Lest fellow members of the body misconstrue my Andean longings, let us comprehend,
O loyal connectees, the corporeal metaphor sublimated, transmuted into empyrean fire
and rendered universal by St. Paul of Tarsus the founder of our holy and elect communities, when he wrote:
All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and another of birds. There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial: but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another. There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars: for one star differeth from another star in glory. So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: It is sown in dishonour; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power.
[I Corinthians 15:39-43]
The decentralized undulating landscapes of terrestrial desire can be confused with celestial bodies, yes, but the astral bodies are free from carnal taint. And it is only in the night devoid of lunar light that the celestial bodies may be clearly glimpsed…
But enough gnostic gnonsense —
let us depart for the lyrical peaks of the Andes with Joel Barlow as our guide. Capac and Oella await us there on the distant and sacred summit.
Fixing our sight on those majestic heights,
we nonetheless begin the ascent
through Amazonian jungle headwaters.
Our llamas are well-provisioned with coca, pisco and papas…