Eventually, a house is only known by its foundation. After all things a house is made subject to, time, winds and whatever manners of weather and weathering, or happenstance like fire, there is no telling a house was ever there unless something of foundation remains. And not only so, but in laying foundation is found a hard connection to matters of its durability. So much of what may occur in consequence is not only dependent upon how securely the house is fit to foundation, but, and no less, how well and fashioned that foundation is first laid to support that house fit to it.
And we know houses are spoken of frequently under our eye, particularly in reference to their foundation, that foundation’s placement and of what sort of matter that foundation is composed. And we are instructed to wise building. Whether we do or not, only God knows. And God also knows all His ways of testing construction…whether such is built upon sand or rock, and of what matter constructed that may withstand weather, fire, or shaking. Till these things come we build as we do, really not knowing. We may think we do know, but only the testing will reveal our work. And whether or not such is fitly resting upon a sure foundation.
Obviously, analogies abound. For if living in the land of types and shadows that is all one really has…references to others things. Things representing other matters, which, even were we to call such other matters the true things from which all analogy is made for, and as their representation, we are yet consigned to always and only dealing in derivatives. House may exist to all in some manner of true concept, but only in the building by which we do, do we then show what it means to us. So, in one sense we are given to do, to make plain what we have in our conceptions. And house is particularly useful to this in all, for house is where we live. Even where we live from.
And all we may call anything in a land of types and shadows, where we make words to show ideas or thoughts of what we hold in consciousness, and even to every other thing we may know in this land, are always representational. And each shows what he holds as to what he believes is the truth of matters like house…or life, peace, love, success, and even all other and perhaps less ethereal matters as a designer may say “I believe (in my inner seeing) a car should look like this!”. “A dress should look like this” Always aiming at something.
Even a thing we may believe as a true thing in concept, but yet is only brought forth as that representation, or even our representation of how that true thing appears to us. And so here we are bound to our limits, and the limits of, our consciousness. In all and every sense. We may even seek to be absurd…to somehow stretch or break such constraining or constricting boundary…yet such will always accord with our own understanding or vision of absurdity. And there display that we are such reaching for that.
We may try to be random…but even so that is always in some directed order and orderliness owed to an origin. In that sense we are impenetrably locked up. Owing all to our own consciousness and whatever we can see in it, and of it, then made plain by us in our representing. Throw in affections/aversions and their peculiarly obscure nature and origins in and to ourselves of moving us toward and/or away from; and one may begin to see how actually bound in all matters one is. Living from a quite locked up…house. (There’s house again)
I stand at the door and knock.
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