From whence the dream that the siren’s song contains all the knowledge of the world encoded in it’s subtle and sublime melodies? It comes from the sea itself and is the very lure of its own singing. But it is the limit of that knowledge that eventually assumes the stark guise of madness, for knowledge exists on but a human scale, and has not truth in’t.
Incarnate things speak only to themselves, no matter how grandiloquent, no matter how great and all encompassing. But in the final fading of the ultimate string, which after all must have a bound in time, truth remains unspoken and unrevealed and always shall be, and therein lies the crushing melancholy of knowing – for knowing is as empty as the sound of surf within the vacant shell.
“All human choices lead ultimately to disaster. There is nothing to be done and nothing to be saved, so let the sea come in and wash it clean.” This is their song, and it is knowledge of the fate of the world.
We stopper our ears to such knowledge because we cannot live and function in the face of its stark revelation. We must abandon worldliness then, unless we dare to wear the cloak and mantle of the hero, which burns us up like acid in its deadly apotheosis.