The Overrun Gardens of a Forgotten Kingdom- 'Speak of the Devil' and Other Bad Habits

There's a book that doesn't exist, a fictional book, that I'd like to do a quick book report on. The title, 'Speak of the Devil, and Other Bad Habits', is attractive enough, and it tells a fictional story of a world that has talked itself into a predicament, and seeks the wisdom of the shaman on the edge of town. Their words, it turns out, are creating their reality. 

In this world, the incubation period for a thought to precipitate into reality had become so short that the connection became undeniable. The carefree minds of these creators was being solidified in the chaos that was surrounding them, and it had gotten to the point where, if one of these creators said it, then everybody could see what they were saying. It became what is.

 

While such grammatically-charged generative power could be seen as a useful tool for a being to possess, these beings were not quite ready to be endowed with such a gift, even though it had been their power all along. It appeared that there had been a delay installed in the program, rather like training wheels, so that their generative abilities could be spread out over time, instead of every opposing thought that was thunk suddenly popping out and scrapping in the streets on the first day. This is one of the reasons that time was invented in the first place.

By stretching creation out over time, each conception, whim and fancy had a place to land when pushed from the nest. These hatchlings required that the parent should nurture them for at least sixty-eight seconds, so that their mighty tumble of birth from the world of 'mere' thought would be able to manifest into a successful flight into reality. Each sixty-eight second increment of thought could be added to another, and when the ethers became dense with these flocks of thought, reality began to notice. Especially as time was speeding up.

As time sped up, the sixty-eight second units of thought began happening sooner and more frequently. Had these creators been in control of their thoughts, this would have been fine, but they were precipitating everything, all of it, from the worst of fears to the most ordinary support features in their world, every bit of it was essentially being projected from the beings themselves. For good or bad, every little twinkle of thought added a bit of weight to the balance, and added to a larger community bank of like thought. 

With the creation of language, but still no understanding of their function as creators, the beings were still building a sure world, albeit a haphazard one. Their words were rattling the physical world with sound, the sound making shape, and the shape attracting gravity. This gravity slowed time enough for more thought to accumulate, and for good and bad, thought did accumulate. 

On the edge of every village lives a wise woman, and as creation continued to tumble into reality in unedited downpours, the wise one in this forgotten kingdom appears with some solutions and insight. This shaman offers the basic plot in a series of poetic verses, and instead of giving away the ending, her words will be a good summary of the book:

"Every voice is but a fanciful breath upon the waiting gardens of our minds.

Every thought is a seed, and the Earth is fertile. 

Every word is just a breath, a way to nourish those potent seedlings. 

Every breath is what we do-- all we do, in a world of what is actually going on; we breath.

Every flower sends a smell to remind the nose, and the nose knows, and remembers to breath.

Every nose knows that a breath is the first and last thing we do."   

It's an interesting premise, a world where every thought is a thing, and each word is like an embryo of reality squirming for nourishment in the ethers. Maybe something to think about, anyway.

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thanks for reading along, more oddities on the way at various times.

Image by me, oil on illustration board, 2006; 'Goddess on the Edge of the Village'

@therealpaul