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A commentary by
Douglas Anchor
It is foretold! The torrential flow of inexorable destiny!
A very brief commentary on De Profundis

A very brief commentary or foreword

on the incomplete version of De Profundis published in the form of a digital book by VICTORIA INSTITUTIONS, a few years back

I read De Profundis when I was in my 9th class, studying in the insipid Indian schooling system, under abysmal standard teachers, who themselves had come the same route, wasting my precious time, bearing the daily grinding rattle of useless information of dubious validity. Age around 13.

Reading Oscar Wilde did have a minor problem, when mentioned among those to whom his name was known through the inimical words of cheap minds. I was quite deeply impressed by Oscar Wilde’s writings. A feeling that words could ignite colour and sparkles was for the first time inserted in my mind. It took me a long time to get to understand that his words were not mere lively acrobatics done on prose and poetry. There is indeed a lot of profundity in his usages and contentions, which transverse through the spaces in the various dimensions of reality. This is not an empty of dialogue of mine. For, it erupts spontaneously from my own writings and mental researches, which were to make me write my own books on the Codes of reality, which do sync in a most mysterious manner with the hidden codes in languages; both human as well as that of beasts.

I remember reading in a vernacular novel based on Travancore states’ history, the novelist mentioning the homosexual disposition of a personage with the words ‘he was an Oscar Wilde’. How could a person be compared to Oscar Wilde, for so extraneous an attribute? It is only an extremely mediocre mind, and quite a silly one too, that would define a person’s calibre as comparable with that of Oscar Wilde, by just finding the least of similarities; that of a single sexual inclination, among possibly many others that Wilde himself would have had. As to this sexual inclination, it is definitely not a rare one. It seems to be a very common one at that. And in many social areas, considered to be quite a fashionable one at that.

Yet, it was this singular streak, which in many others remains as an infatuation, both mentionable as well as non-mentionable, that led Oscar Wilde to one of his greatest life experiences. That of ending up in the Reading Goal. Looking back, it was a great manoeuvring of fate done by destiny that led to the creation of this book. Wilde himself does acknowledge his indebtedness to this inglorious phase in his life. For, he was to experience the change of mood from that of ‘What an ending, what an appalling ending!’ to that of, quite contemplation of the possibilities of insights that lay wide open for him to behold. The tone of his mind slowly metamorphoses to ‘What a beginning, what a wonderful beginning!’

Even though his life in a prison is terrible, it is still a prison in England. It is not in a Continental European nation. Or even worse, in an Asian or African nation. Even though he mentions his experience thus:

“I have lain in prison for nearly two years. Out of my nature has come wild despair; an abandonment to grief that was piteous even to look at; terrible and impotent rage; bitterness and scorn; anguish that wept aloud; misery that could find no voice; sorrow that was dumb.”

The truth remains, that it was still an English prison. If it were a prison in a nation like India, the words in the language change. It is like speaking two different languages. The words of address and referring to the prisoner by the jail staff would be literally that of crudely rubbing and erasing of all human worth, dignity, refinement divinity, and everything else of divine value in a human being, all of which should rightfully be protected from the vile touch of base level persons. The words of address and referring to a jail staff would have to be cloaked in heavy and tedious, yet unavoidable ennoblement. It can really lead a quality man to real despair, the kind of which Wilde never had the occasion to contemplate upon, or to experience. [To know what happens to a person, who gets positioned in the binding strings of the lower indicant word codes of Indian feudal vernaculars, read: the life story of James Scurry]

Even though De Profundis may seem to the reader with flimsy interest in its deepness as a colourful play of words by a person who had been the lord of the language, to those with a pious mood for deep contemplation, the words can be seen to be really connecting to a higher science that can reach out to the truth that lies hidden behind material realities.

There is something fascinating in the finding that through this book Oscar Wilde was to get a better insight about the deeper meaning of his own words written in his other books.

Wilde mentions about this thus:

Some of it is in The Happy Prince, some of it in The Young King, notably in the passage where the bishop says to the kneeling boy, ‘Is not He who made misery wiser than thou art?’ a phrase which when I wrote it seemed to me little more than a phrase ; a great deal of it is hidden away in the note of doom that like a purple thread runs through the texture of Dorian Gray; in The Critic as Artist it is set forth in many colours; in The Soul of Man it is written down, and in letters too easy to read ; it is one of the refrains whose recurring motifs make Salome so like a piece of music and bind it together as a ballad; in the prose poem of the man who from the bronze of the image of the ‘Pleasure that liveth for a moment’ has to make the image of the ‘Sorrow that abideth for ever’ it is incarnate.

I remember with an unfathomable tremor in my mood the ending part of The Young King:

And the people fell upon their knees in awe, and the nobles sheathed their swords and did homage, and the Bishop’s face grew pale, and his hands trembled. ‘A greater than I hath crowned thee,’ he cried, and he knelt before him.

Oscar Wilde is simply a great writer. I have heard promoters of Indian vernaculars claiming that English cannot produce the same level of mental beauty that vernacular songs and poetry can. This is an argument which really requires a huge intellectual canvas to encompass the discussion. I cannot do it here. Yet, to those who cannot fathom the sublime beauty that had been there in the pristine English of England, which later was to be mentioned in close relationship with Victorian social standards, I would ask , to read this book. They cannot miss the mesmeric chime that can be keyed out of unadulterated English words. For, they do carry the vibes of a mental and social setting which not many other social and language system can reproduce. Now, this pristine English has been taken hostage by persons from the various inglorious nations all around the globe, who care two-pence about what they do to this divine language, which had once led the light of social liberation in the socially dark nations.

There are other things also about this book that may deserve mention. Even the mention of Christ is brimming with a deeper understanding of Christ’s philosophy, with which cantankerous Christianity in the various feudal language nations may not be able to empathise. For, Christianity in feudal language nations is just an unchristian version of the same brutal social codes, which keeps the populations strangled in its claws; taunting each person to grate each other by means of abasing verbal codes.

As to the link of art to the concealed world of a supernatural software that mysteriously runs the physical reality, well, Oscar Wilde has spoken more than he himself may have understood. It is a hidden reality which may not be approached through none of the physical sciences, including Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics, Engineering, Carpentry, Architecture and such. Only a Higher Science may have the route to that golden sphere, where the ultimate of secrets lie embedded in codes stringed in words. May be one might be able to seek the pioneering steps in that path in the currently disregarded-with-disdain Occult writings of Sir. Isaac Newton, the greatest of current civilisation scientists.

Words have mass, colour, force, pace, rhyme, rhythm, links, designs, patterns and even direction. Even in English. Yet, an average native-English speaker may not be able to imagine the universe of diabolic possibilities weave-able in feudal languages. That a mere change of a word can turn gold into dirt. And vice versa. Well, am I not reaching out to the realm of the alchemists? Even Wilde, in his wildest of claims wouldn’t have contemplated at that level of possibilities. If he has indeed alluded to such a power in words, he may have spoken without knowing the real depth of his allusions. As to English nations, they alone stand in the darkness with regard to this. All other nationalities know of this. Yet, they wouldn’t speak a word out. For, if spoken out once, all political philosophies, and social and cultural claims that they promote would stand abashed, and without any legitimate props anymore.

If the policymakers in English nations had a slight inkling of this, would they have allowed their nations to be overrun by speakers of languages of unknown timbre, and inscrutable Satanism?

Coming back to Oscar Wilde, let it be stated that his scholarship was supreme. Even divine. Arriving right

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