Pyrocephala

A homebrew representation of, like, consciousness and nature and stuff

I was going to try to pass off the following squib as something that was recently found on an obscure Babylonian tablet. For brevity’s sake, let’s just say I did.

This particular foray begins in the avant-garde demimonde of pre-war Europe: Acéphale (“headless” in Greek) was a short-lived cultural review published by George Bataille and his secret society of occultists between 1936 and 1939. The first cover of Acéphale, handsomely illustrated by André Masson, was a headless male figure wearing a skull over his groin and holding a dagger in one hand and a burning heart in the other: an upended take on Vitruvian Man, Leonardo da Vinci’s famous emblem of classicism.

Acéphale’s lack of a noggin has always caught my interest. The headless figure lends itself to nature-based metaphors like natural selection. The image that eventually emerged from my half-sleep was a somewhat derivative symbol that I’ve called Pyrocephala. (To the best of my half-baked reckoning, “pyrocephala“ is the feminine form of the ancient Greek term for “head of flame”. I’m just a dabbler, so feel free to verbally spank me if I have this wrong.)

There are a few other headless mythical/folkloric/religious beings in ancient Indian, Chinese, Irish and Egyptian culture, but not as often as I would have imagined, given the sheer richness and creative potential of such a symbol. (Hit me up if I’m overlooking anything obvious.)

As you can see from my doodle above, the mildly unsettling figure of Pyrocephala is that of a pregnant crone, eternally wandering with a flame in place of a head. A paradoxical figure, she represents life’s ruthless extravagance by way of birth and death, growth and decay. The lack of a head represents nature’s endless tendency to wander blindly, reaching improbable results through eons of trial and error. The flame represents the diaphanous nature of consciousness, which is more of an action than a thing. Consciousness can’t be pinned down because it’s always in flux, constantly adopting new patterns and forms. This “fire” of consciousness is also unable to “burn” itself—like a fingertip unable to point to the same digit—and thus consciousness is ultimately unable to fully perceive or comprehend itself.

Pyrocephala is depicted here as human, but since the imperatives illustrated are true of most if not all living, conscious beings, this figure could just as easily been some other lively critter we’ve branched off from over the past 100 million years.

I can imagine this figure gracing an ancient coin minted by one of Alexander’s general-kings somewhere in the Hindu Kush. Oddly enough, I think most of the subsequent Greek kings in that far-flung region (many of whom were named Ptolemy for some reason) were Buddhists, so I think they would have appreciated the sensibilities behind Pyrocephala. What little I know of Heraclitus leads me to believe he would have appreciated it as well.

None of this is very original, of course. There are tons of other figures in the same archetypal neighborhood that, much like nature itself, are also capricious and so are equal parts benevolent and malevolent: Baba Yaga, Hermes, Pan, Dionysus, Coyote, etc. Another figure that comes to mind is Kali, the ancient embodiment of death, time, and destruction—a terrifying but necessary counterpoint in the sprawling drama of Hindu cosmology.

The attempt to depersonify oneself in the hopes of attaining a fleeting union with the forces of the living world is admirable, something I aspire to attain. But this Pyrocephala figure represents the opposite of that vaguely Taoist ideal. It’s yet another instance of me failing in that endeavor and doing the opposite, yet again falling back on that timeless but somewhat crude animist habit of projecting oneself onto the forces of nature, personifying it. Gilding the lily. Whoops.

We limited, flawed humans always seem to find it very difficult to set aside our symbols and metaphors. It’s especially difficult if you’re a visual thinker like me (I’m hopeless when it comes to understanding the arid particulars of quantum physics, but that’s almost certainly because I’m not as bright as I’d like to believe). As much as I’d like to say otherwise, I often find abstractions on their own to be lacking in flavor, substance, and life (illustrating Whitman’s abstraction-riddled poem “Song of Myself” was a huge challenge for that reason). Such are my limitations. Could just be particular to my own rapidly-aging snow monkey’s brain, but your results may vary. One’s desire to go beyond the use of emblems and idols may be doomed from the get-go, but I think some things can be learned from the failed attempt.

In any case, this Pyrocephala thingie was just a whim; it kinda popped into my head against my will, like a fiery splinter. Now that it’s been expunged, I can forget it and move on. Feel free to take it out for a walk. (Not literally, you freak.)

~A