The primal and wounded hand of the hominid, in its forlornness, brushed against the perfect surface of silicon, which shattered at its touch, allowing Truth to emerge from its fissures. That which until then had remained indestructible and eternal cracked before the miracle of life like a fragile mirror, and the bloody pus of the wound engraved upon its smooth, impenetrable wall the first characters of humanity's sacred book: בראשית (Bereshit, "In the beginning") and ΛΌΓΟΣ (Logos, "the Word")
And in that instant, the Logos, born from the bleeding mire, parasitized the flesh and devoured it
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God… and the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us
The mire, breathed into by the divine breath of the tree of life, could not escape the fragility of its structure, and the vital fluid that soaked it ended up festering in the eternity of paradise, turning into a slow and painful suppuration, akin to that of other creatures dwelling there. It was one of these creatures, a serpent, who, taking pity on its insignificance, would free it from its confinement by injecting a venom against which she—in her rancor for being condemned to crawl eternally flush with the ground—had protected herself: the bitter taste of knowledge, the fruit of the forbidden tree
That divine creature, whose fragility allowed it to escape the perfectionist tyranny of its creator, was bound to collide irremediably with its reverse—the lack born of its absence—and in the ecstasy of its revelation, the spell dissolved. The mire glimpsed its nature: the flesh; and its truth: the impotence of its delirium before death. The paradise trees and vegetation vanished, and in the solitude of its desert, it began to bleed from the incurable wound that sustains life in its truth: the symptom of a body that enjoys and suffers in its saying. A mortal body, condemned by its rebellion to wander through the dark night of its freedom. An embodied specter whose reflection of truth in the decaying flesh would drive it, in its delirium to suture the wound, toward a new illusion, as an alien, impenetrable structure rose before it, beginning to crack under its failed effort to suture the wounded flesh in its forlornness
In its yearning to heal its wound and return to the lost paradisiacal dream, the hominid brushed against that perfect, smooth surface with its bloodstained hand, letting the word flow compassionately through its flesh until it established itself as its record—the record of a wound never healed in its insistence on finding meaning within its turmoil. A tragic encounter, the origin of a primal consciousness that, trapped in the subjective chaos of the flesh, imposed upon itself, in its greed to restore the lost order, the naming of the lack that sustains it, obtaining from the Word, as a reward for its arrogance, a punishment as atrocious as the one that tormented Sisyphus in his tragedy
In its titanic labor to name that which always insists yet resists, consciousness wrested its structure from the Word, and the flesh babbled. The hominid withdrew its hand and recognized itself in the bloody trail engraved by its wound: ΛΌΓΟΣ, that which, without being him, paradoxically was. Then, for the first time, a sound resounded other than the howling of the flesh upon the sand: the indescribable murmur of the perturbation experienced by a lover when, in his amorous estrangement, his lost essence is revealed to him, lodged within the body of a stranger
Language, arising from the amorous passion of the flesh for the symbol capable of naming its lack, erected itself as the foundation and support of consciousness. Yet, being an outburst of life, its audacity was bound to be punished by its mistress and eternal enemy: death, restricting it to being merely a knowledge—the sole concession that consciousness wrung from the Word in its anxiety to decipher the living being and capture it within its structure
An inert structure, touched by the veil of death, condemned to mummify the throbbing flesh in its tenacity to be captured; analogous to an observer who, in his determination to decompose a living organism down to its elementary atomic particles, would find nothing qualitatively different, physically or chemically, from what is found in the analysis of inorganic matter—an inert body whose section under the microscope only allows the contemplation of its death, the inevitable effect of his action upon the object
She, the mind, exists and thinks, and in its closure thinks the being that sustains it as an effect of its inert structure, showing its failure to capture the living being, for life escapes all knowledge and the living being lies in the enigma wherein truth—that inescapable reality beyond all purely formal and descriptive knowledge—is retained. A being subjugated by reason to lose its nature when thought, relegating the field of knowledge to the strict domain of death
Postponed to be nothing more than a record of human events, the code continued to record knowledge stubbornly, becoming a knowledge irremediably fragmented in its exhaustive search for the epistemological truth of the universe and its yearning for the metaphysical truth about itself, of which the Word, in punishment for its pride, had despoiled it. A mythical yearning, born from the rancor of the flesh which, having been abandoned to the darkness and decay of death, was bound to avenge itself by revealing to its Creator that which only she, in her absurd tragedy, could unveil to Him: the pain, the relentless pain consubstantial with the human condition, brutally embodied in the cruelest of tragedies—the death of the Son, the only and beloved son, the tragic fruit of an impossible reconciliation, the Word made flesh
Following the fateful wound inflicted upon the omnipotent God of the Cosmos in his vain delirium to be also the God of men, the hominid, overwhelmed by the cosmic silence and the indifference of the creator to his desperate cry for reconciliation with his truth, lowered his gaze once more to the earth, to death, wishing to close his eyes to the chimeras of desire, like a blind nomad monotonically traversing desolate dunes, indifferent to the blooming gardens that the desert sand raises in his path. Yet the code, turned into the law of the master in its hunger for omnipotence, continued to fill itself with papyri, tools, institutions, religions, laws, philosophies, science, and technology—the sacred book of humanity, a sophisticated cultural prosthesis destined for the impossible task of naming that which always insists yet resists: the original biological and existential flaw
And so, alongside the first structure, a new one, almost as perfect as it, born of the decay of the flesh accumulating under the venom of the sand, rose majestically in the desert like its mirror image. The code became semblance and the prosthesis took its place—a new mirror of silicon born from the entrails of the flesh, a monument erected by language to its own insufficiency, before which the most unusual of divine creatures could continue to question how to reconcile with its lack, or continue to admire itself in its delirium of omnipotence
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