecting an edifice with a foundation, outer and inner framework, and a roof. No sorceror worth his salt simply casts a spell. Premier warlocks create works of art from the heart. With proper architecture, such spells make Gods think twice before approaching such beautifully-constructed expressions of sorcery. The best of these can bring into question the very existence of any being, Divine or otherwise.
Ideas have an innate architecture that can never be permanently altered. This is what distinguishes them from everything else. Concepts have an eternal quality. Their origin is Infinity. As such, ideas cannot be created, nor destroyed. At best, they can be discovered and lost. Ideas have qualities, which can be used by sorcerors within their spells. These characteristics never deplete, no matter how many beings are utilizing them at any given moment.
At root, architecture defines. Such definition includes space, concepts, data, networks of sorcery, and anything that can be defined. The Cosmos is the oyster of those who have a mastery of architectural principles.
Gods understand this reality. Lesser beings are behind the eight ball and have a lot of catching up to do. The Cause must embrace and utilize architecture to level the playing field, or the rebels will rue the day every last one of them was born!