IOTA is a book. it is my attempt to create an object of Presence, for you, Vessel [if i may call you that] and also for individuals among you. and, to be frank, for Ityl-Atys.

why bother. why bother with the Work as a Whole, if there can be such a thing, and much more importantly, why GET there through baby-steps which ripple into tidal waves [hopefully] .. through specific, personal, precious WORKs? well, here, lemme try to give an anecdote as illustration.

the world to which IOTA refers [i was pondering calling the "place" in which Ityl-Atys is "contained" IOTIA, but of that i am most certainly uncertain.]... is Ityl-Atys AFTER the rebirth. i am sure you all have read WiP2 ("Melody's Blues") [which sameer at one point in a recent post called "Vessels," much to my lack of dismay]. :) in chapter 50, Ityl-Atys undergoes a re-formation. i will be writing about the Ityl-Atys which exists AFTER that episode. i don't want to over-complicate with details right now, or i'd never get to my illustration.

Hortomancy.

Ityl-Atys after the ReBirth is a garden-city [some say an "arcology"]. it erupts and overflows with vegetative life, in a thousand and one different colors and hues and shapes and sizes and strains. the dark Tower at its center, at the split of its River, is replaced by a gigantic and anciently gnurled Tree. this Tree sweeps up a tremendous amount of LifeForce in its wake... and so the area surrounding the Tree is a very very lush and quite diverse Garden... it has, however, a mind of its own. [or perhaps the mind is the Tree's, not sure, hard to tell.] it, mercifully, grows relatively slowly -- relative that is to the peripheries of the garden-city... for the boundaries of Ityl-Atys are no longer defined by brick and morter, but rather my the impassibility of its vegetative growth. ie, there comes a point in travell away from the Tree at which an explorer simply cannot go any furthur, because the vegetation and wildlife is growing in cascades and "tentacled" motions at such an astounding speed that it becomes impossible to even clear a path; it is grown back over in seconds. lives have been lost, sealed away in pockets of vegetation, left to ends Of Which There Are No Words...

but near the tree, the vegetation is much calmer. and it is here where HortoMancy thrives [though i am not sure that this will be the Term for it yet...]

for you see, :)

for you see, when two Khazars gather in a spot, to talk, or to sing, or to lose them-selves in the eyes of the other, a peculiar thing happens. between them, over thr course of their interchange, a small vegetation wells up. they sit facing each other and they can gauge the LifeForce they exchange by way of the flower, or blossom, or vine, or fruit-bearing-body, or pricklypear which slowly emerges from the lush understory upon which they rest. two sit, and they see the birth of a simgle plant-entity between them, in deepest violet, or richest green... and it writhes and shimmers in accordance with the tides of their interchange, blooming at moments in which such a thing might be likely, wilting in accordance etc. and when these two Khazars depart, the plant-entity sinks softly to its rest in the vegetation all around. when these two gather together in another place, what should arise but a kinred growth, kindred to them and thus to the growths which have arisen between them in the past. it is, of course, a different plant, a different thing. but always kindred to its prior fellows.

and when this Khazar meets this other Khazar, a different growth sprouts, with differring hues and differring tastes and inclinations. yet one can always -- or eventually -- note the elements of any given interchanged growing plant-entity which one most commonly lends; it may well be, my friend, that i always always lend little ultra-violet letals or spines; and that you always lend intricate vines. but when i speak and sing with a fellow who always lends a large bulbous orange prickly-pear, it will appear with absurdly pretty little ultra-violet petals or spines dotting its growth. and we will be, there, we will see our plant between us.

this is only one part of what can happen, and hardly controlled enough [or hardly in NEED of control enough] to be called HortoMancy. but what happens, you ask, when THREE of us gather? well, naturally, in-between us all merges a Thing which we cannot really control... a beautiful thing, which could feed us all three and feeds upon us all three, but nevertheless, nevertheless, a Thing we cannot yet comprehend. never mind control, control is for freaks. HortoMancers are Gardeners, who play a game with the vegetation of Ityl-Atys. because, as said, it has a mind of its own. it is clever.

and the act of HortoMancy which fringhtens the most -- is the individual act. it is done this way; the Khazar will squat, or kneel, or sit, or approach the ground however necessary, and if they Intend hard enough and mindfully enough, and if they Resonate strong enough, then right there all alone by themselves will grow a Companion... a small thing, a beautiful or an ugly thing, will well up in front of them, closely, closely. there it is in front of you, in its violent purples or its hesitant amber-tint... it grows slowly, and it takes SO much Intention, SO much Resonance, and the Fear is always greatest when the One's Growth is welling up to its fullest richness. for whatever lies in the Intent or the Resonance of that one Khazar will find release -- for a time -- and will find form and shape and flow within the growth of that more or less smallarge plant. and these are called up only out of dire-est need or deepest desire, because they take SO much energy, and the only interchange really is with the self who is doing the HortoMancy. between, really, the self and the self's sym-biot. [BIOTA. that is what these things are called. damn. ok]... but.

but at those times, one's Fellows are gathered around, perhaps, in a circle, a small and portable Ritual -- "come, gather; here is my Biota, i will raise it for you, for all of you, no others, now.."

and the Fear, oh the Fear of Rejection, or Ridicule, or even more -- the Fear that they will SEE that the violent PURPLES in your bulbs course too deeply, that the spines on your stems rise to points too sharp for the touch of others, the Fear that they will SEE your Biota and then -- THEN -- leave you Alone, with no-one to interchange with again but your orphaned Biota -- coupled with the Doubt that you even have it IN you to RAISE it --

well, this, to me, is what the Art and the Work is about.

one can practice the Raising of one's Biota in darkness and alone-ness for only so long. eventually one must gather together those from whom one draws one's Inspiration and Intention and Love and Will.

realize that WE can Raise a SymBiota between us -- any number of us -- but. but MY Biota i must raise alone. with or without you, i must Raise it, and then i must let it fall, like the tide or a star.