We imagine ourselves to be on solid bedrock with a firm footing, but it does not extend far underfoot. It is a floating island and we are building on a crust! Those who intuit our precarious situation flirt with madness.
Lovecraftian dreams descend, heralded by a shrill piping flute and unmentionable gibbering. The ‘bubble of reason’ distorts and bows as preternatural half-forms seek ingress to the ‘construction works.’
This is the ‘frightening’ aspect. The ‘ordered’ manifestation, our sandbox building ‘world’ is a floating island, or possibly more accurate a fully submerged bubble. There is a precariousness to the endeavour. Consciousness seeks to expand the bubble, but there is a tremendous pressure from without.
We are not really ‘standing’ on solid ground. Poets, mystics and visionaries intuit this and risk ‘losing their minds’ (An infection from the thing that waits outside)
