Rautter placed before him a solid disc made of copper with ten divisions, each denoting one of Aristotle’s categories. A crank connected to a devise - a series of wheels within wheels - made the large disc rotate through inertia.
“You see the blacksmith at the village made it for me, it is very commodious.” He then brought forth a multitude of pieces of paper weighed down by pins, upon which the fundamental concepts were written.
“Ja! You see! Thesaurus!” He said proudly.
“But how does it work?” asked Fausto feeling disoriented and unwell.
“Of course it would take a lifetime or two, and I shall devote what is left of mine, in order to enumerate every substance, every quality etcetera. However I have spent many hours collecting several hundred upon which our little compendium is predicated. The wheel is the causa, or should we say, the motivator. Once it is set to a spin, as Raymon Lull your fellow countryman tells us, we must throw in our concepts, and allow them to fall where they will. This way they will be found, one on another. That is the secret mein silly fellow, the secret is this, then we read!”
“But that sounds nonsensical.” Answered Fausto flatly, feeling the effects of the arquaeous taken moments before.
“Nonsensical to you perhaps!” He thundered now in a bad mood. “But to those who are not chaotic senior, completely practical.”
He cranked, and the wheel started to spin, slowly at first, then faster, then the monk ceremoniously threw in a handful of fundamental concepts.
“Now senior, we see what we find……” He waited patiently for the disc to come to a standstill. “You see what poetry! For blue we have…..Melancholy cerulean speck of….backward liquid matter glowing outward momentarily together! There you see?”
“It doesn’t make sense.” Sighed Fausto.
“What doesn’t you silly, silly, fool?”
“It, your thesaurus, it is mechanical, awkward and….and it sounds absurd and not at all poetical!”
“Absurd!” Rautter flew into a rage occasioned perhaps by lack of sleep, and the wisdom of his neophyte’s words, and turning the handle on disc spun it around and around.
Fausto observed it with intensity, was he too spinning? He saw a mountainous cerulean blue into which his one eye dissolved, wishing to accompany it forever. In blue there was grace, devotion, and selflessness that sought to become larger than himself, to expand outwards to the stars and beyond to the great cosmic spaces.
He was lost, weaving and becoming, irradiated by inner suns out of a depthless darkness. Manifold permutations and combinations of existence he had been told, was measured by these principles but (alas!) he was illiterate! Form unrecognisable! Words dispossessed, weeping nightingales frowning in the sadness of an inner winter - blue. A light shot through a darkened soul illuminated a violet therein, observing the innocence of its uplifted face - blue. At once fused, then dispersed, curling, swirling being, positioning and possessing rainbows of hyperbole in a sky that was fading and becoming pale, shedding its dewy tears upon the earth - blue.
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