So, I’m sat on the quayside at Methana, on the northeast Peloponnese coast, reading Robert Anton Wilson’s ‘Synchronicity and Isomorphism in Finnegans Wake’ (part of his book Coincidance). Every now and then I look up from the book to gaze as the heavy swells of the harbour’s waters, shining from the morning sun and beaten by the strong, chill winds. I ponder the beauty and strangeness of what Terence McKenna calls the “literary quality” to reality, this mesh of references and connections that weave through life in a way that might lead careless minds to reach for the idea of some singular creative personage behind it all, but which finally can only be appreciated through some grasp of the concept of spontaneous, self-generated, self-organizing structures of meaning stretching across space and time.
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