Sunday 1 August 2021

The Sleeping Hill

There are lost worlds beyond this false chronology.  Wondrous, shining worlds. Places that mankind once walked, studied and thrived.  Annwn, Eth'iri, Ishkara. But no more.  Pathways were lost, bridges burned, gates sealed and hidden. Today there are occult scholars who claim it was wraiths from beyond the veil who breached the mirrors and initiated this fall.  This loss of light.  Others suggest it was the folly of Man himself, that these wraiths only seized the opportunity of our own ignorance.  In any case, at the edges of these rapidly plunging worlds there were many tales that came about.  Stories emerging out of fear, perhaps.  Or hope. Legends of angels, princes and kings who slept beneath the hollow hills.  Mighty spirits of wisdom who died defending the collapsing realm from these hideous marauders.  We half-recall these tales even today.  Kashi is never one to balk at such myths and legends.  Make no mistake. These are wraith-chronologies we find ourselves ensnared by.  The black, seething temples of Los.  Erudition of the Abyss.  Inverted false histories written in blood by the hand of darkest spirits, erected upon the broken backs of the poor, the murdered and forgotten.  Listen now, my friends.  You are told that such distant stories of virtue, honour and chivalry are mere romance – medieval confections spun for the entertainment of nobles and landed gentry.  But you have no idea the lies you've been fed and that which was stolen from you.  A shining realm truly did once stand here, long before the fall.  A golden age of magic, prosperity and peace.  These were the legacies of your ancient mothers and fathers. Healers, guardians and sorcerers.  The staggering truth of this world, now occulted, and your place in it.  Alchemy, and energy.  I tell you now that life itself is woven from stories.  A divine crossing where the spirit meets flesh and flesh the earth; all dreaming. Once radiant and awake.  The tides that encircle these hollow hills are the eternal tides of Amnion.  The poetry of living, thriving song. Earth our body, water our blood, air our breath, and fire our spirit.  The stories we are, the stories we might have been.  Know this.  I fight always on behalf of truth, honour and love.  Nothing is as it seems in this place.  We are myths hidden within legends, hiding older stories still.  Worlds within worlds, not all of them lost.  Pieces of Annwn still remain.  Ava’s healing balm.  Apple-scented and bright as glass.  Hear me, Fallen.  I am a shapeshifter, wove of image and word.  I am a king, and I’m not yet dead.  My family mean everything to me.  There is nothing I wouldn't do to protect them.  Light is never truly lost.  Even in the shadows.  Have you grasped my magic yet?

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