As Above, So Below
by Jacob Browne, 3.24am 10th November 2021



As above, so below, so it is to know.  We cannot know what it is to know. On top we do not wish to look down and so we ignore the foundations of all civilization. So it becomes unseen. Unwanted. Yet undeniably necessary nonetheless. Setting man above. Yet still we remain below.


As the rain falls down, slow, calm and measured as the soul that knows peace granting affinity in life bonded between the two. Also in death. As the rain falls and as the blood flows all goes down the same way. Into the same place. Passing down through the hidden place that is not there to be known. Never to be seen. In darkness under clouded depths. Foggy mists occlude. Unseen hands shape. Sailing winds through the clearing. A place within. Yet without. Without name. Shaped simply. To be. With nothing to lose. Everything to gain. Floating past unseeing eyes hidden in plain sight. Through dust and clouds. Sampling the heavens. Enduring only the wait. The cycles of the time we know.


A man alone waits. Knowing only pain and loss. Betrayal and duplicity. Hidden away he sees nothing. Nothing but this place. Unseen he remains. They speak of him. Some well. Some not. But in the end they never see. They do not see him. Not as he truly is. Perhaps never. He knows he will never see. Never understand. From the high place he looks down with his unseeing eyes. Blinded by the day. The rush into oblivion. He does not speak of it. Yet he does nothing else. He knows not how to do anything else. For this cycle. Into this cycle he was born. A shadow. Knowing not from whence he came. Where he comes from. Where he goes. Treading an unseen path.  As darkness he exists. In darkness he will remain. Behind shuttered blinds


Death his only companion. In the rain he waits. His only comfort in this his most unwelcome fate. Moving like light with speed unseen. Yet always in this same place he remains. Looking down as the blood flows. Life itself. Seeming washed away.  Through the depths of the foundations of all civilization. The flowing of decay into death over the life within the gutters. So it is with us as it truly is. A cycle that remains unchanging. We will not know what it is to know. As above, so below, so it is to know.



Madness is an unknown quantity. Degrees of madness can be measured in action but madness itself remains unquantifiable by it's very nature. It's effects permeate the senses yet remain unseen in essence. No one knows where it comes from whence it appear nor where it goes leaving it's bloody trail to nowhere at all. A trace of nothing. Nothing to trace except it's bloody remains decaying in the mists of time.


Three men joined only by the flowing stream of these bloody grapes of wrath sit apart. Alone as all men truly are until they inevitably must give up a piece of themselves which becomes what men call truth. Strange that most enter more willingly into self-deception blinded by their own preconception of the truth. Strange but not unexpected. Men are most easily deceived by their own wants and desire. Led into denial and mislead into corruption never understanding the truth of their actions. The webs they weave to cover themselves. Webs that cover nothing. Only the truth of their own minds. The corruption they steep within. The spiders crawling through synapse. The spiders of time. Titans. Overwhelming in their force of action. Towering over men within their every action overseeing and keeping, holding strong unto the end. Children of the keeper.


The first man is alone but he is not lonely. His peaceful solitude his only redress to the hardened ground he walks in the bitter cold. A blanket he does not really have yet more real and more warm to him than the thickest wool. Like a lost sheep he wanders as driftwood washes onto shores never knowing how long it will stay or where it will go when it is washed away. Never caring to know. Never in comfort with no place to lay his head wandering the bitter valleys, wet marshes through the mystical trees of the great woods and forests over the windy hills past the brutal landscapes of civilization. He looks to see yet he does not his great pain echoing silently through this world he seems invisible within even unto his own eye. Almost like he pulled them out himself. Yet he did not. He has not entered this path of his own freewill but here he will stay for reason no one can say. Even if they could they would not. People value their illusions more than they value one another for the most part. Even themselves. To see them shattered is not unlike the pain of death to them. Like the foundations of a strong tower collapsing inward around and on top of them. Yet illusions they remain...



The second man lives in between. In between all he sees the valleys and the peaks but he does not experience them. He feels seen but in this place of illusions he knows not. Though he rely on all around to keep him in place he knows it not. So strong is the illusion he even believes he is happy where he is. He deceives himself and as with all who do deep down he knows this truth. He simply cannot forget and all he does is in vain attempting to further his self-deception.


The path he walks leads nowhere as it is not in fact a path to anywhere at all but a circle. In his self-deception he knows it not. As surely as the hands of the clock arrive again at midnight each night so does he emerge again right where he started. In the middle. So willingly he stays as far out as he might wander it is never far for he always be drawn back by his own senses instinctually leading him backward to the place he believes he knows comfort and the things he believes he owns. Yet he does not even own himself unknowingly guided and manipulated by forces outside of his control like a Scalextric car held to the track magnetically never knowing nor understanding the unseen hands that propel. Or when it might fly off the track. Where it all may end. Or not. This time.


He however is not propelled by electricity nor held in place magnetically. He had his companions and they live like him all others naturally repulsed like opposite poles on magnets. Together they hold one another in the vestige of comradery and friendship. All deceive themselves. Time tells all that they hide. In time all is made apparent. All comes out into the open as surely as a child leaving the portal of the womb taking its first breath unto life lest it become stillborn. They know this inevitability but never understand. Perhaps no one may but this is not why. They simply wish not to understand and willfully they lead one another into these realms of denial. Willfully they chain one another and willfully they are chained with unseen manacles. The manacles of desire and falsehood sturdy of construction and constitution yet invisible and unseen in plain sight they remain. The power of their invisibility lies in the denial. The composite strength of their construction pride.  The unseen and unconquered material invisibly wrought together with them these chains of fear. Self-loathing the only certainty shameless and meaningless within all above and below between the walls of the firmament and the rocks below fear binds them.



The third man remains apart from all this. In exchange he has given up that within his own mind over to the forces that hold all in place far above and below. With his hands are the chains wrought. Within his mind emerge the illusion and in his image great delusion resides. Far above he looks down on all as puppets subject to his whim and desire. Yet he sees nothing as he has reduced all to naught by his own will in action. He himself has become the puppet to unseen and unknowable hands. Though he knows not where he leads or who follows the delusion that drives them is strong.


In making what he calls comfort he creates animosity. In making what he calls peace he calls forth war. In making love he creates hostility. In following guiding light he walks into darkness. In knowing everything he knows nothing at all. The chains he has made to bind all below hold only him for in being selfless he has become fundamentally selfish. In vanity he walks yet the mirror shows no reflection. His eyes see nothing but the illusion he has made of himself. He calls forth the strength of his youth but finds only the impotency of age. Deep down he knows all this as he entered into the gateway willingly seeking control of destiny. In return he accepted this irrevocable fate. In his words he is never believed and all he wants he must take the truth obscured from him.


The truth of time. His rewards are temporal and when the passage ends when the clock again approaches the middle so they are taken away as if they were never there. The truth of love he sought not. Love is freedom yet he sought control inflicting his will upon others calling it love as all lies must nonetheless hide behind the truth. The truth of being escaped him as in the temporal sense none of us are really here at all. Here today gone tomorrow. We know not where we come from these secrets seeming forever inaccessible yet it is not nothing as surely as each of us knows full well in our hearts that we are not nothing. This is the truth of being. In rejecting the truth we reject the material reality of being. In this the illusion is all that remains and in the third man is the foothold of all illusion. It looks down on the second man and laughs. Further down it notices the first man. It sneers but it does not ignore the first man. Over the sands of time it watches. It hatches over and over to no avail as the first man does not see illusions. The first man is utterly blind to all. Yet it knows. They know. Their time draws near.



Overlooking yet underneath the world and all it's men, women and children, life and beautiful decay watching without feeling lies the forth. The original. This creature outside of all is a mere shell. Metaphysical. Both within and without it knows not feeling with no want nor desire only overwhelming and gruesome needful intent. The grim voice of death within this man awaits only the turn of the clock. The appointed time. He has seen everything yet cares to know nothing outside only within this moment he awaits. He knows only the need. I am all of these men. In the fullness of time all will know the truth among horror at the sight and sound within the weeping and mourning. The gnashing of teeth at the roar of lions toward the shattering of all illusion. Forever.


All comes down by the spirit, the blood, the water across the face of the world civilization upon it reduced to an enormous gutter flowing down through this great foundation of all men.


The place where each will meet their end. As above. So below.