He turned on all the lights, trying in vain to keep mystery at a distance. The miraculous had invaded his own ordered world, and he had no idea what might happen in the future…
…Such was the Buddhist explanation. Honda, of course, had once looked upon it as a mere fairy tale. And now all at once it had come to his mind. The process, he thought was certainly what mystery should be: something that arbitrarily made its appearance, independent of the wishes of any man. A dangerous gift. Like a shimmering sphere of changing colors, it came plunging into the midst of the cold but well-regulated structure of order and reason. Its colors, indeed, changed according to principle, but a principle that was entirely different from human reason. Hence the sphere had to be somewhat hidden from human eyes.
Yukio Mishima, “Runaway Horses” (Chapter 6)
Like a shimmering sphere of changing colors, it came plunging into the midst of the cold but well-regulated structure of order and reason. Its colors, indeed, changed according to principle, but a principle that was entirely different from human reason. Hence the sphere had to be somewhat hidden from human eyes.
Holy shit! I’ve been writing a bunch of short pieces recently about a drab cold room and a flickering sphere that comes into and out of existence within it. I’m posting it eventually (will let you know when/where) but this really freaks me out….
I know what you mean, I feel like screeching “Get out of my head!” with every flip of a page of Hesse’s or Mishima’s works.