The chatter-world envelopes the speechless day. The graph, the aggregate, the algorithmic overlay : millions, nay, billions of contending stories, sorties. The articulated bark of the logic-trees... the directives, the spin-cycles... this being one of them (minute & indistinct, or vast & bulbous).
The Logos might be a name for the ur-narrative, the frame of frames. What makes for form and equilibrium on the one hand... & for petrified cocoons, thoughtless verbal armatures, on the other.
Frame of frames... serious concept. Danger of idolatry, of predatory totalism ("One ring to rule them all" etc.).
Yet if the frame - empowered to shatter/comprehend all the wind-tunnels of history - if this tale were actually benevolent...
We might want to listen to it, deep in the monsoon-shelter.
If there were such a frame, an ur-story, it might be about a very quiet, mysterious, and universal victory over death. It might bring peace of mind, courage, joy... & it might even be true.
It might be the story we find ourselves telling, in our own way.
It might have happened, once. There might be evidence. But what it means... (up to us to find out).
~~~~ 12:35 PM