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from the I'm-super-thanks-for-asking dept.
II. Oedipus Dualis
Zarathustra could not find His Eagle, no matter where he looked, without or within. His Serpent, which had hitherto been his Guide for thousands of years, was suddenly the Great Enemy. The Serpent had given Zarathustra the wherewithal to champion the Higher Man. But the Serpent had also prevented Zarathustra from ever being able to find such an one. Perhaps the Serpent had even had him on. Maybe there was no "Higher Man".
Zarathustra's thought was rudely interrupted by the blasts of trumpets, atavistic upsurge of drums, ventriloquist to Venus via violins, all primed upon a perniciously pleasing pincer attack of piano, subterfuged into wordless Orgia of ear-shattering, Mind-numbing mesmerism.
Zarathustra's rage at being interrupted was so powerful that He lost Himself in it, and from this rage grew more rage at having caught Himself under Thought's wicked spell again. But this rage grew, and soon broke loose into an anarchistic dance of ejaculating Yes! Zarathustra danced until exhaustion. The music continued to fill his Soul.
"I have found Heaven on Earth," wept Zarathustra, stricken with triumph. "I have found the Higher Man!"
Zarathustra looked all around to see from where this Higher Man was creating such Music. He found Him sitting atop a Throne of lapis-lazuli, straddling the Dock to the Great Sea; a handsome Man of grayish hair, German features, long, thin nose and rosy cheeks, with a grayish complexion that was somehow golden. The man finished conducting this Beauty, and no sooner had he laid down his baton than all the orchestra didst vanish into the Sea. He turned to face Zarathustra. His eyes asked Zarathustra why he had interrupted the Performance. There was no malice in this question, but rather a kind of curiosity that gives away foreknowledge of the answer.
"I am Zarathustra. I have been seeking the Higher Man. I have always known He could exist, probably exists, but now I know He exists !" Zarathustra's pleasure turned to a childish giddiness of discovery.
"What do you want from me?" asked this Higher Man, in a stoically curious gambit.
"Teach me how to create the Infinite, Orgasmic Yes that you so miraculously breathe into Life. I shall be forever grateful, and shall share this Wisdom with the World!"
"This 'Infinite Orgasm' of which you speak takes years and years of obsession to even begin to understand how to play. To create, however, that you must be born with. That, I cannot teach."
"I understand, oh Higher Man, there are no guarantees. Let me tell you, though, I believe I have such natural talent. I became a Professor as a lad, and I discovered the secret of Greek Tragedy."
"Oh yes, I know your 'Birth of Tragedy' well. Excellent treatise! You were the first person to ever really understand my music in its Spiritual sense, and be able to put it into words with even some semblance of correspondence. But musical talent is something different..."
"Well, it is, in your own words, Dionysian."
"You do not think I too am Dionysian? Nietzsche the author is Apollonian, because he can't help but be so, using words and all; but Zarathustra, I am the Higher, but not yet the Highest, Self of which the author, the Nietzsche, the Professor, are but necessary Apollonian veils."
"I like your grasp on things. You have to know when to separate the music and Dionysus from life and Apollo -- to be all Dionysus would be (to be) all mad !"
Even though it seemed like just a few minutes had passed in conversation, Zarathustra realized that he was recalling years of acquaintanceship with this Higher Man. And all the sentences had gone by as the unchallengeable utterances of a God. But after all these years, only a few sentences stuck out in Zarathustra's mind from this Ubermensch. And that last one troubled him deeply. For Zarathustra had spent years studying under this Master, and was now a moving, albeit raw, composer. Yet the god-less One still had not been able to (no matter how hard he tried) balance Dionysus with Apollo in his music. It was thusly that the aetiology of such folly was penetrated.
"Zarathustra has been tricked!" scowled a voice in Zarathustra's dream. "The so-called Higher Man said that Life and Death are two things, not one thing. That Dionysus cannot fully express Himself in Life, other than in art, else one would go mad." Zarathustra followed the voice to see from whither it came. He could make out the wings of His Eagle, flapping in the horizon over the Sea.
"Mine Understanding! Thou wast there all along! I had made two things out of one infinite Zero. How could I have been so absurd? Um... (add, re: duck-tea!) -- Oh! That is why my Serpent gave me not Wisdom, the Groom of mine Eagle, Understanding, but rather the dung of duality, which the small Man calleth Knowledge."
Zarathustra paused for many months, as He was afraid to continue where these Initiations were taking Him. But eventually, Nietzsche the author could no longer withstand their glorious momentum. And so was he carried away...
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