Second Mynd Manifesto
Semina is seminal. We live in the world of human hands.
The Second Mynd dwells in the forest of Eros and sips Dionysian nectar of the infinite under leaves of mystery, stirred by the breeze of Thanatos.
We walk by the grace of Saturn alone and are humbled by his gifts.
We do not linger in the soporific hotel lobby of irony. We visit, take what we need and leave. It is a dead place full of prisoners that have mistaken it for home and wander its enclosures endlessly.
We are various: collectivists, pantheists, animists, alchemists and naturalists.
The Second Mynd is the sur-real manifested as the super-natural.
The Second Mynd permeates all things and is made of vibration, of sound; it emanates from the earth from hollows and caves. From one caldera to another, it moves, molten linga. And we are sacred to it.
Nothing moves, and is something. Breath quivers into song and in the next moment is still. All that dies, endures in its transience. Our bodies are shaken from breath into the realm of the seen and there fade from sight at their own exhaling. The breath doesn’t seem to last, but we are always breathing it. And at the intersection of stillness and breath is love, always about to begin, always about to end, and in that, immortal, and what we are made of.