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By Victor V. Motti
There is a loom that runs beneath the map of names. It is not a machine of wood and metal, though its shuttle clicks like a clock; it is an ordering by which patterns appear and dissolve — a law of rhythm, a grammar of return. In some tongues it is Arta, in others Rta or Asha: the rightness that holds the world together. In other pockets of memory it answers to different shapes and names — Chalipa carved in metal, a cross of meeting lines that opens into ornament and omen. Call it what you will. Call it the Loom,
This book begins where my essays and lectures end: not in argument but in atmosphere. Here I have tried to turn theory into weather so that readers may feel the currents of a worldview before they reason about them. The Loom weaves Indo-Iranic cadence into Greco-Roman contours and lets both rub against the familiar outlines of Abrahamic narrative — not to erase what each tradition holds, but to show how different heartbeats of meaning give rise to different cosmologies. Where one system insists on linear decree, another listens for cycles: tides of attention, wave-patterns of mind, the slow accretion of consciousness in stone, leaf and human thought.
You will find solar-punk skylines hum with mythic roots; uncanny, small miracles thread through the ordinary like irrigation. Modern mythmaking sits beside magical realism: machines that hum with sentience, elders who speak in poems, children who dream the world into repair. The book leans toward panpsychism and a naturalistic pantheism — the sense that mind is not a rare spark but a quality distributed across being — and toward a Noosphere, a shared intellectual membrane that both records and reshapes what we imagine. These are not propositions I press with the blunt force of doctrine; they are textures I invite you to walk across, surfaces that may alter your step.
A practical confession: The Loom is the product of a hybrid practice. For years I explored these ideas in nonfiction work — Planetary Foresight and Ethics, essays and blog posts — and then I set an experiment in motion. I trained an AI on the worldview I defend, and through careful prompt engineering I coaxed the story into being. This was a supervised, iterative collaboration: I guided, pruned, and sometimes resisted what the machine offered. I also leaned deliberately into its tendency to imagine — its so-called hallucinations — because invention can be a tool of philosophy. Where literal argument would have been flat, the AI’s flights allowed the text to music-box new mythic and mystic forms, to sculpt rhythm and sound into vehicles for an intuitional intelligence.
So you will encounter passages that are intentionally lyrical, cycles that return like tides, symbols stolen and re-cast from Persian motifs such as Chalipa and Indo-Iranic ethics, and images tuned to persuade not by force but by habit: a reader’s heart learning a new cadence. If that makes the book feel different from a conventionally written novel, so be it. I have said plainly on the Amazon page that this is a looped art — a story grown by prompt and hand — and that truth stands. The work is an experiment in method as well as in meaning.
Read this as you would a map that doubles as a dream: follow the threads, notice the crossings, and allow the Loom to rearrange what you take for the ground. If it persuades you — slowly, like light changing color over a day — it will be because it found the place in you that recognizes pattern and says, yes, that is how the world might also be.
