Where Conviction and Insecurity Collide: Pacing (Part 3)
This is part 3 of the series “The Place Where Conviction and Insecurity Collide”. See original post here.
COLLISION: Pacing
Like Dominos, navigating the first collision resulted in a cascade more. Boreali distinctions are critical. OK, fine, but what are they? Apart from aesthetics, what else distinguishes Boreal from its regional “frenemies”?
Distinctions run so much deeper than appearance or preference or locale. They shape us at our core. When it comes to the Boreali, the creeds and disciplines instilled from their infancy not only dictate everything they do, but how they go about doing it. In Book 1, Luscia introduces the practice of the klödjen, explaining how as children they are taught the art of stillness atop that wooden globe. They learn to focus all their strength on balance and delayed gratification.
They learn to master themselves.
This bleeds into adulthood and highland society at large. The same poise is applied to every meticulous brush stroke of the scribe; the timed hammer of the luxsmith; the delicate stitch of the seamstress. Every etch of iron, every curve of wood, is marked with intention. With controlled breath. With devotion.
Shortcuts don’t exist in the Boreali mind, though they understand the compulsion to enact them. As a people, they are far less concerned with the surrounding chaos than the truths that endure it. They carry a tempered confidence that is not quickly shaken. And it is from that belief they draw their strength.
“Patience is not passive; on the contrary, it is active; it is concentrated strength.”
~Edward George Bulwer-Lytton
Following this logic to its natural end led to the scariest and most counterintuitive realization of all: Book 3 should be slower than its siblings.
Slower on purpose.
Not less interesting; not less complex. Befitting Boreal, one could argue it is the most complex book of all, but harboring a complexity stretched out over tempered intervals, like a heavy, multi-tiered string section languishing against multiplying percussion. The tempo, while composed and unrushed, begins with a host of chimes and cymbals. The melody is allowed to breathe and take form. Its cadence evokes without pronouncement. It’s seasoned with ambient shakers. They flood the atmosphere, resonating throughout the empty. Who knew '“empty” could be so affecting? Twinkling notes laugh at the notion, as if they knew the answer all along. Next rides in an undergirding base drum, setting an expectation; then bright celebratory snares; a thundering timpani; everything swirling like the cosmos, building and building and building into one glorious starlit crescendo.
That’s Boreal.
“How does one attain stillness? By slowly bringing it to life.”
~Tao Te Ching
Stillness is cultivated. It’s an evolutionary thing, growing without hurry. Luscia discovered this on her klödjen. Yet no one else could if I did not preserve the space to do so between the pages. The book’s themes demanded to be heard.
More than one reviewer advised their followers that in order to appreciate this book, they needed to read it slowly. An odd conclusion given it’s breadth. The conclusion is correct nonetheless. Read too quickly and you’ll miss what makes Boreal Boreali. You’ll pass it by. You’ll overlook its embedded patterns; its double meanings; its tenets; its joy.
House of Boreal is characterized by stillness as much as stillness is required to categorize it.
The first two books of the series were a whirlwind. But run for too long and your legs eventually give out. The heart is much the same. Most readers have become so used to running, they’ve forgotten how to dwell.
So had I.
Experience stillness in House of Boreal by embarking on your Orynthian journey today!
