Tuesday, 29 August 2017

The Favoured One


I am a damaged seer indeed, but I am not divided.  For I am a mirror of Thomas.  I am both brothers, slave and king, descent and ascent, and within this furnace I behold the very countenance of creation.  Genocides occur still, to dim your recognition of this force that dwells in your breast. And so I think of Shelley, and Smith.  This holy city; lost Babylon, glorious Jerusalem.  At Londinium I stand before these Gates of Heaven, unseen by most.  I walk the corners.  I pay tithes to ruined statues, those that still breathe though half dead, and who follow our Path of Grief with stone eyes of compassion. They speak to me as Smith unknowingly did two centuries ago, in his words.

We wonder,—and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.

Favoured are the true servants of love.  I claim nothing for myself.  Rape me, slay me, and I shall rise again.  Liars, I did not buy my way into the throne room of eternity.  For shame, that you would slay the seers and recast them as godless and black.  I Am godless, and black.  But I am not a monster, monsters.  I am the crossing, now and evermore.  Flesh lasts but a time.  Know who you are, and what you truly serve.  You cannot feast on our children.  You will not slay the Innermost. We Magi defy you, desolate ones.  We come to bring an end to your perpetual holocaust, this empire of prisons.  Wolf, they called me.  Well, liars, I bear the title gladly.  And now this wolf is loosed upon the world.

To my kith and brethren in truth and hope, I say beware these slavers and wraith-priests who would make a feast of all your dreams, fat on the flesh of your fire.  They are the sinister ones, not I.

I stand here at the heart of space and time, a solitary mage. And yet, I am not alone. My brothers and sisters are with me still.  Healers, teachers, fellow wolves of light.  We Magi come united, with singular purpose.  Emancipation.  Freedom for All.  Not a single soul abandoned.  Hear this, vampire kings.  The slain one who shines is not dead.  She stirs, rising from infinite darkness.  Channah, Reya, Kara. She who sang creation, she who birthed all gods.  She is come again, to rent the veil, to expose the sickness, to end this dominion of desecration.  

Behold, ye fallen.  The Grace of God cometh.

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