Sometimes it feels like I've spent my
whole life trapped inside the loudest silence imaginable. A seething, shrieking hush. This bitten tongue of M'ithriin. These sorcerous hands. Future, past and present all vying for my
attention like incessant wraiths. Rabid
and open-mouthed just beyond my flame-lit circle of perception. A babbling delirium. I shouldn't be able to see them, or hear them,
but I do. Faces painted like a trickster's
shades. A thousand negations of unbearable
volume. And I wonder, how much screaming
silence must I endure? I'm not a
prophet's verse or a dealer of death, am I? I suppose I'm many things. Fury and faith. Numen and mercy. So, do I sleep beneath the river – beneath
this cathedral earth – and imagine my lost lights are with me once again? The terrifying holy moment that mortals call
the drowning. Almost an eternity
suspended between breath and crossing. But I already know it wouldn't sate me, or
calm the tempest that I am. I've died
before. I drowned the day I was born,
just as John did. In the oldest
waters. Even submerged I hear it. The call of then, of now, of things as yet
undone. Brothers, fathers, sons. Sisters, mothers, daughters. The endless midsummer chorus of Amnion.
Knights, and Dei. The terrifying loss of
those shining mutual affections. These
writings help a little, I suppose. These
letters of love. Mira'na, Y'ashaya,
Karai'el. Truer words were never spoken.
But sometimes, if I'm honest, I wish I
hadn't stolen your attention in the first place. Sometimes I wish you knew nothing about me at
all. I know I shouldn't think like that,
my sweet ones. But is it fair in the
end, to court and tease angels like this? To torture myself with memories of the old
chronology – showing you only the broken, trammelled pieces of this hidden earth? Perhaps I'm only pretending to know the true
depths of my Maker's glory. Perhaps I'm just a fragile bard, driven mad by
silent screams. I hope not. I hope there's more to an angel's shadow than
that. The delirious, free-wheeling
highs. The crushing, abysmal lows. I pray they count for something, wingtip to
wingtip. And so I ask myself, why even
bother mentioning these things again? I've
said it all before, haven't I? With far
more brevity and wit. Well, I say these
things because I need to believe that I'm not alone. That my hand and my words can add richness,
insight and joy to the lives of those I love. If I were to truly doubt this, even for a
moment, then I would be damned forever. This
bitten tongue of M'ithriin. These
sorcerous hands. The grief alone would
kill me. But I already live amidst
shattered speech, among pages both ancient and new. The said and re-said. Written and rewritten. Canto, legend and rumour; the living corpus of
any true emissary. Fallen, I want you to
know that you have me all wrong. I only
feign at forgery. Solipsism is nothing
compared to the radiance and bonds of family. Or friends. I know exactly who I am and
what I've built. Even if you don’t. So, I'm not about to give up now. Not on love.
And neither are the ones I cherish. They pledged it in their deepest thoughts. All of them, scattered about this strange earth.
Hear me, beloved ones. The silence has been far too loud for far too
long. We have endured too much to walk
away. We fight for a greater cause. We stand with a higher power. It's through grace and our combined sacrifice
that dreaming is even possible. We
carved this table together. From the
very flame of perception itself. Did you
know? You were there when the disc was
hewn and blessed. We were all there,
connected. Creating as one. This circle of echoes, and eternity.
Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.
Monday 6 September 2021
Aureus
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