You would be wise to heed love's emissary, wraiths. Instead of committing yourselves to this sorcerous abjection. This vile, sickening desecration of the coming light. Your tenure is almost at an end. You know this. But there is literally no reasoning with such hideous phantoms, no warmth or empathy still within. Nothing left to kindle, or save. I understand that. Which is why I will feel nothing when your false kingdom of violence and bones is finally swept away. The horror, the sacrilege. Our Lady still stands. Bright, and living. Mother to all, in every pool of life. Even amidst the ashes. And the flames. I hope you understand that. On the vine and mended wing. Within every humble church that still honours the living wisdom. Y'asherah, M'aria, Sophia; it matters little to me what you call her. Each name has its infinite nuances, its history and context. These things are not entirely the same but nor are they separate. This shifting constellation of signs. These numinous maps of heaven. Tell me, wraiths. Do you have any real idea the personal strength it takes to shatter a false star? Or mend a broken heart? No, you don't. Because you are all pathetic cowards. You know nothing of the true high magic. Those kindest realms of living light. Instead you prey upon children, the weak or unwitting, using them as proxies in your ugly, degenerate spellcraft. Those poor souls who haven't the strength or understanding to fend for themselves. You sully the mind and poison the spirit. Well, the Magi see you. We have always seen you. And we shall forever stand against your blackened sorcery. Those incessant, whispering shades at the shoulders of the broken. This inverted dreaming you try so hard to endlessly extend. Bitter, sadistic and callow. But everything dies, Fallen. Everything except Life itself. The balm of Ava's healing waters. Indeed. There are those who will never grasp the true depths of this war. The unseen making contact with the visible. The hidden reality of the demonic realms, or the angelic hosts. For the spiritually illiterate this is nothing more than pretence and meaningless metaphor. But not for Kasi. Not for the Magi, or the faithful. This is the War on Earth as it is in Heaven. So, I petition my friends now; my brothers and sisters of light. The branch, the benevolent. Hear these tears. Please help me serve my Father with these words. Don't let this violence pass hidden and unremarked. Don't let this darkness go unmatched. Stand with me, in the connected strength of a truly loving embrace. Upon the coming of a solstice star. For the honour of a slain princess, for the wisdom of a bright queen, and for the eternal reign of a king of kings.
Dude! Most excellent essay. To hell with the wraiths! To say such things gives me hope. This is the best post. You capture the waters and goodness within. You keep shining forth Raj! 87ReplyDelete