If it is true that language is not merely the method we use to describe, after the fact, our experience of the world, but is in fact the very framework within which we experience it, then all our struggles to arrive at some ‘paramount truth’ are also predetermined by the very existence of those words ‘paramount truth’. And the whole idea of ‘paramount truth’ is really just an object of desire which serves to supplant our fixation upon the ‘paramount truth’ of death.
The human mind is like a magnetized cipher. A mere urge, whose only original quality is a magnetism which draws to it a myriad words and icons by which it can define itself and enable itself to function. It then proceeds, over time, to clank about, never completely aware of its own contours and with the provisional meaning of its various component concepts continually bashing into other unexpected signifiers from without. This all builds into a kind of crazed, unintelligible cacophony on top of which we desperately impose a vision of structure whose inevitable deviations and permutations never fail to surprise us. A sort of sand-castle affair.
Of course there are millions of discrete ‘truths’, but their prolific intermingling breeds a state beyond immediate comprehension – a state of unpredictability. In other words, ‘reality’ is always ‘getting out of hand’. Not to worry – as long as you can continue to enjoy the endless rebuilding of your castle, and remember not to build too close to the water’s edge, you have the grand horizon, the sunshine, and the sound of the waves lapping, lapping, lapping. The sea will never tire, and stands to remind us of that ‘paramount truth’ which it itself contains.
